July 10, 2018 
“You should write something,” she said, “like, ‘I’m still here.’”
As in, I’m still alive.
It’s my 11th year now – 10 years and counting – since they found cancer in my pelvic lymph nodes. In this decade of the ups and downs of cancer, I find that I pass milestones less frequently, my self-discoveries strike increasingly sporadically, the observations at the cancer clinic dawn less often. Yet one thing remains all too consistent: the disappearance of a fellow cancerian, never mind the precise genus of cancer, into the vanishing point of memory. What was her name? Celeste? Yes, that’s it. Celeste.
My cancer journey has been long enough now to ignite a singular light, which could even serve as a True North, of a sort, for almost every cancerian: the beacon of hope. There’s always hope. But reasonable hope, to be sure. Not faux hope that’s wishful, or fantastical, or even pie-in-the-sky. And certainly not the crossed fingers that put some cancerians on life support in the ersatz hope that something unknown today may, out of the clear blue, abruptly announce an arrival tomorrow, and, voilà – we’ll all be cured!
No, reasonable hope approaches in steps, incrementally, their tracks to be read for a saving grace. Since my diagnosis on March 26, 2007, seven new drugs for prostate cancer have jumped the hoops of federal approval. Seven, in large measure the product of Mike Milken and the Prostate Cancer Foundation he founded.
Thank you, Mike; thank you, PCF.
Which brings me to my most recent six-month check-up. PSA – you can argue the pros and cons of PSA as a screening and diagnostic tool – nonetheless remains the gold standard for monitoring a contest with prostate cancer, and the lower your PSA number, the better. And my PSA, on an early Wednesday morning in May, was a negligible 0.08 ng/mL. That was up a trifling 0.01 over the past six months. Heck, the rise may even be within some margin of error, or the result of rounding or…or…
0.08. Ten years in. Not bad, considering that my surgeon, after reading the pathologist’s post-surgery findings to me, advised me that he had another patient just like me, a patient with cancer in his lymph nodes, who was still alive six years after surgery. All this news stunned me – my cancerous lymph nodes, the metastatic march of my cancer, another’s ephemeral six years of survival – it all sounded to me, and there are no words to cushion this for a soft-landing, like some sort of indeterminate death sentence.
Which is not to say that I’ve beat cancer, or that some oncologic god has called, “Olly olly in come free!” No, just that, for the nonce, I’m holding my own in Stage 4-land (there is no Stage 5). Holding my own as doctors continue their search for an eighth, a ninth, even a tenth drug. Holding my own as they experiment with the optimal timing and/or combinations of these new drugs: When do you get the best results with X? Should Y drug be administered in concert with Z drug? Should an old drug be retrieved from the shelf and used in a new way?
Someday – hopefully soon – we should know the answers to these questions, know what is today unknown. Reasonable hope, yes; but the question still hovers above all: when?
Meantime, I’m still here.
My First Cancer 
Thank you for your blog. Newly diagnosed and glad for your ongoing strength.
Dear Sir – I am so sorry to hear of your plight. I am delighted to read of your joys. My beloved passed last year on Sept. 6th after his battle despite a radical surgery in 2004. The prostate cancer attached to his spine. Ultimately… I ‘m using your blog to urge men of any age to endure the annual rectal exam. It can’t can’t be any worse than what I experience during an women’s annual. Jim was 60 before he did. He was already at a 6:8. Good luck. Greater health. Men, please make the choice that could save your lives. Thank you. – Kelly
I am so thankful that you are here and for your courage in this, your eleventh year. Take very good care.
Thank you for sharing your inspiring journey, Bill. Happy to celebrate along with you!!
Look forward to seeing you in November. Sending many good wishes always.
Annette Margolis Klein
Bill, glad things are still working out for you. Hope it continues!
Hooray, for YOU! That is most encouraging. I still fight the hidden battle of breast cancer. My first diagnosis was 14 years ago. Second diagnosis and mastectomy, three years ago,.last lumpectomy two years ago. I am on drugs, drugs , drugs. However, I am working part time as a photographer and marketing agent. I will not be defeated. It is so wonderful to read your blog and know that you are not giving up either. There is too much life to live.!!!!
So this is your “First Cancer”. Is there a 2nd, 3rd…? How many do you get? Is there a waiting list? 🙂 All kidding aside, thank you for being a fighter – this is the only way, what was a former death sentence, will be beat. Hope to see ya at your WHS ’61 reunion next month. Chuck Klein
Thank you for sharing your news and the work that has been done to beat cancer. Keep up the fight! I admire your tenacity! Prayers and hope for all of us to beat this !
God Bless & a big Hug to you,
Char ( Baas) Kuwatch
Sure glad you are still here Bill. When I first saw your cancer blog, it seemed a foregone conclusion, that at stage 4, you had precious little time left on this earth. It is just amazing what the right doctors, the right drugs and a fantastic attitude have gotten you to a great place in life with many more years to go too. Keep on a kicking. Wanna see you at the 60th!!
Keep fighting! I am 13 years out from lung cancer. Luckily only needed surgery. David Frolich
Your confrontation, your offensive in a battle that threatens all men, that raises on their brows the sweat of fear, is inspirational. I’ve dug the trenches, stacked the sandbags, and set the sentries on vigilant watch. With your intelligence from the front I feel uplifted; your reports are more than hopeful, they’re fortifying. Our strategy is valid: Know all that you can, as soon as you can. That way, you stand the best chance of surviving the attack.
Thanks, Bill, for a great fight among hearty, worthy comrades. You picked a superb team. My intuition spikes hope among the rest of us. You’ve done–and you’re doing–heroic action.
I am sooooo glad you’re winning! To the best of my knowledge, Curry, you’re someone who deserves to be alive at 98 or beyond (which is NOT to say that all victims of any kind of cancer didn’t).
Lifelong friend Bill…as an ole Pleasant Ridge-ian, your don’t GLOSS anything over ! ! Continue to tell it like it is.. those years of news writing, etc.. shine thru and thru! Next time you make it to Cincy.. with some notice, and on a Tuesday or Wed night, I promise to sing all your favorite Great American Songbook tunes at Sorrento’s..so just be there.. whenever you can !!! We are proud of your efforts, your grit, and most of all, your courage. We all can benefit from it.
I am among many who are glad you are still here!! Your articles are always so positive! Gives hope at a time when sometimes it’s hard to remain positive! Keep up the good fight!
Dear Bill, such good news and so glad u shared it with me. How’s the grandma and grandpa roles going. So much fun isn’t it? I’m back in the Berkshires for this month. Lots of activities. Plays, Tanglewood, hikes, visiting historic sites. Went to Hyde Park Ny. Roosevelt Museum was wonderful. All redone apparently. How’s ur mother-in-law doing ? Any trips planned?love you, Hazel
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Hey Cuz! I was about to solicit others for your email address just to check-in on you for I hadn’t heard anything from you in quite some time. So glad that you are still well considering the circumstances and all that could have gone worse in the long run. The long run is what you’re all about. Sadly, many like you have fallen along the way but you have not only stood strong yourself, but stood so admirably strong for so many more like you. My many kudos, and hugs to you!
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Always a pleasure, Bill, to find your blog post in my inbox. Like you, I’m almost 10 years from treatment—which in light of the new drugs and new protocols seems to have occurred back in the oncologic dark ages. Nevertheless, like you, my most recent PSA remains at 0.08. NED: no evidence of disease. Hooray. Nevertheless, like you, the Damoclean sword of recurrence dangles there permanently. Once again I was reminded this month by the death of fellow cancerian Randy and of Bill before him and other names not forgotten just how fortunate we are to be here still. May our meantimes continue for many years.
Bill, Darrell and I are so happy for you! And Becky! Reasonable hope is wise and strong. My good friend Terri just lost her battle (kidney to lung cancer) at age 61 after 18 months. She had reasonable hope and always kept her sense of humor which was amazing. You and she are very inspiring to us to live each moment and count the blessings. Birthday coming up…so Happy Day in advance.
Thanks for the update, Bill. I’m sure your column has helped others facing a similar ordeal. Hope to see you one of these days — before we all get too old!
Terry Pristin
Great to hear the latest results Bill.
Cheers, Paul
once again, well written. I’m looking forward to many more posts.
Thanks Bill for the article – You continue to shine as a light of hope to many.
Andy Grant
Hip, hip, hooraaaaaaaayyyyy!!! 🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉 Thx for keeping us on the loop, Bill, and godspeed ahead!!! 😘😘 kate
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Bravo, Bill!
Sherry Nebel
So glad you’re still here and continue to find a way to make us all hopeful and grateful. Good news about your test. Thanks for sharing. Vicki Shepard Powers
Bill,
As always… thanks for sharing. Can I email this to the Woodward 61 classmates?
Carol Carol Pearce quizp@aol.com
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Loved reading this. Good to hear from you. Any travels? Doing much photography?
Colleen Kerrigan
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Great article Bill and we are so happy you are still here! Ann and Les