Prostate Cancer Diary Day One (of how many?)

Prostate Cancer Diary Day One (of how many?)

  March 28, 2026    Stephen Cobb

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UK Prostate Cancer statistics from NHS via Prostate Cancer UK

Prostate cancer, often referred to by doctors as PCa, appears to be on the rise in the UK and the US. Ten years ago my brother found out he had it. That prompted me to get tested and in 2021 doctors detected "a tiny amount of cancer" in my prostate. Unfortunately, by 2025 that amount had increased to the point where treatment was needed. By March of 2026, the medical system was ready to offer me that  treatment. 

[Note: This blog post was supposed to be the start of a diary documenting the process of deciding which treatment to have, and then my experience of that treatment. Unfortunately, I have not be able to find the time and/or energy to write many diary entries beyond this one. But I have left it here in the hopes of filling in the gaps later.]

Saturday 28 March, 2026

When I woke up today I found I was thinking about prostate cancer treatment; not just my prostate cancer treatment, about which I must make a decision in the next few days, but prostate cancer in general. More specifically, my mind was going over the timing of that treatment and, as I put on my dressing gown and headed for the stairs, the term lackadaisical came to mind.

According to Vocabulary.com: "Even though lackadaisical sounds like it has something to do with a shortage of daisies, it means lacking in spirit or liveliness, showing little enthusiasm, effort, or determination. And that's the vibe I've been getting throughout my "prostate cancer journey." That journey started slow and low key in 2021, which was fine, but in the past 12 months it has heated up. The medical response has not been as urgent as I would have liked.

However, when I got downstairs, thoughts of cancer treatment were suddenly replaced by remembrance of something I didn't do yesterday: reconfigure the WiFi so that printer works properly. I remembered this because I need to print out the latest correspondence from the urologist if I am going to make the case for greater urgency. 

The reason why I didn't fix the printer yesterday, when I realized there was a problem, will help illuminate my current situation. The problem occured while my partner, CC, was using the Internet, and I didn't want to bother her. This would not have been a big deal six or seven years ago, but these days CC suffers from chronic fatigue and is cognitively impaired due to two brain haemorrhages and an insidious genetic condition. All of which makes tackling domestic IT issues a lot more complicated than it used to be.

On the plus side, CC sleeps until nine in the morning most days, so stuff like reconfiguring the WiFi is best done at the start of the day. However, by the time I made my cereal and coffee and sat down to catch up on email and news this morning, I could already hear CC getting up to go to the bathroom. 

When that happens I listen for her to walk back to her room because, if she is not planning to go back to sleep, she will typically call downstairs to ask for a beverage. Today she requested a ginger ale, not the usual tea or hot chocolate. So I took her a glass of GA and decided to do the WiFi tomorrow.

Which was fine because today I need to write down the big idea I had when I woke up this morning: Write a diary! My thoughts about the many days that have passed between the various stages of my prostate cancer diagnosis and treatment. The idea? 

Prostate cancer (PCa)
under a microscope

Yes, I know writing a diary is not an original idea. Indeed, it would be natural to expect that a human in their eighth decade, one who has been writing stuff for seven of those decades, an educated chap who for many years earned a living from his writing, would be no stranger to keeping a diary. Yet somehow I've managed to get this far without keeping track of my thoughts any actions on a daily basis. 

Of course, like many writers, the thought "must write a diary" was not immediately followed by the act of putting pen to paper. No, my first impulse was to tell myself I needed to buy a diary to write in. Pretty sure I've seen A5-size diaries at Sainsbury's. So maybe the next step on this journey is drive there, grab a diary and an early lunch, and ponder my prostate cancer treatment options.

Given the stage I am at, technically known as Grade Group 3, Gleason 7 (4+3), organ-confined, the basic choice is between surgery to remove the prostate, or a combination of radiotherapy and hormone therapy to kill off the cancerous cells and the testosterone on which they feed.