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.

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Talk about mixed emotions

Talk about mixed emotions

  February 20, 2026    Stephen Cobb

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I am writing this in the waiting room of the nuclear medicine facility at UHCW (University Hospitals Coventry and Warwickshire). I am about to have a bone scan to see if the cancer in my prostate has spread beyond said organ. This procedure requires me to be out of the house for about six hours. Not normally a problem, but…

…two weeks ago, Chey’s slow cognitive decline accelerated and it has not yet rebounded. This means that, for the first time ever, I felt the need to have a professional carer present in our home while I was absent from it.

On the plus side, living in Coventry means that we have access to affordable, professional, compassionate care. And one of those professional compassionate carers is currently at the house in case Chey needs anything while I am gone.

Arranging this care is partly a dry run for when I have to go in for prostate cancer treatment which could, probably will, limit my abilities to look after Chey myself for a couple of weeks.

So that’s the first pair of mixed emotions. I’d rather not have prostate cancer and I’d rather Chey had her full cognitive and physical abilities restored, but in the absence of those things we are fortunate to have access to care and support that we need. (A big shout out to Carers Trust Heart of England for it’s excellent work supporting carers.)

Another set of mixed emotions involves our dearly departed Lola, a lovely feline companion for the last five years. Sadly, she became ill three months ago and it turned out to be inoperable stomach cancer, so we had to say goodbye. That was also two weeks ago. 

Lola

Thankfully, Lola left us with many wonderful memories and thousands of cat pics! However, at the risk of sounding overly dispassionate and pragmatic, her departure has also eased the care burden on me, enabling me to focus more on Chey, while also supporting my mum (who it must be said, is healthier than both of us and looking forward to her 97th birthday next month).

So there’s #Hope that Chey will improve and my prostate cancer can be treated without a gap in care for Chey. And there’s #Gratitude that we are in a position to access the treatment and care we need. We both have books still to write and places yet so go.  

Yes, as cruel months go, February, 2026 has been quite the contender (wry literary reference for anyone who’s had to read T. S. Eliot). But at least we’ve witnessed the first arrest of an heir to the throne in over 350 years!

As time permits I will be writing up notes on Chey’s health and mine. In the meantime, offerings to the weather gods would be appreciated. Seeing a lot more sun and a lot less rain would help, preferably before April. 

P.S. I already made a website to share Chey's underlying health issues, it's called She's No Okay, Yet.

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Transperineal prostate biopsy: a patient's perspective

Transperineal prostate biopsy: a patient's perspective

  September 30, 2021    Stephen Cobb

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If you happen to be wondering what a prostate biopsy is like, this article should prove helpful. 

[Note: I reviewed this article ahead of my second biopsy, in December of 2025. The information here remains accurate.]

In August of 2021, at age 69, I underwent something called a transperineal prostate biopsy and I thought sharing my experience might be helpful to other people who are facing this procedure. 

Like most prostate biopsies, mine was performed to evaluate whether or not the patient has prostate cancer. That means biopsies can be an emotionally challenging experience as well as a physically daunting prospect: a scary procedure at a scary time. 

NCI's Dictionary of Cancer Terms

However, while I find the thought of needles piercing sensitive parts of my body unappealing, I found that this procedure can be relatively quick and painless. I say that based on my experience and the feedback of several other guys whom I chatted with over tea and biscuits in the recovery room. This should be positive news, given that a biopsy is an essential weapon in the fight to find and treat prostate cancer. 

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