The call came at 2:47 on a Wednesday afternoon. I know because I was staring at my phone, debating whether to answer since I was in the middle of a work meeting. Dad never calls during the day unless something's wrong.

"Hey kiddo," he said, using that voice he gets when he's trying to sound casual about something serious. "Got a minute? Need to tell you something."

My stomach dropped. You know that feeling when you instantly know your life's about to change?

"They found something in my prostate. It's cancer."

Those words just hung there in the air while my brain tried to process them. Cancer. My dad. The man who's never been seriously sick a day in his life, who still works on his own car and mows his own lawn at 68.

"But," he continued, "the doctor says it's the 'good kind' if there is such a thing. Caught it early. We've got options."

That conversation six months ago started the weirdest, most stressful, most educational experience of my adult life. And I want to tell you about it because when your dad gets cancer, suddenly everyone's an expert, but nobody tells you the stuff that actually matters.

The First Doctor Visit That Changed Everything

I drove to the urologist's office the next week to meet Dad and Mom. A woman in her fifties with an official demeanor, Dr. Sarah Chen wasted no time with small talk, something that had its appeal for Dad.

"Your Gleason score is 7," she said, showing us the biopsy results on her computer screen. "This places you in the intermediate risk category. The good news is that it appears to be contained to the prostate. The bad news is that we need to make a plan about what to do about it."

She pulled up this diagram of a prostate and started drawing on it with a digital marker, marking the location of the cancer on the digital diagram. It was a bit bizarre to see the picture of Dad's insides, and this doctor casually draw a circle around the tumor.

"So what are my options?" Dad asked.

"Well," Dr. Chen said, "that's where the waters get muddy. Twenty years ago, I would have said you could have surgery or radiation, take your pick. Today, we have active surveillance, various types of surgical approaches, various types of radiation, hormone therapy, and some other newer experimental therapies."

She must have seen the look of overwhelmed confusion on our faces, because she leaned back in her chair and said, "Look, I know its a lot. Here's what I tell all my patients: prostate cancer is usually a marathon, not a sprint. You specifically have time to think it through. No one should pressure you into rushing into anything."

This was the first piece of advice we received that was mildly useful, and it was not even about treatment.

The Research Rabbit Hole

After that appointment, I did what every middle-aged child of a cancer patient does: I went home and googled everything about prostate cancer until 3 AM.

Big mistake.

The internet is full of horror stories, miracle cures, conflicting studies, and forums where men compare their experiences in way too much detail. I learned about Gleason scores, PSA levels, surgical margins, nerve-sparing techniques, and about fifty other terms I'd never heard before.

I also scared myself stupid reading about all the things that could go wrong with treatment. Surgery could leave Dad incontinent or impotent. Radiation could cause bowel problems or bladder issues. Hormone therapy could cause hot flashes, weight gain, and depression.

By the time I finally went to bed, I was convinced my dad was doomed no matter what treatment he chose.

The next morning, Dad called me. "You look like hell," he said when we met for coffee. "You've been googling, haven't you?"

"Maybe," I admitted.

"Stop," he said. "I made the same mistake. Spent all night reading about worst-case scenarios and medical studies I don't understand. It's not helping."

He was right. We needed real information from real doctors, not internet horror stories.

Meeting the Surgery Guy

Our first specialist appointment was with Dr. Michael Rodriguez, a urologic surgeon who did robotic prostatectomies. His office was impressive - diplomas everywhere, awards on the walls, a model of the robotic surgery system in the corner.

Dr. Rodriguez was younger than I expected and way more confident than any human should be when talking about cutting into someone's father.

"Robotic prostatectomy is the gold standard for prostate cancer treatment," he told us. "I can remove the entire prostate with millimeter precision. Clean margins, excellent cancer control, minimal invasive technique."

He showed us a video of the robotic system in action, these mechanical arms moving with impossible precision inside someone's abdomen. It looked like science fiction.

"What about side effects?" I asked.

"Recovery of continence is usually excellent," he said. "Most men are dry within six months. Sexual function takes longer to recover, but with nerve-sparing techniques, most men see improvement over the first year."

Most men. Usually excellent. These were the words that would haunt us through every consultation. Nothing was guaranteed, everything was "most" or "usually" or "typically."

"How many of these have you done?" Dad asked.

"Over 3,000," Dr. Rodriguez replied. "I'm one of the most experienced robotic surgeons in the region."

Dad liked him. He was direct, confident, and had the numbers to back up his recommendations. But something about his certainty made me uncomfortable. Maybe it was the way he dismissed other treatment options without really explaining them.

The Radiation Doctor's Perspective

Dr. Lisa Park, the radiation oncologist, was completely different from the surgeon. Where Dr. Rodriguez was all confidence and cutting, Dr. Park was cautious and analytical.

"Radiation can achieve the same cancer control as surgery," she told us, "but with a different side effect profile and recovery experience."

She explained that modern radiation therapy wasn't the crude blasting of healthy tissue that people imagine. Using something called IMRT (intensity-modulated radiation therapy), they could sculpt the radiation dose to match the exact shape of the prostate while minimizing exposure to surrounding organs.

"The advantage of radiation is that there's no surgical recovery," she explained. "You come in for treatments five days a week for about eight weeks, then you're done. The disadvantage is that side effects can develop gradually over months or years."

She also told us about something called SBRT - stereotactic body radiation therapy - which delivered higher doses in just five treatments. "Same effectiveness as conventional radiation," she said, "but compressed into one week instead of eight."

The more we learned about radiation, the more appealing it seemed. No surgery, no recovery period, same cancer control rates. But Dr. Park was honest about the potential downsides.

"Radiation can cause bowel issues that surgery doesn't," she said. "Urgency, frequency, sometimes bleeding. It's not common, but when it happens, it can be permanent."

She also mentioned that if radiation failed and the cancer came back, salvage surgery was much more difficult and risky than initial surgery.

The "Wait and See" Option Nobody Expected

The most surprising consultation was with Dr. James Kim, who specialized in something called active surveillance. I'd never heard of intentionally not treating cancer, but apparently it's a legitimate option for certain prostate cancers.

"Your father's cancer is exactly the type we can safely monitor," Dr. Kim explained. "Intermediate risk, but not aggressive-appearing. We can follow it closely and intervene only if we see signs of progression."

The idea terrified my mom. "You want us to just ignore the cancer?" she asked.

"Not ignore," Dr. Kim said. "Monitor very carefully. PSA tests every three months, physical exams, repeat biopsies, MRI scans. If anything changes, we act immediately. But in the meantime, your husband maintains his current quality of life."

He showed us data from studies following men on active surveillance for ten years. About 70% never needed treatment. Those who did need treatment had outcomes just as good as men who were treated immediately.

"The key," he said, "is being comfortable with uncertainty and committed to follow-up. Some men can't handle knowing they have untreated cancer. That's a valid reason to choose treatment."

Dad was quiet on the drive home from that appointment. Finally, he said, "I don't think I can live with cancer and not fight it. I know the data makes sense, but psychologically, I need to do something."

The Decision Process That Nearly Broke Us

We received advice from three physicians, but instead of making the decision easier, it made the decision harder. Each of them had described their recommended treatment as the obvious choice, but they all could not be correct.

We bounced around the decision for several weeks. Surgery looked like the best and only chance of cure, but it came with immediate risks. Radiation was an alternative to surgery, but eventually, it could come with its own long-term risks. Active surveillance seemed rational, but emotionally it felt impossible to consider.

Dad was getting frustrated. During one of many family conversations he said, "Why can't someone just tell me what I should do already? I am not a doctor; I do not know how to process this decision."

Mom was terrified of each decision. She had read stories about men who did not respond to treatment or suffered terrible side effects from treatment. "What if we decide on the surgery, and he is incontinent?" "What if we decide on radiation, and the cancer comes back?"

I found myself feeling anger towards the entire medical establishment. How could a disease have multiple gold standard treatments? Could not these doctors help give us clear answers instead of it being left to us to decide?

Finally, Dr. Chen called us back into her office for another appointment. "I can see you are struggling with the decision," Dr. Chen said, "Let me offer some perspective.For your father's particular cancer, each of the three potential treatments - surgery, radiation, and active surveillance - provide excellent outcomes. There is no wrong answer here.

She leaned in and talked directly to Dad.

"The best treatment for you is the one that best fits your preferences and personality. Some men need to do something right away, and others are fine with watching. Some are more anxious about surgery than radiation, and you may be the opposite. Whatever matters most to you."

Dad's Choice and the Reasons for the choice

Dad elects surgery. Not that the cancer control is definitively better (it isn't), and not that the side effects may be less problematic (they're not necessarily better). Dad opted for surgery based solely on his reason, "I just want the damn thing out of me."

"I know radiation works just as well," but I just can't stand having cancer cells in my body, even dead ones. My preference is a clean slate."

He also liked the feasibility of managing the side effects right away instead of wondering if the side effects will emerge down the road, "If I'm going to have problems, I'd rather be aware of them than unanticipated effects will occur years later."

Once the surgery was scheduled, which was a relief, we planned the surgery with Dr. Rodriguez for six weeks later, so Dad could get into the best shape possible.

Surgery Day- the longest day of my life

The day of Dad's surgery, was surreal. We arrived at the hospital at 6 AM, and Dad was oddly calm. Mom and I were a wreck, and he appeared relaxed.

"I made the decision," he told us in the pre-op holding area. "now it is up to someone else."

Dr. Rodriguez visited to mark the surgical site and review the surgery for the last time. The anesthesiologist explained exactly what to expect during the surgery. The nurses were brisk and calm.

Then, they left with Dad and we started our long wait.

Surgery was supposed to take three hours. By the time, it had reached hour four, I was checking the time every five minutes. At hour five, mom was certain that something had gone wrong. The surgical waiting throughout the day consumed our entire being.

Finally, Dr. Rodriguez came to us at 2:30 PM dressed in scrubs, appearing tired but smiling. "The surgery went very well," he informed us. "The cancer was exactly where we expected it to be, and I removed everything with clean margins. The nerve-sparing went well on both sides".

We all felt overwhelming relief. Mom started to cry. I felt like I could finally breathe again.

Recovery: The Part Nobody Warns You About

Dad's rehabilitation was more difficult than we all anticipated. Not because something went wrong; nothing did, but rehabilitation is rough after significant surgery, even if things go smoothly.

The first week was the hardest. Dad was tired, in pain, and frustrated with the catheter and his limited activity. He was always independent, and all at once he was reliant on help with everything.

They took his catheter out on day ten. One might say - a cause for celebration, but, in fact, it was the beginning of the incontinent phase that Dr. Rodriguez warned us about, but, unfortunately, we didn't understand it then.

For the first few weeks, Dad had absolutely no control over his bladder. He had adult diapers on, and he couldn't go more than an hour from the house. For a guy who had been active and independent his whole life - this was devastating.

"I think I made the wrong decision," he said, on a bad day. "Maybe I should have just done radiation."

But Mom would not let him get low. "Honey, you made the best decision you could with the information you had," she told him, "and Dr. Rodriguez said this was temporary. We are going to make through this."

The Physical Therapy Nobody Talks About:

Nobody explained anything clearly before surgery, but recovering from a prostatectomy is not so much rehabilitation from surgery alone, but rather, retraining your body to do things it used to be automatic.

Dad started with a physical therapist who specialized in rehabilitation of the pelvic floor. Prior to dad's cancer, I had not previously heard of pelvic floor muscles, but it turns out they are important muscles for continence.

The thing was - the exercises looked like simple kegels - they just took discipline and time to consistently do a few times a day. He started to do them religiously, and over time he regained control of his bladder function.

The process was slow at first. He managed to get through the night without changing his protective underwear. Then, he could go on short trips out of the house without relying on a direct route home in case of an accident. By three months after surgery, he began to be dry on most days.

By the six months post surgery time frame, he was completely continent. He resumed all his normal activities. While it had been a slow and arduous journey, he got there.

The Pathology Report

Two weeks after the surgery, we met with the oncologist to review the prostate pathology report. This was the moment of truth - did the surgery cure his prostate cancer?

The answer was good.The cancer was confined to the prostate.The surgical margins were negative (meaning Dr. Rodriguez got it all).There was no evidence of the cancer found in his lymph nodes or elsewhere.

"This is the best possible news you could have received," Dr. Rodriguez said. "Your father is cures. His PSA will be monitored, but I would expect it to be undetectable."

The relief was indescribable.All the fears, all the choices, all the recovery pain - it was worth it.Dad was cancer free.

The Follow-Up Routine That Became Our New Normal

After surgery, Dad's life settled into a new routine of follow-up appointments and PSA tests. Every three months, he'd get blood drawn to check his PSA level, which should remain undetectable if the surgery was successful.

Each test brought some anxiety. What if the PSA started rising? What if the cancer had come back? But test after test came back with undetectable PSA levels, confirming that the surgery had been successful.

The appointments also monitored Dad's recovery from the surgery itself. Continence had returned completely. Sexual function was more complicated - it took longer to recover and required some additional interventions - but that was progressing too.

A year after surgery, Dad was doing everything he'd done before his diagnosis. He was working in his garden, traveling with Mom, playing with his grandchildren. The cancer felt like something that had happened to someone else.

What We Learned About Prostate Cancer Treatment

Looking back on Dad's prostate cancer journey, several lessons stand out that might help other families facing similar situations:

There's Usually Time to Make Good Decisions: Unlike some cancers, most prostate cancers grow slowly. You don't have to make treatment decisions immediately. Use that time to get multiple opinions and understand your options.

All the "Best" Treatments Work: For localized prostate cancer, surgery, radiation, and active surveillance all offer excellent outcomes. The "best" treatment is the one that fits your personality and preferences.

Side Effects Are Real But Usually Manageable: Every treatment has potential side effects, but most men adjust to them over time. Don't let fear of side effects prevent you from getting treatment.

Recovery Takes Longer Than You Expect: Whether you choose surgery or radiation, full recovery often takes months, not weeks. Be patient with the process.

Support Systems Matter: Cancer affects the whole family. Having good emotional support makes the journey much easier.

Not All Doctors Are Equal: Experience matters in cancer treatment. Don't be afraid to ask about case volumes and outcomes.

The Emotional Journey Nobody Talks About

In addition to the medical aspects of Dad's treatment, there was an emotional component that was similarly draining. The weight of cancer creates fear and uncertainty for family members that each respond to differently.

Dad approached his diagnosis by concentrating on the decision‐making and logistics involved with treatment as if that was the focus of his anxiety. However, underneath that calm exterior, he was fearful: fearful of dying, fearful of what treatment side effects may leave him disabled, fearful of being a burden to Mom.

Mom felt helpless...she had a desire to fix it, and found she could not fix it. She selected her energy towards gathering information and caring for dad, creating a sense of control for her.

I settled in accepting my father would not live forever, and my family as a unit, was dealing with something significant. There were times we were brought together, as well as, times the moment forced difficult conversation about topics we would have never discussed.

With grandkids, we needed to ensure they understood, grandpa was sick and it would be awhile before they could enjoy the interaction with him they'd become accustomed. It was a lot of work, ensuring the grandkids were involved, as well as, protected from adult concerns.

All of these emotions were typical for the experience, but no one prepared us for that. When you think of medical treatment too often you lose the psychological impact, the diagnosis can have with families.

The Financial Reality Check

One thing that surprised us was the cost associated with cancer treatment. Even with good insurance, it still added up quickly.

Dad's surgery alone generated multiple bills from the hospital, the surgeon, the anesthesiologist, the pathologist, and apparently other providers I had never even heard of. The bills all came separately, and figuring out what we owed versus what was covered by insurance required numerous phone calls to insurance providers.

There were also indirect costs. Dad was unable to work for several weeks post-surgery. Mom took time off to care for him. I used my vacation days off to manage appointments and to help him recover.

We were lucky that Dad had good insurance and savings available to address the unanticipated costs. But I realized that it could be financially devastating for many families that don’t have a good insurance policy or savings set aside to manage these costs.

The social worker at the cancer center told us about various programs that help cancer patients with costs, as is often the case, many families likely do not know these resources exist until they are identified as being needed.

The Long-Term Perspective

Life has returned to "normal" almost two years after Dad's prostate cancer diagnosis. He is well, active, and has had no signs of recurrence. His PSA remains undetectable, and overall, he has a very good quality of life. It is fair to say that the experience changed our family's perspective on health and mortality. We are much more proactive in screening and preventative health. Good health is much less something that we take for granted as we once did.

Dad often says that he is in a way thankful for the cancer as it prompted him to be more intentional about how he spends his time. He spends more time with family, is involved in activities that he likes, and for the most part, does not let minor things bother him.

For men who are facing prostate cancer right now, prognosis is quite good. Treatment options continue to improve over time and most men can expect that they will be cured or at the very least, manageable, to control their cancer for many years.

Most importantly, one receives good treatment, make good decisions, and have good support to be successful. It won't always be easy, but it is manageable and the outcomes will usually be quite good.

Dad's story about the prostate cancer has a happy ending. He fought cancer, he recovered from treatment and he is living his life. It was a difficult experience but, it helped unite us together as a family and force us to examine what is important in living life.

For anyone at the beginning of a prostate cancer journey, know that you are not alone, that the treatments work, and have every reason to be optimistic about your future.