My husband’s prostate cancer is incurable, but that hasn’t put an end to our love for each other

November is National Family Caregiver Month.

I met my husband 50 years ago when I enrolled in journalism courses at the University of Missouri. Dean was behind me in line and invited me for a beer. I scoffed and said no.

When I arrived at the registration table, the class I needed was full. Dean stepped forward and introduced me to the teacher. It turned out that Dean had had dinner with him the night before and the man had written a book about suburban journalism that included Dean’s father, a publisher of a weekly newspaper chain in Ohio.

The teacher made room for me in the class and I ended up going out for a beer.

After we got married, Dean and I realized that staying in journalism would be difficult for both of us. He decided to go into sales while I pursued editing jobs. We moved seven times for my job, so he had to look for a new job each time. He didn’t mind.

He championed my career, edited my resumes, provided technical support, and wore a tuxedo to events I attended as an art editor as my plus one. He took care of me.

After we retired, he was diagnosed with stage 4 metastatic prostate cancer. We were dazed. I had always assumed that I would receive the first life-threatening prognosis as my mother had been diagnosed with breast cancer twice before the age of 50 and ultimately died of lymphoma.

There was no history of prostate cancer in Dean’s family. Neither of his parents, who lived to the ages of 89 and 94, died of cancer.

It was my turn to take care of him. I became his nutritionist, personal trainer, cheerleader and sex therapist.

For the first two years, he was prescribed a treatment plan that included radiation and androgen deprivation therapy (ADT), or chemical castration. These drugs eliminate interest in sex and the ability to get an erection. For my husband, this was the cruelest part.

He mourned the loss of his libido. Even though he no longer felt any desire, he refused to give up sex for me. We managed this using a calendar where I drew hearts on intimacy days. This meant he could keep track of everything and not let weeks go by. To demonstrate his intention, he bought me a black silk nightgown weeks after his diagnosis.

There were other side effects. During this time, he suffered from mental fogginess, hot flashes, lost muscle tone, insomnia, and weight gain.

I changed our diet to follow cancer diet guidelines—plant-based and protein-based—and added Pilates, yoga, weights, and swimming sessions to his regular pickleball workouts.

To combat mental fatigue, I write a daily to-do list and have created a control system that I can use before he leaves the house. Does he have his phone, keys, hat, water bottle and wallet?

Now in his fourth year, Dean has castration-resistant prostate cancer, meaning the basic medications no longer work. He’s had two rounds of targeted radiation treatment, but more spots continue to appear. He undergoes chemotherapy, which brings with it a whole new set of ailments. It combats dizziness, increasing fatigue and changes in appetite.

He stopped enjoying coffee or his cocktail of choice, an Old Fashioned. He needs to be reminded to drink water. He resists vegetables I put in his morning smoothie.

We program his daily naps. I lay face to face next to him and hold his hand until he falls into a deep sleep.

2025

A surprising consequence of the illness was ghosting. Although cancer is not contagious, some family members and long-time friends have disappeared from our lives.

Luckily, we found community and guidance at Wellness House, a cancer support center that offers hundreds of programs free of charge. Dean attends a prostate cancer support group and finds comfort in conversations with his peers. He also goes to a general cancer group and receives individual advice from a compassionate clinical psychologist.

I regularly go to a cancer caregiver support group, where I sometimes find stories sadder than mine.

The community we found helped us deal with the fear of PSA testing, PSMA PET scans, and news on MyChart. We now understand that we no longer live in the land of what-ifs. We plan what comes next.

I installed two whiteboards in our house. We keep track of what needs to be done: revise the will, register the vehicles in both of our names, simplify the finances, write down passwords and discuss “The Will” with our two adult children.

The other panel is titled “Living Our Best Lives.” We may be running out of future, but we still have adventures ahead of us.

We are planning in quarterly increments: A trip to Europe in October to experience three of the world’s greatest opera houses, a walk on the beaches of Aruba in December, a rally driving school for Dean in June, celebrating our daughter’s 40th birthday in Hawaii in December 2026, and our daughter’s 50th wedding anniversary in May 2027.

But cancer doesn’t take a vacation in its head. I wake up with a stomach ache of despair and anticipatory sadness. What will it be like to live without my best friend, the man I’ve spent two-thirds of my life with?

We are busy so we have little time to indulge. Even as we pass the tissues, we make conscious choices to find joy and laughter. Sometimes we have a “No Cancer Talk Day.”

Dean enjoys training with his pickleball gang, playing online poker with his brother-in-law, and spending time with our grandchildren. He hopes to leave them many memories.

Dean describes himself as the luckiest unluckiest guy ever. He is calm about his decisions. He loves and was deeply loved.

We’ve discovered that you can find joy along the way even when there’s no light at the end of the tunnel. All it takes is determination to look for it.

This educational resource was created with support from Bayer and Merck.

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Our “Real Women, Real Stories” are the authentic experiences of real-life women. The views, opinions and experiences shared in these stories are not endorsed by HealthyWomen and do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of HealthyWomen.

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