How did you find it?
Being gay, quite literally, probably saved my life.
I’ve always been a rule follower.
I stick to the right side of the sidewalk, hold doors open, and generally try not to be a jerk—unless it’s to stand up for what’s right.
(Okay, okay, my kindness and rule-following may not extend to my driving, but we’ll move on…)
Every fall—October or November, like clockwork—I get my physical. Whatever tests they suggest, I’m game.
I’ve been in a totally monogamous relationship for over 11 years, but I still get routinely tested for STDs/STIs. If one ever came back positive? Well, prostate cancer wouldn’t be the headline.
I started seeing my current doctor in 2017, at 35. Almost every year since, he’s done an “Anal Pap” and a prostate exam. Turns out, that’s not common practice for most men my age—but more on that in a bit.
They’re not fun. They’re awkward. But painful? Not at all.
Doctors deal with way worse stuff daily. A finger or swab up someone? Literally the least difficult or gross part of their day.
For five years, these exams came and went with relatively no surprises. There was a suspicious lab result a couple of years ago that could have been a precursor to this, but nothing definitive, and a repeat exam came back clean.
Then in November 2023, things changed. My (very adorable) doctor was mid-exam, knuckle deep, chatting away—as he does—and then stopped mid-sentence: “Oh…”
I never knew what kind of feelings and “Oh…” can elicit.
He’d found a “bump”—his word, not mine—and referred me to a urologist.
That set off the first chain: urologist visit, blood work, MRI, biopsy, and… ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
“Atypical small acinar proliferation,” or ASAP. It’s not cancer—just not not cancer either. It’s suspicious, and it means—you guessed it—another biopsy at some point.
According to the American Cancer Society, about 40-50% of men with an ASAP diagnosis may be found to have prostate cancer upon a repeat biopsy.
The first biopsy wasn’t unbearable, but it was far from pleasant. Turns out some folks get sedated—I was fully awake—I will be asking for the MJ Juice, Propofol, next time. You’re numbed locally, but you still feel the pressure. Sounds like an airsoft gun firing inside you. Over and over. About a dozen times.
The next four weeks? Pretty gross. I’ll spare you. Unless you’re curious. Then I’m happy to overshare.
In July 2024, we followed up with more blood work. Everything looked fine, so the plan was to wait until early 2025 to reassess.
Naturally, the reassessment in January/February 2025 led to… another biopsy. More blood work, another MRI, more tests. Then the biopsy. This one hurt less—and the aftermath was much less gross.
But this time, they found something: Prostatic Adenocarcinoma, Prostate Cancer. Honestly, I might’ve taken a bit more pain over that particular outcome.
It still shocks me that most doctors don’t screen men until they’re 45 or older. The average age of diagnosis is 68. But I know men in their 20s and 30s who caught it too late—and they’re in way worse shape than I am. Early detection changes everything.
If you’re a man, ask your doctor for a prostate exam—regardless of your age. No needles, no blood work. Just a finger. 13 seconds. Get over it.
My doctor being gay—and treating mostly gay men—probably saved my life. He does more anal exams than most, for obvious reasons. And since I’m monogamous and don’t tick some “high-risk” boxes, most doctors wouldn’t have even checked. But he did. If we’d waited, I hate to think how bad it could’ve gotten—like for the new friends I’m making along the way.
Prostate cancer doesn’t care who you are—or who you’re into. Every man should ask for a test. Every year.