My father has reached the age where, in his mid-fifties, he is at high risk for prostate cancer, and while I kept talking to him about going in for his routine checks, he is pretty stubborn and kept insisting that he did not have any prostate cancer symptoms. We would go back and forth on this point again and again, until I told him that I had scheduled an appointment for him and he was going to it whether he liked it or not.
We were all very glad that he did, because even though he didn't think he had any prostate cancer symptoms, the doctor did indeed find some cancer. The good news was that we had caught it in time and the cancer had not yet progressed and the doctors were certain that it could be treated with no complications.
All of the family was reassured to hear this news and even my dad who is always hard as nails, broke down and thanked me for forcing him to go in to get tested. It was a touching moment for both of us and helped us come closer together, and I was somewhat saddened that it took a terrible disease to help us communicate with each other.
My dad began his prostate cancer treatments and everything was going wonderfully, but then we found out that his brother who was also in his fifties was hesitant to go and have a check-up. Uncle John is two years older than my father and as stubborn as a mule, and he absolutely insisted that since he was not showing any symptoms of cancer there was no need for him to go and get checked out by a doctor. This was wildly frustrating both to me and my father because the evidence was staring him right in the face that sometimes symptoms do not show up in every case and that a routine exam was just good common sense.
His wife was the one who triumphed in getting him to go to the doctor, after threatening him with no more hot dinners until he went to see the doctor. In this case, he didn't have any cancer, which gave all of us another reason to celebrate, and even though he grumbled about having had to go to the doctor, he thanked his wife, my father, and me for caring enough about him to goad him into doing something for his help.
We were all very glad that he did, because even though he didn't think he had any prostate cancer symptoms, the doctor did indeed find some cancer. The good news was that we had caught it in time and the cancer had not yet progressed and the doctors were certain that it could be treated with no complications.
All of the family was reassured to hear this news and even my dad who is always hard as nails, broke down and thanked me for forcing him to go in to get tested. It was a touching moment for both of us and helped us come closer together, and I was somewhat saddened that it took a terrible disease to help us communicate with each other.
My dad began his prostate cancer treatments and everything was going wonderfully, but then we found out that his brother who was also in his fifties was hesitant to go and have a check-up. Uncle John is two years older than my father and as stubborn as a mule, and he absolutely insisted that since he was not showing any symptoms of cancer there was no need for him to go and get checked out by a doctor. This was wildly frustrating both to me and my father because the evidence was staring him right in the face that sometimes symptoms do not show up in every case and that a routine exam was just good common sense.
His wife was the one who triumphed in getting him to go to the doctor, after threatening him with no more hot dinners until he went to see the doctor. In this case, he didn't have any cancer, which gave all of us another reason to celebrate, and even though he grumbled about having had to go to the doctor, he thanked his wife, my father, and me for caring enough about him to goad him into doing something for his help.
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