Will, 57
I worried that intimacy would no longer be possible in the same way and questioned what that would mean for my sense of identity and our marriage
When I was diagnosed with prostate cancer a few years ago, I was offered a range of treatments – hormone therapy, chemotherapy, radiotherapy. But the truth was that nothing would be as effective as surgery.
After much consideration, I decided to have a prostatectomy, which would eradicate the cancer, but came with considerable risks, including nerve damage that might result in erectile dysfunction. During the lead-up to the procedure and the weeks of recovery that followed, I worried that intimacy would no longer be possible in the same way, and questioned what that would mean for both my sense of identity and our marriage. In fact, and to my complete surprise, it’s transformed our sex life in the best possible way.
Lucy and I have been together for 30 years, and while the sex between us was always great, my libido was a lot higher. The fact that I nearly always had to initiate sex became a source of mild tension but, as repressed Brits, we just muddled through. Until my surgery pushed us both to speak more plainly – about how we’d cope if I did have erectile dysfunction, and what sex meant for us as a couple. In a strange way it gave us a fresh start.
A few months after I had my prostate removed, I came home one evening and found Lucy in lingerie, ready to rev me up. After initially proceeding with caution, we had some of the best sex of our marriage. Luckily, and to my intense relief, it turns out the nerve damage I have is manageable – as long as I take Viagra, I’m more than fine.
We’re now having sex once a week, and perhaps the most significant thing is that we’re better communicators overall, which is a silver lining of my cancer journey. To give just one example, because I’ve got to take medication an hour before sex, we now discuss if and when it’s going to happen without anxiety or resentment on either side. Sure, maybe that takes some of the spontaneity away, but what we’ve lost in mystery, we’ve definitely gained in mutual enthusiasm when sex does happen. I, for one, would take the latter any day.
Lucy, 54
All though the indignity of his recovery he never complained, never wallowed in self-pity. I found it so inspiring
When you’ve been a couple for as long as Will and I, you feel like you know your partner inside out, but watching him deal with his cancer diagnosis so bravely made me respect and admire him even more. All through the indignity of his recovery, with all the dressings and the catheters, he never complained, never wallowed in self-pity. I found it so inspiring, and felt such a surge of love for him and pride in being his partner.
While our children were growing up I feel I took care of us as a family unit, and Will took care of us as a couple. He made sure sex never fell by the wayside, when I could have gone without it for a fortnight or more without batting an eyelid at points. Then, right after I came out of the most hectic years of motherhood, perimenopause hit me pretty hard. Thankfully, HRT elevated both my mood and my desire, and the closeness and openness fostered by Will’s surgery changed my approach to intimacy in many ways.
The first time we had sex after his operation felt like a turning point. Because we’d been communicating so much in the preceding months, it was as if we’d hit reset on the dynamic between us, and could give ourselves over to pure fun. It used to be that we’d get into bed some nights and I’d feel a sense of obligation to be intimate, but now we chat about whether we’re in the mood, and it’s remarkable what a difference that’s made.
We’ve been going away to hotels for naughty weekends, and have built up quite the collection of toys. It’s been wonderfully bonding (and it helps that Will has become even more of a fox in recent years). Now I’m the one who will call if he’s stuck in traffic and say, “You haven’t got a Viagra on you, by any chance, have you?” I love surprising him after decades together – and, to be honest, surprising myself.
