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No. Prostate Cancer is not the “good one”

Prostate Cancer | Last Active: 19 hours ago | Replies (57)
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@cher60

We may well have been guilty of previously saying that ourselves too as our fathers and brother in law died with prostate cancer and not from it, however, that changed once we knew what type my husband has. We have obviously stopped saying 'It's the best cancer to get' now we have a more thorough knowledge of it. We hope the UK government will introduce universal test screening for PC for men once they are 50, or earlier if they are in a higher risk group. My husband had to demand tests as he didn't have symptoms and wasn't warned that 5 was high for his age of 63 at that time. A year later he demanded another test (still no symptoms) and it had risen to 12. Thankfully he was rushed through the system then, but it was still to late to stop the spread by the time he had his RALP and we now know he has aggressive Cribriform prostate cancer. To date we haven't been able to find someone else with cribriform to compare treatment plans etc which is unfortunate especially as it's a relatively new (in cancer terms) diagnosis. I'm glad I've found this site and will have a good read through the posts.

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hans_casteels | @hanscasteels | 21 hours ago

Hi @cher60

While others get tidy little acinar glands and a pat on the back, I get the architectural equivalent of Swiss cheese, microscopic structures so dysfunctional, even pathologists raise an eyebrow. Apparently, cribriform cells are the overachievers of malignancy. They don’t just grow. They infiltrate. Quietly. Methodically. Like a tax audit with a scalpel.

So yes, I have cribriform cells. They’re the cancer cells with a LinkedIn profile; well-connected, structurally ambitious, and deeply uninterested in boundaries. Gleason 3+4, they say. But let’s not pretend the “4” is some misunderstood rebel. It’s the one picking locks and leaving notes on the nerve fibers.

Still, I manage. I even pretend, occasionally, that I’m doing fine. I mourn the man I once was, a blissfully ignorant soul with testosterone and no idea what a perineural invasion was. Thanks to ADT and radiation, that man now only exists in memories and loose-fitting underwear. But with the help of my psychiatrist wife (and a clinically strategic level of denial), I maintain just enough delusion to get through breakfast.

After all, if this is the “good cancer,” I’d hate to meet the bad one at a cocktail party.

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