On Tuesday, I turned 56, and after this past year, that birthday felt very different. Many of you have asked how I am doing, so I wanted to share an update, and a nudge to the men in the Valley.
Early last June, I heard the words no one ever wants to hear: “You have cancer.” In my case, it was prostate cancer.
I still remember how time seemed to stop. Everything familiar gave way to uncertainty. There was fear, yes, but also a deep loneliness that comes with facing something I did not yet understand.
Over the next four months, I bounced from doctor to doctor, appointment to appointment, question to question, and, at times, from freak-out to freak-out. Information became both overwhelming and necessary. I read everything I could, looked at treatment options and asked a lot of questions. Artificial intelligence became an unexpected companion, helping me translate medical language into something I could understand. It did not replace my doctors, but it helped me know what to ask.
In the end, I chose to have a robotic radical prostatectomy. It was not the first choice I had imagined for myself. But given my age, my enlarged prostate and the specifics of my diagnosis, it became the choice that made the most sense. I wanted to do the least damage possible to my body, while giving myself the best chance at a cancer-free future.
Once that decision was made, I focused on what I could control.
First, I asked the embarrassing questions, the ones men often avoid. Questions about continence, erections, intimacy, recovery and quality of life. More than one doctor told me many men do not ask those questions; sometimes, if they are lucky, their partners do. But I knew I could not go into surgery without understanding what could happen to my body and my life afterward.
Second, I sought out a surgeon I trusted, someone skilled, but also someone willing to hear my concerns and priorities. I did not want to be treated only as a cancer case. I wanted to be treated as a whole person, a person with hopes, dreams and fears.
Third, I prepared. I started pelvic floor exercises before surgery. I researched foods that might support my recovery. I meditated. I went to the gym. I tried to get into the best physical condition I could. Preparing my body helped prepare my mind as well.
By the time surgery arrived on Nov. 18, I was scared, but I was also ready.
The first few weeks were the hardest. Surgery is surgery. Recovery is humbling. But my family was there, and that made all the difference. I was also reminded how much community matters, the texts, the check-ins at First Friday, the casual run-ins at the grocery store and the grace people and co-workers offered while I was healing.
I was fortunate: I was continent from day one. Within days, I began to see small signs that my body was waking back up. Those signs gave me hope that perhaps I would not lose as much of myself as I had feared, or the quality-of-life fears so many men carry into prostate cancer treatment.
Since then, this journey has felt in some ways like a second coming out.
As a gay man, I learned early in life that being out of the closet was far better than living in silence. The same has been true with prostate cancer. I have shared the fear, the awkwardness, the questions, the setbacks and the hope.
Being single added another layer. In quiet moments, the question would surface: Will people still love me as I am? Just as many in the LGBTQ+ community have, I suspect many people facing cancer, surgery or any life-changing diagnosis know some version of that question.
That openness has been healing for me. It has also opened doors for other conversations. Men have reached out. Some are facing their own diagnosis. Others are finally asking whether they should get tested. Some simply want permission to talk about the things we are often taught to keep private.
That gives me hope.
There is hope for men with prostate cancer, especially when it is found early. Testing matters. Asking questions matters. If you are a man over 40, especially if you have a family history or symptoms, ask your doctor about PSA (prostate-specific antigen) testing. Do not wait until fear makes the appointment for you.
Today, at 56, I know how fortunate I am. My PSA is nearly undetectable. Physically, I have rebounded. I am even doing some things, like riding a bike, I could not do before surgery. Many of the fears I carried into surgery have not come true. Mentally and emotionally, I am still healing. Some days I still catch myself wondering, “What’s next?” But I am learning that the better question is: “What am I doing with this moment?”
None of us are guaranteed tomorrow. Cancer makes that truth impossible to ignore. But it also clarifies what matters.
This past year was not one I would have chosen. But it has given me a deeper appreciation for my body, my family, this community, the work we do together through The Sopris Sun and the gift of being here.
At 56, that feels like a reason to celebrate.
Todd Chamberlin is the Executive Director of The Sopris Sun, a community supported nonprofit newspaper. Help us to continue telling stories by supporting The Sopris Sun. Donate today at soprissun.com/donate