A Cancer Journey: My Prostate Cancer, Part 22

prostate cancer

For lack of a better phrase, I became somewhat of a walking miracle…

(not a miracle, of course, but quite explicable—a topic for another day)

Here’s what I look like today, compared to the featured image above taken about a year ago…

I’d like to think that, if you saw me in the street, you’d never guess I had so many advanced cancer journeys happening all at once with lesions scattered in my lymph nodes, bone marrow, prostate, bladder, liver, oil glands, and who knows were.

If I had to honestly characterize my subjective and objective emotional and physical state of health, I would say that at this very moment (noon March 19, 2023), I am not dying from cancer. I am living with cancer.

PS. Frank has lots more to share about his cancer journey but needs to take a breather for now. Profound gratitude to all who’ve had the courage to walk with him so far, even if just for a little while.

Author: Frank J Peter

A uniquely burdened and blessed citizen of the world thinking and acting out loud!

4 thoughts on “A Cancer Journey: My Prostate Cancer, Part 22”

  1. It’s rather relieving to know that someone so riddled with cancer can make a come back. You look like the picture of health. Congrats.

    1. Your reaction is quite appropriate, Jeff. I am indeed a poster child in many ways. Thanks for cheering me on, man.

  2. Whew! I came here and found your newest chapters, just after reading about prognoses (not encouraging) for the kind of cancer my friend has. Your good news helped set things back in balance for the moment. Thank you very much for spending the energy it must take to tell this story.

    And hey, the curly hair is back, and it looks like you are in the music room! Excellent. All best wishes to you. Rock on!

    1. Quite the roller coaster, indeed, Teresa. Learning to see things from the proper perspective is a never-ending process. Thanks so much for appreciating how much energy it takes to do this and special thanks for cheering me on. Your uncommon sensitivity, compassion, and courage to be here mean more than I can put into words.

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