Men's things XXXI: Can Intimacy Be Reclaimed After Prostate Cancer?

The Unspoken Battle

It is the unspoken conversation, one I have barely had with myself and definitely not with others, including my partner, my medical and cancer support teams.

When I was diagnosed with malignant prostate cancer in June 2024, the first physical urge that left me was sexual desire, as though someone had just kicked me in the balls. It wasn't pain, just a numbness of confusion and incapacity.

Preparing for the Obvious

Even for a man with African heritage and no need for machismo, I have been open about the bowel and bladder issues. I was quite read up on them and ready to attend to the matters concerned. I didn't want a catheter insertion for whatever reason, but incontinence underwear? I was ready to model it for men of a certain age and body, if necessary. I do like my underwear, and I have used linings too; the situation is manageable.

However, on the sexual part—the big mammoth in the room—I have ignored its presence and viewed it as part of the weight-bearing structure of that space, insignificant if it played dead and never moved. But 17 months after radiotherapy, with all things looking good, the mammoth is awakening from its imposed hibernation.

Weighing the Options

If I wanted sex, and I enjoyed sex, this diagnosis exacerbated and crystallised the ideas of sexual dysfunction in my mind.

In choosing the option for treatment, I first spoke to the consultant surgeon about the radical prostatectomy procedure. A year before, a men's advocate who had undergone it explained that the expert surgeon was able to save the nerves necessary to retain some sexual functions.

The surgeon was quite candid with me: my prostate gland was so enlarged that he couldn't guarantee anything could be saved of my nerves until he was in there conducting the surgery.

Imagining the Aftermath

As this procedure is conducted under general anaesthetic, the prospect of waking up to a surgeon trying to express happiness and sadness in the same facial expression was one I was not intent on seeing.

His professionalism and years of experience might have given him the skill as a comic piece, but it would have been a joke at my expense. “Mr Akintayo, we successfully removed the prostate gland. However, your sex life is gone; you're impotent. But we can make some interesting toys for you, to have some sensation and other elements of pleasure.”

I'd be crying tears of joy for being free of cancer, catheter inserted as there is no urinary control for months, finding where my pelvic floor is, and living happily ever after.

Then I ask, even if this smacks of medical paternalism: should surgeons be more proactive in discussing sexual health outcomes?

Learning from Others

Another friend had undergone the procedure a few years before. He, a straight man, came to me to seek advice about the kinds of sex I know. Much as I could have helped, I felt he needed to join a men's support group to appreciate the experiences of men in similar circumstances before thinking of this, because his views were explorative to my hearing, rather than developed.

From that surgery discussion, I knew it was not for me. At the same time, I needed that cancer excised because, whichever way you look at it, dead men do not have sex.

Another question arises: how do cultural expectations of manhood affect seeking the essential prostate health check-ups first, before considering the treatment decisions and recovery?

Radiotherapy and Its Consequences

As I took radiotherapy, the immediate and enduring side effects have been bladder related, with a few bowel issues. My sex drive is depleted by being unsure of ability and compounded by lacking confidence. It is also not something that can be addressed with bravado.

As you can read, I am tackling this issue alone because I do not understand this vulnerability enough to appreciate the kind of help I need.

The Medication Dilemma

Yes, I can get erectile dysfunction medication and pop pills like sweets, but that not only becomes a prop; it does not address the emotional and mental issues. Rather, it becomes a legalised version of chemical sex, getting a prescription from a pharmacist instead of illicit drugs delivered by a dealer.

The question then becomes, how many highs can I have before drug-induced priapism or severe hypotension with the risk of death is the danger?

Furthermore, because it has been offered, is the medical establishment over-reliant on pharmaceutical solutions rather than psychological support?

Rethinking Intimacy

As men, we are fixated with erection and penetration as the full expressions of sex; the absence of either or both feeds a kind of sexual frustration for the person and their partner. Does sex become a distant memory rather than a present experience with a hopeful better consummation, or are damaged goods being repackaged for a partner with different expectations?

For gay men, where physical intimacy and sexual expression often form central parts of identity and connection, the loss can feel particularly acute. The dynamics of same-sex relationships, where both partners understand male sexuality from lived experience, can create a unique space for empathy and shared problem-solving.

Yet it can also mean both partners acutely feel the absence of what was, and the uncertainty of what might be possible. The fear of being seen as “broken” or inadequate in a community that sometimes prizes sexual vitality can compound the isolation.

For straight men, the challenge often involves navigating conversations with partners who may not fully grasp the psychological weight of erectile dysfunction on male identity. There's the added pressure of traditional gender roles and expectations around male performance.

Meanwhile, bisexual men face both sets of pressures, depending on the gender of their partner, alongside navigating healthcare systems that may not fully recognise or address their specific concerns.

Regardless of sexual orientation, the fundamental question remains: how do you maintain intimacy and connection when the language of physical expression you once spoke fluently becomes halting and uncertain?

Confronting the Fear

Yes, I have literally thought through all this with a clear indication that I probably need to re-engage with a support system that would address many of the pertinent issues after treatment for prostate cancer. The questions are not abstract; they are real issues in existing relationships.

You might wonder, if I have managed the bowel and bladder issues that well, why am I struggling with the sexual one? Whether we like it or not, it defines, to a certain degree, manhood, manliness, performance, and self-esteem. Maybe, just maybe, this is part of the fear that stops us black guys from talking about men's things.

One last question: are Black men receiving adequate support and information about sex, sexual health, and sexual expression after cancer treatment?

Moving Forward

Yet we need to talk. Prostate cancer cannot be the last story, and navigating a way to fulfilled sexual satisfaction after prostate cancer treatment must not be greeted by the shock of the experience, but by the hope of new possibilities through therapy, support, and understanding.

How intimacy changes in relationships is a journey that has no clear answers for both parties, and that might not be the prospect a partner desires in what looked amazing before cancer struck and stole our virility.

Check your Prostate Cancer risk in 30 seconds.

Blog - Men's things XXX: Let's talk Prostate Cancer

Blog – Photons on the Prostate - A year from starting radiotherapy

Blog - A prostate cancer diagnosis, one year on

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A Google NotebookLM AI Audio Overview Discussion of this blog