Ron Cooper

I knew virtually nothing about cancer until I became a caregiver for my aunt Carolyn, who succumbed to colorectal cancer in 2000.

The day before I was diagnosed with prostate cancer, I didn’t pay enough attention to my brother-in-law’s arduous journey with Parkinson’s disease.

Being told to write was the best advice I could have ever received.

I’m mourning the death of a patient with cancer who I had never met in person, yet I loved and admired her just the same.

Finding humor in cancer has helped me cope.

Since I’ve become a patient and advocate, my social media algorithm now mostly shows cancer-related content. Here’s an open letter to said algorithm, or as I call it, “Algo.”

With a wink and wearing a mischievous smile, my friend “Charley” likes to relate how he learned about his diagnosis of prostate cancer several years ago.

My friend, Kevin, was like a brother to me, so I cursed cancer when he died, yet am thankful for the time that we had together.

When I was asked to speak to a youth service club about my cancer, they asked some meaningful questions, making me take stock of my experience.

From high prices in the supermarket to rising PSA levels, inflation can affect patients with cancer on more than one level.

Men often decide to tough out their cancer alone, but tough guy Terry Bradshaw is starting to open up about his sometimes-rocky journey with the disease.

When my wife surprised me with a prostate cancer awareness T-shirt, I realized that those small gestures matter the most.

Now that I consider myself as a prostate cancer veteran, I find joy in offering support to others who have fears about their disease and death.

As a survivor, I always urged people to get cancer screenings, and now I’ve found myself advocating for the COVID-19 booster shots, too.

Walking has played a key role in my cancer experience, as it helps my mental and physical health.

When talking about cancer, it’s OK to use profanities sometimes.

There’s a flip side to the trauma of cancer — a better appreciation of the small things in everyday life.

I recently was asked to speak at a banquet for my cancer center and saw that as a great opportunity to recognize those who cared for me.

I was shocked at a recent doctor appointment when practically nobody in the office was wearing a mask.

Cancer treatment-related osteoporosis caused me to shrink two inches.

As I reflect on cancer survivorship, I notice how important the camraderie with fellow survivors is.

While my wife has been an amazing caregiver throughout my cancer experience, I realized that it was not fair for her to continually be on the receiving end of all my negative emotions.

Looking back, perhaps a poem could have helped me tell my family about my cancer diagnosis.

I was approached with the opportunity to ghostwrite for an author who was writing about his cancer journey. I’m still baffled by the timing, but that experience shifted into my eventual cancer journey.

After experiencing cancer, I feel a profound sense of empathy for others in tough situations, from the war in Ukraine to COVID-19.

John Wayne coined the term, “the Big C,” for cancer, but I think it’s time that the capital letter C stands for something better.

Twice a week, my local Gilda’s Club holds a “Lunch and Laughs” group meeting with cancer survivors that has kept me grounded through COVID-19 isolation and beyond.

Many young adults seem to be throwing caution to the wind with COVID-19 precautions, but a neighbor of mine gave me hope for the younger generations since he was steadfast in protecting vulnerable people like me.

In spending just a few minutes a day on Twitter, I’ve created a support group with other cancer survivors who know how it feels to face the disease.

Here is a poem for cancer caregivers, who sacrifice their time with compassion and devotion to do everything they can to help an individual with cancer.