Of course, they’re referring to my Stage-3 prostate cancer. As many of you know since I wrote about it quite a bit in this daily blog, during a short period of time, I had two surgeries (including a radical prostatectomy), 36 radiation sessions, and 19 months of pharmaceutical castration (taking my testosterone down to nearly zero). I did all of this while writing and launching a book, opening our MEA Santa Fe campus, and doing a major reorganization of the company to assure we had a succession plan and effective leadership team. To be honest, I still feel a little PTSD from 2023 and 2024.
The good news is that my PSA blood test suggests the cancer in my lymph system is stable and one of my docs even said I might be in remission. So, that’s the backstory on why I became very sad one day last week. I read about one of my baseball heroes, Ryne Sandberg, dying of metastatic prostate cancer, having been diagnosed as Stage-3 one year after I was (Ryne was diagnosed at this stage in January 2024). Sandberg was one of the most respected and admired players of the 1980s and early ’90s, known for his loyalty, consistency, quiet leadership, and stellar defense. He was an amazing baseball player and a stellar human who was born the same year I was, 1960. So, he died at 65.
And, then, I stumbled upon this Washington Post article a couple days later, “A Prostate Cancer Survivor Struggles with Aftereffects of Treatment” with the subtitle, “I expected that becoming cancer-free would mean getting my old life back. Nothing could be further from the truth.” This man’s treatment was different from mine (he’s lucky he has no metastasis and a PSA score of virtually zero after his treatment), but I truly could relate and appreciated that he was coming forward so publicly, especially around the anxiety he and I feel around our regular visits to get blood tests and body scans. Here’s a passage from his story:
“For many people, including me, such prostate therapy can cause hot flashes, loss of libido, erectile dysfunction, fatigue and decreased muscle mass. But the radiologist assured me this multilayered approach gave me the best chance of beating the cancer. What we never discussed was the ‘what comes after.’ And in many ways, the after has been more complex and demoralizing than all my treatments. I expected that becoming cancer-free would mean getting my old life back. Nothing could be further from the truth. I was pudgy, weak and wobbly.”
I get it! The joint pain, brain fog, and emotional imbalance. Sometimes, I point to my private parts and ask, “Is this thing on?,” as it feels like the battery’s been dead since my testosterone deprivation and prostate removal. I am free of lust, yet full of love. I also gained 22 pounds during my treatment process. Fortunately, I’ve now lost half of that and am even more careful about what I’m eating and drinking.
Here’s how he finishes the article:
“So for me at least, cancer has become a lifelong companion. Instead of the resolution I expected, I’ve joined an ever-growing group of fellow travelers — treated for prostate, breast, lung, colon and other cancers — on the ongoing road of recovery. I now know there may be bumps in the road that will require adaptation, work and a good dose of optimism.”
I’m proud to announce that next year (dates not determined yet), MEA will be offering Cancer Thriver workshops with specialists in the field focused less on the physical side of cancer and more on the on-going emotional, relational and spiritual side, long after our treatments are complete. Stay tuned. I know I need it!
-Chip