Is Your Name Still_____?

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by Christian Campagna 

The worst thing about having radiation blasted into my recently retired dick fifteen minutes a session twenty-eight days in a row is surprisingly not having radiation blasted into my recently retired dick for fifteen minutes a session for twenty-eight days in a row. The real horror starts the night before when that notification shows up on your phone “APPT: Complete eCheck-in for your visit on…” Anyone who regularly goes to the doctor knows about these notifications. You enter the same information every time. There’s no one time entry that can just auto fill them all so you don’t have to do this every day. If I am feeling particularly ambitious I might fill in three of them just to get them out of the way. Along with the other appointments I have weekly I’m spending a lot of time in these fucking portals. Does some eighty-seven year old woman with baked haddock crumbs all over her face having some sort of daily procedure also have to do this every night? Which senator do I have to write to for this to stop? 

I recently wrote some version of that opening line on Facebook and it generated all sorts of heart and hug reacts as well as heartfelt comments as it seemed the bit went right over most people’s heads. This is of course completely fine. People can read and interpret things as they see fit and whatever emotion that generates it feels good for me to receive it. One great part of this experience has been the outpouring of help and support from friends, family and strangers.

I was diagnosed with Stage 4 Metastatic Prostate Cancer on September 15 of 2025. It had spread into my bones. As with all of these experiences throughout this where you are waiting for a result, the first one was obviously the most difficult. I sat in a little office waiting for the door to open. Every time I heard footsteps or a shadow walk by my body would tense up. I swore I saw the bottom of a black robe under the door before it finally opened. Fortunately the urologist did not have a scythe, just a little stack of paper and a look on his face when we made eye contact that said “Hey bud, about to give you some shitty news, you ready?” He put the papers down on the counter between us and said “So we did find some cancer…out of those twelve areas we found a significant amount in nine of them.” He pointed out on this piece of paper which showed an image of my prostate. Above certain areas was what looked like one of those video game health bars that appear over your head. Most were almost full. I scanned the room for any bottles of red potion but there were none. Hmm, maybe I need MANA. Well, no bottles of blue liquid in here either.  

I didn’t hear anything he really said from here, just a general “We have a lot of shit to do and we should get you started sooner than later.” Yeah man, get this shit out of me, or whatever. 

I went out to the parking lot where I pictured thousands of people have probably sat and cried and had to contain themselves before starting their car. I didn’t have any type of emotion like that. I’ve always assumed if I ever received any kind of diagnosis like this I would immediately faint and then walk around sobbing hysterically for a month. 

I was reading something recently where the writer talked about how the person they were died the day they were diagnosed and they went through all the stages of grief for themself. I certainly get the idea of this old version of yourself dying, especially when you have no idea how long you’re going to live. Without really knowing anything yet, I immediately assumed I had maybe a year left. And yes I feel there’s an invisible shotgun pointed at the back of my head at all times. I’ve recently started therapy so hopefully that disappears. So sure, some version of yourself dies. I didn’t give myself time to mourn or go through all of the stages of grief though, I immediately went right to acceptance. Bargaining I touched on a little as I did have a high PSA back in 2020 and was told to get it checked and I ignored it. All of those what if’s disappeared as I met my team of doctors and realized I was in amazing hands and what they can do now is much more advanced than it was six years ago. (Turns out I have mutual friends from Gordon College with my oncologist. My last appointment we talked about the band Massachusetts The Burning Paris. It’s surreal but also I know I am getting good news when he begins appointments with small talk. Any professional isn’t going to open with “So do you like Fugazi?” and then say “Well it looks like the blood test is really bad.” So acceptance it was. I’ve successfully maintained this strength the entire time. It makes me feel good about myself that I have accepted this fate, especially almost a year later. 

I started my car and immediately called my girlfriend and told her. I then called my father. He had prostate cancer when he was a little older than I am now, which is 58. He spoke of how that went for him and I thought of how amazing some of the advances in medicine are now and how different an experience I would have. Although he’s not that old, in my brain I picture my dad having his procedure done in some dimly lit room while one of the doctors with one of those head mirrors on is smoking a cigarette. 

The real worst experience during this whole thing of course isn’t those goddamned portals, it was the prostate biopsy. I walked into this little room and was greeted by a team of four. As I got up on the table where I’d have to lay on my side I saw the cart of tools as well as a dozen little plastic cups. “Oh, are we going to be tasting different salsas in here after this?” I realized that’s where the twelve samples they’d be talking from my prostate would go. Horrifying, I know. A woman said they’d be getting the ultrasound ready. I assumed it was one of those things they rub on your stomach to see a baby. No this was a long instrument going in my ass to jab the area with a needle full of novocaine. After this the urologist said “We are going to start taking the samples, it’s going to sound like a cap gun going off each time we grab one.” Okay, also horrifying. I remember seeing the instrument and it reminded me of one of those long lighters you use to start a grill. I thought of how lighting a cigarette with one those was one of the worst ways to light a cigarette, down on the list in between “with an already lit cigarette” and “off a stove.” I yelped out loud when we hit six “HALFWAY THERE!” 

Obviously none of this is “fun.” The actual worst thing about this is having cancer. I’ve been having good results after going through six rounds of chemotherapy in the winter and five rounds of radiation on the tumors in my bones, and I’m currently about a third way through this final twenty-eight rounds of radiation where after I will just be monitored with blood checks every three months. Oh and I am on an expensive hormone drug. The last time I checked the cost was just over $200,000, of which I am responsible for around $12,000 a month. This was before the thirty three total radiation treatments, so I am not sure where I am at now. My job has great insurance, and thankfully with the help of crowd funding, myself included, and some social programs, people like me can put a significant dent in their payments, but this is something also just always hanging over your head regardless of your insurance status, the cost of all of this. 

Meanwhile the hormone has ravished my emotions and definitely changed me into someone who is more open and more vulnerable, but also someone who cries a lot. This drug, unfortunately, causes “dry orgasms” which is exactly what it sounds like. If that’s what’s keeping me alive then I’ll take that trade off. My PSA level has been consistently <0.04 now for months. (It was 20 at the beginning of this, and for a healthy man it should be under 4.) Maintaining a sense of humor and a head up during this experience is the only way to really make it in my opinion. I’ve also worked full time throughout all of this, essentially to test myself but also so I don’t slow down. I work for a telecommunications business which involves a good amount of physical labor. The company has been amazing and open to my different schedules every week, something many people do not get. 

When I told my sibling, who is trans, that one part of this treatment was the hormone drugs, they made a joke about how they’d love to be able to get some. Almost like it was unfair I got to take them. I know it was in jest, but, buddy, I’m literally dying.

Guy speaks into a micro recorder: 

“Movie idea. Man with cancer on hormone therapy drugs grows tired of having to enter his information into the portal every day and decides to stop treatment and give all of the hormone drugs to his sibling so they can live as a woman. No. Too progressive. Will never get made."

"Wait, wow about this. Man starts a political movement to stop the ordeal of having to use the patient portal every night before an appointment. There’s an image of elderly woman with haddock crumbs all over her face holding a smart phone looking confused on the posters. Will have to get in touch with Elizabeth Warren.”

Guy takes out micro recorder again:

“Clarifying that I mean to ask Warren for help with the movement, not to pose as the elderly woman with baked haddock crumbs on her face poster.”

Christian Campagna has a podcast/video channel and newsletter that are both named after R.E.M. lyrics, although neither of them actually talk about R.E.M. Check out the Talk About the Passion Podcast and Eviscerate Your Memory on Substack. You can find his Go Fund Me here.