Good news!

I have cancer!

Yay! That's gr -

Wait. What?

I said I have cancer.

Umm. weren't you just flexing a couple of months ago about how fit and healthy you are?

Oh, you remember that do you? Yeah. Apparently, I needed to learn a lesson or two.

Perhaps I should back up.

Much has changed in the health department since I wrote the words, “Physically, I think I may be in as good a shape as I've ever been” on November 6. 

The day after publishing that post I went and had some routine annual bloodwork done. Most of it was normal or even better than normal.¹ My new family doctor² added three or four tests to the battery ordered by my doctor from 2022. Since I’m a man over 50, she thought a PSA (a blood test for prostate cancer) should be in the mix.

That PSA turned out to be the first domino in a series that included more blood tests; appointments with urologists; an MRI; a 2,500€ biopsy bill;³ more enemas than you can shake a stick at; lots of waiting around for everything previously listed to happen; plenty of stress eating;⁴ constant low-key, back-burner thoughts like “well, yeah I’d like to commit to that but I probably should wait and see if I’ll be undergoing some sort of cancer treatment first”; and, finally, the official diagnosis of prostate cancer by my urologist on January 19.

The operative words in the previous paragraph are “low-key” and “back-burner.” If this had all taken place in the emotionally shaky months of September/October, I might not have been able to get out of bed. Fortunately, though, the emotional upswing I referred to at the end of that November 6 piece was enough to keep me stable. Mostly.

There were absolutely times when I was curled in a fetal position, times when I wanted everyone and everything to leave me the f*** alone, and times when I desperately wanted to talk to a human being about my fear and worry. 

But what could I say?

This thing-that-may-or-may-not-happen-and-over-which-I-have-no-control-and-even-if-it-does-happen-it’s-not-really-that-big-of-a-deal-because-it’s-pretty-treatable is just sort of hanging over my head all the time? 

There are cultural differences around politeness and boundaries that need to be navigated, most people I know here I’ve only met a few months ago, and how do you bring any of this up in the first place? 

Hi Scott, how are you?

Scared and anxious about the possibility that I might have cancer, thank you. And you?

Over the month between the time I knew I needed one and the time I got my results, I did manage to work the word ‘biopsy’ into a few conversations with a handful of people. I suspect a couple didn’t even know the meaning of the term.⁵ Some reacted with concern, even asking later if there was any news.⁶ 

A blessed few displayed genuine empathy, checked in with me to see how things were going, commiserated when I had nothing to report, and generally made it clear that they cared.

But who wants to listen to someone else drone on about their existential fears when they have actual, real-life situations staring them right in the face?

It seemed like the vast majority of people I wanted to talk to about this are in the midst of their own Big Things - weddings, funerals, career changes, new babies, distant relatives needing support, illnesses of a non-theoretical nature and the like. So I mostly kept my mouth closed and did my best to act as if this wasn’t a thing for me.

And yes I’m supposed to not worry because God has everything under control. I get that. Intellectually. But for most of the past few months, that hadn’t sunk down to the emotional level quite yet. Amy wasn’t concerned. She was able to experience the peace that can accompany a deep faith. Which is great. No need for both of us to be freaking out. Her confidence was a comfort.

OK, this is all fine and dandy but I’m still not seeing how it’s good news. You said it was good news.

Sure, I get that. I promise this wasn’t a click-bait headline.

It’s good news in part because I finally have answers. Ten and a half weeks of uncertainty wears a little.⁷

It’s also good news because if you have to have cancer, this is the type of cancer you want to have. Prostate cancer is the one the other cancers pick on because it is small and weak. And mine in particular appears to be the runt of the litter.⁸ So much so that my doctor is recommending a path called “active monitoring.” Which essentially means every year or so we’ll poke it with a stick needle to see if it’s changing its mind about wanting to take over the rest of my body. 

A friend of mine told me her father has had prostate cancer for 30 years. Every year they would take a biopsy and every year it would be the same as the year before - no bigger, no uglier. Finally, at the age of 90 he said, “enough with the needles, just leave it alone.” And I know of another person recently turned 91 who’s had prostate cancer for 16 years. While I have no desire to live to 90,⁹ if I do I hope to have a similar experience with my own little lump o’ malignancy.¹⁰ 

You know what ... it seems that lump could be with me a while. I think it needs a name. Suggestions? You know what to do …

This, of course, means I essentially have a tiny bomb inside me that might or might not ever explode. I’ve been having fun imagining my life as the plot of an action-adventure comedy involving a geriatric, past-his-prime secret agent that nobody has the heart to fire:

But the best news is that I have learned an important lesson from this experience. One recent evening, I was praying for a friend who asked me, rather randomly, to do so. Just a few hours later, a path opened suddenly and unexpectedly. The following morning, I finally managed to ask someone from church to pray for me. The response was exactly what I needed to hear at that moment. Those two occurrences in such close succession led me to my own peace.

At least for the time being.

That’s all for now.

Love from Lisbon,

Scott (& Amy)

1. My cholesterol levels have dropped dramatically, for example.

2. who I adore

3. They used a relatively new technique that wasn't covered by our private insurance. Though we were reimbursed 50% of the cost after I submitted the expense.

4. I’ve gained roughly 2.75 kg/6 pounds.

5. Which, good for them - may it be ever so.

6. There wasn’t.

7. Ok, it wears a lot. Amy is a saint for putting up with and supporting me.

8. When I said to my doctor, “I assume this is stage 1 …” he responded, “in your case it’s more like stage point five.”

9. Mostly because I'm deeply pessimistic about humanity’s long-term future on this planet ... but that's a topic for a different day.

10. Though I will probably tell them to knock off the annual biopsies well prior to that age.