This one is not about prostate cancer or prostate therapy. This is my confession and apology to dog people everywhere. I’ll include cat people, too, assuming their experience may be similar, but I’ll restrict my references to dogs. I have often heard dog owners refer to their pets as “my kids” or “my little girl” or “my boy” and the like, and it has always struck me as slightly strange if not totally bizarre. After all, I told myself, they …

My beloved mother-in-law died just three months after I completed proton therapy for prostate cancer at University of Florida Health Proton Therapy Institute in Jacksonville. On that day we inherited and adopted Baxter, the perky little 27-pound mutt who kept her company in her final years. Baxter and I have been best pals ever since, and he has taught me a lot about life—lessons that are particularly valuable in my post-proton, post-cancer existence. Baxter was then (2010) about six years …

For us prostate cancer patients, life changed forever on the day we were diagnosed. Like flipping a cerebral switch, our view of the world was instantly reprioritized from top to bottom. Much of what once mattered little suddenly became paramount, and what may have seemed important often became trivial. We cancer patients know this, but the other people in our lives—our doctors, nurses, friends, and family—might not fully appreciate the intensity of this altered perspective on life. A closer look …

Q: How are you? A: Fine, thanks! And you? Remember when it was that simple? Not so these days, especially since my encounter with cancer. Since then, a different set of brain synapses trigger when I hear that question. It actually sounds different now, and the days of mindless automatic answers are gone. This came into focus for me when a friend recently asked me in an email, “How are you, Ron? Really.” The last word was a tipoff. She …