Prostate Cancer. Male Denial, and the absurdity of it all
Men don’t go to doctors. We go to garages, sheds, or pubs—sacred spaces where nothing must be spoken unless it involves timber, oil, or football. A man will discuss the death of a beloved dog with more emotional clarity than the lump in his groin. Medical consultation is, in our private mythology, reserved for catastrophic limb loss or inconvenient decapitation.
Denial, for the average male, is not a moment. It’s a system of belief. A cathedral built brick by stoic brick over decades. Our fathers taught us to tough it out. Their fathers taught them to die quietly. The cycle continues. Illness is weakness. Complaining is unseemly. Preventive care is for Americans and people who own yoga mats.
The body begins to fail, of course. Quietly at first. An ache here. A dribble there. We assume it’s just age—or, if we're particularly committed to the illusion—just the weather. That persistent night-time urination? Must be the evening tea. Or the mattress. Or the fact that one side of the bed is clearly cursed. Anything but the organ slowly strangling itself inside your pelvis.
When a partner urges us to “just get it checked,” we bristle. If she persists, we stall. If she makes the appointment for us, we go—resentfully, like a man being marched into a pottery class. We crack jokes to signal comfort. We quote obscure statistics to display control. And when the doctor dons a glove, we retreat into the last true fortress of the aging male: irony.
Once inside the machine—tests, probes, scans—we begin to perform the Ritual of Masculine Surrender. It starts with a joke about turning your head and coughing, and ends with the quiet realisation that you’ve become the punchline in your own dark comedy.
Some men weep. Others double down on stoicism. Most just sit there, nodding solemnly, trying not to vomit on the doctor’s tasteful shoes.
And still, we resist. The diagnosis arrives like a telegram from the front. The prostate—previously unknown, unsung, and unappreciated—has declared war. It’s built a fortress. It’s bringing in reinforcements. The bladder is collateral damage. Erections are taken hostage. Hope is put on long-term disability.
But even then, we maintain the illusion. We call it “a little cancer.” We say, “It’s treatable.” We compare notes with other men, like generals discussing failed campaigns. “Oh, you went the radiation route? Interesting. I opted for chemical castration and despair.”
Because to admit the full weight of it—the fear, the humiliation, the betrayal by our own biology—would be to strip away the last tattered remnants of the male fantasy: that we are somehow exempt from decay.
We are not. We are meat with delusions of grandeur.
So we bluff. We limp into the clinic, complain about the parking, and read Car and Driver while contemplating mortality. We tell ourselves we’re strong. That we’re brave. That it’s just another phase of life, like puberty, except this time everything is shrinking.
Eventually, we stop pretending. But only after it’s far too late to benefit from honesty. By then, we’ve been poked, scanned, shaved, dosed, and told—very politely—that we will never urinate like a young man again.
But don’t worry. There’s a pamphlet for that too. It’s got a photo of two smiling seniors on bicycles.
Neither one of them is wearing a nappy. You’ll find that comforting.
Interested in more discussions like this? Go to the Prostate Cancer Support Group.
Amen , I’m with you Tom, my manhood is starving to feeling like the man I use to be , it’s been 8 months without sex , never went that long since I was in baby diapers, now I’m in big boy diapers, can’t wait to
Try the Trimix before depression takes over .
Ah, Phil. Nothing like a casual breakfast scroll through war mutilation photos to remind us that our medically castrated, night-sweaty, libido-less, hormone-ravaged selves are actually fortunate. You're absolutely right — perspective is everything. Some people lose their limbs, and some of us just lose our testosterone, our dignity, and the will to watch another TED Talk on “Resilience.”
But we still have forks. And Netflix. So let’s all shut up and feel grateful, dammit.
Bravo, and leave our narcissism at the door🫣
My Dad died at 58 from a heart attack. I was thinking along the same line of trying to keep heart healthy to prevent the same. In a way that made me go to the doctor annually to get my blood work done which included a PSA. I was sent to Urologist when PSA hit 2.99. Everyone said probably nothing including Urologist as I passed the DRE but thankfully he ordered a Ultrasound which saw something. 5 months later and after a lot of further testing I had a RALP. Thankfully I've been clear for 2.5 years with only minor side effects. You'll get through your treatment fine.
Pure wisdom.
I’m having Great Depression over not being able to get an erection !
Thanks for that Phil. I, too, have almost veered down the road of self pity, but upon further reflection, did a quick U turn and choose the road-if not blessed-at least fortunate. I had 68 years of good health and a great sex life; far more than some are given. And it's not over. Although I "suffer" from stress incontinence and climaturia (wife is not a fan), I have regained nocturnal erections to some degree and then there is the reliable Trimix.
My G9 cancer seems to be in a state of remission but I realize my next PSA check could change all of that. I have bounced around the 5 phases of grief and have come to at least a measure of acceptance. I occasionally backtrack and get a little angry now and again but mostly I have come to terms with it.
Your narrative of "others have it worse" somehow offers a little solace, although I take no joy in other's misery. I guess it's just a reminder that there are worse circumstances in life. I was talking to my life long friend and financial advisor last week and he delivered the news that his brother, in his early 60s, dropped dead of a heart attack. Then the next day I called one of the ERs to speak with one of the ER physicians about an issue and asked for either Dr. X or Y. "I'm sorry, didn't you hear? Dr. X died of a heart attack last Friday." Younger than me; both of them. So, the grim reaper comes for us all.
You mentioned the word "blessed". I, too used to bristle when I heard people use it and it wasn't a part of my vocabulary until the last few years. Being scientifically inclined, logical and rational (I hope!) in my thinking, the word blessed had vague connotations of mysticism for me. I guess you could have labelled me an agnostic; I just didn't give much thought to God. I was too busy living life, making money and raising a family.
Back about 10 years ago I began amateur study of Cosmology. I got the itch to understand how it all happened and we how we got here. Read a lot of books and looked at videos/lectures by leading astronomers. I won't go into details because this post is already longer than I intended, but the calculated odds of chance resulting in this Universe have been calculated to be so astronomical as to be virtually impossible. "Fine tuning" they call it. To get get around that little issue without invoking God, some cosmologists have invoked the Marvel infinite multiverse theory, of which there is zero scientific evidence. To quote the British astronomer Fred Hoyle "A common sense interpretation of facts suggest a super intellect has monkeyed with physics, as well as chemistry and biology, and there are no blind forces worth speaking about in nature". BTW, Fred Hoyle was an atheist earlier in his life. He didn't embrace the Christian view of God but I'll let his quote stand on its own.
This scientific journey lead me to a faith in God. That faith in God has given me a measure of serenity and peace, and for that I am grateful-some would say blessed.
@retireddoc I am delighted that your scientific journey led you to a faith in God.
Although Fred Hoyle didn't embrace the Christian view of God, I think he was close.
(Over dinner, a university professor told his fellow professor (an atheist) that it takes more faith to believe in evolution [without a creator] than to believe in the Creator.)
I heard this part of the story directly from the professor who studied and then joined the faculty of the university that his father warned him, "Don't go there. Everybody there is an atheist, you will be an atheist too." He remained a man of faith.
Nice to hear from you, Doc. I think of you often when I hear the words “triplet therapy” because I know how grueling that must have been and how often you must have gone through many periods of questioning, doubt and exhaustion. Yours is a unique journey…
I will be sure to look into the writings of Fred Hoyle - sounds like someone I could learn from.
The fact that he didn’t accept the Christian (or Judeo- Christian) concept of God is encouraging. All the “thou shalt worship me” ideas from my altar boy days still haunt me.
While the idea of a Prime Mover or Initiator is always something I have considered, it’s more in the sense of lightning bolts hitting a primordial sea and somehow sparking that “soup” into life here on earth.
The Universe is just off the scale of my comprehension!
Big Bang from a black hole? All the cosmos created from the implosion of something defined in the negative? Guess I’ll be doing some reading and get back to you, Doc!
Phil
If you are able to get a copy, this is a good read. The author was an atheist. No longer.