It’s oddly reassuring to rub elbows with famous people who had prostate cancer, like Dan Fogelberg, the soft-rock singer who grew up here in Peoria, Illinois. I can walk to the places he lived, went to high school, and to Bradley University where his dad was the band director and let him conduct a rehearsal when he was 14. Fogelberg’s songs like “Leader of the Band” and “Longer” were a mainstay of the soft-rock era of the 1970s, ’80s, and early ‘90s.
At a benefit for breast cancer in East Peoria, world-famous Sylvia McNair sang music from Broadway and opera. Between songs she spoke of being diagnosed with aggressive Stage 3 breast cancer in 2006 and how crucial her community of close friends had been to her recovery. Her diagnosis came out of the blue because she had no family history of the disease, ate a healthy diet, was active, and her mammogram was clear six months before the diagnosis.
I’ve read a couple of interviews that Barry gave after his diagnosis where he talked briefly about cancer, but the only writing I’ve found is three pages in his “Deterioration” essay that was published after his death in Embrace Fearlessly the Burning World.
Reading the poetry of Andrea Gibson is like coming out of a thick, brambled forest and seeing the beauty of the mountains rising all around you.
Andrea Gibson (they/them) died in July 2025 at age 49 after four years of dealing with ovarian cancer, but cancer will never be Andrea’s story. Before this, Andrea struggled with the serious side effects of Lyme disease and this ushered in a deeper understanding of the suffering that others go through because of chronic illnesses and disabilities.
As it is for my friends, the thought of dying is never far from my mind. It is a possibility, and my oncologist hasn’t said that I’m not, so I exist in a netherworld where I hold my breath and wonder when it will happen and how. He actually thinks I’m doing quite well. He said so, after I asked, because the dread of dying was weighing heavily on me that day.
By now you’ve heard that Joe Biden has prostate cancer. Even if you don’t know what this means, where the prostate is or what it does, you should realize that his cancer is serious and he will die without treatment.
What I know about Biden’s cancer is that it has a Gleason 9 score and is Grade 5, which means that it’s fast growing and aggressive. It is not the slow-growing kind that 80% of American men get. Apparently, he was having urinary problems, which is common for older men, and went to a doctor to get it checked out.
Today, April 1, I honor one of the saints of laughter – Gilda Radner, who looked for humor in the midst of her cancer, and found it. She bore witness to the power of comedy, and is one of my Holy Fools.
You probably remember Gilda from Saturday Night Live. She died of ovarian cancer in 1989 at age 42, and her husband Gene Wilder was devastated. A speaker from Gilda’s Club in Chicago met with my cancer support group and talked about how they are helping people navigate through their cancer. The Club was created to continue the hope and support that Gilda found in The Wellness Community in Santa Monica as she went through treatments. Her book It’s Always Something records her journey though surgery and chemotherapy, and it was published shortly before her death.
