Letter to an Unknown Friend Facing Cancer
David R. Weiss – June 3, 2025

I’ve spent the past couple months participating in a study being done by the Stanford University Mind & Body Lab. It’s called the EMBRACE study, which stands for “Embracing Mindsets, Beliefs, & Resilience Across the Cancer Experience.” It’s focused on what you might call “the psychology of cancer” or maybe better, “the psychology of facing cancer.”

Research (including research done by the Mind & Body Lab) has clearly shown how our mindsets—the lenses through which we view the world—impact our capacity for healing. In surprising ways, our mindsets can amplify or impede medical treatments. For instance, if you view cancer as something catastrophic, that mindset can actually hinder your body’s response to treatment, while if your mindset is that cancer is manageable, something you can cope with, your body will respond better to treatment. This study explores how to most effectively support those mindsets that most effectively support healing.

You can watch a short 90-second clip about the study HERE. And learn more about the Mind & Body Lab HERE. And more about the role of “mindsets” in our human experience in a short 5-minute video by Alia Crum, the Lab’s lead investigator, HERE. Finally, a very recent presentation by Alia Crum on mindsets in health and human performance is HERE.

I can’t say much more than that because I’m only a participant in the study. Over a ten-week period I’ve read short pieces about mindsets and cancer, watched videos that feature cancer survivors and psychologists from the Mind & Body Lab, completed some short reflections about my learning, answered questionnaires about my cancer experience. and sent in blood samples. I’ll complete two follow-up questionnaires at a six-month and nine-month mark. I don’t actually know how my responses are being measured or used by the researchers at Stanford, but I can say that I’ve found my participation in the study rewarding and empowering. My understanding of the role our minds play in our body’s healing has been deepened, and I’ve had the opportunity to examine and refine the mindsets that are shaping my cancer journey.

Today, after watching the final video and completing the reflection questions, I came to this:

We have one final important activity for you: the opportunity to share your story with a recently diagnosed cancer patient. We hope the stories from Parul, Paula, Drake, Donna, Chris, and Anitra (cancer survivors featured in the videos) helped guide you through your journey. Learning from the experiences of others who have gone through a similar situation can help people feel a sense of connection and manage uncertainty.

Now you have an opportunity to share your own experience to help guide a recently diagnosed cancer patient. We would like you to take some time to write a letter to a patient who was just diagnosed with cancer and is about to embark on their own journey. With your permission, we will share your letter with a patient who has just received a diagnosis of cancer.

Please write your letter below. You are welcome write as much or as little as you wish. Even just a few sentences could support future patients. We suggest you include some (or all) of the following in your letter:

• Share a little bit about yourself and your cancer journey.
• Provide tips and guidance. What do you wish you knew when you started your cancer journey?
• Describe how and why your mindset was so important as you went through treatment.

Wow. For someone (like me) who takes writing seriously, that’s a big ask. No “few sentences” would suffice. So, I took some time to organize my thoughts, and this is what I wrote:

Dear friend,

Maybe you’re reeling right now. I know I was.

Unexpected. Sobering. Caught off guard. Stunned. In disbelief. Me? How?!

My prostate cancer appeared out of nowhere. No symptoms at all. A standard PSA test at a routine physical—always well within the normal range for the past decade or more—came back “elevated.” And not just barely or even markedly; it had skyrocketed.

I was referred to a urologist who, a month later, explained that my PSA score was high enough to “virtually ensure” I had cancer, but that even if it was cancer, he would work with me to come up with a treatment plan. He was calm and reassuring. Granted, it was my body (my cancer), not his. But I felt immediately like I had someone in my corner.

A month after that consultation, first an ultrasound and then a biopsy, confirmed the cancer. It was about 100 days from the PSA test to the biopsy results, at which point all those initial adjectives (unexpected, sobering, etc.) were reworked by fear. You often hear that among cancers, “prostate is the one to get.” It usually grows slowly. Is often a candidate for “surveillance” (i.e., just keep an eye on it) rather than more invasive treatments. But my cancer was aggressive and pervasive—still contained to my prostrate, but at real risk for metastasis (spreading elsewhere in the body). And metastasis is how prostate cancer becomes deadly.

When my urologist, at the same appointment that he reviewed the biopsy results with me, looked at his schedule and gave me the earliest opening he had for surgery, I could tell that even his calm had grown urgent. And so fear found me.

I think it was not irrational to be fearful at this point. I do not consider myself fearful of death, but as a 65-year-old husband-father-grandfather, I am in no hurry to die. The list of people and purposes for which I want to live is not short. And to find myself sitting quietly next to my wife on the loveseat while I (we) contemplated the suddenly real possibility of a future far shorter than we’d be planning—that was a stillness I will not ever forget.

Maybe that stillness is where you are right now.

Let me tell you something more. There is life beyond the stillness.

It is life that is undeniably different. The life you (and I—both of us) had before cancer is no longer accessible except as memory. But this life right now, with cancer, though it is surely not the life we wished for, it is our life. Your life. My life. And it remains possible—and important—to make the most of it.

So, what advice do I have? Well, first a caveat. I am no hero and no expert. I am muddling through this as best I can—and still quite in the thick of it. Still waiting, in fact, for my first post-surgery PSA test. My prostate is history (surgically removed), but given the aggressiveness of my cancer, it’s possible (likely) that sometime in the next 13 days (the date of my PSA) or 13 years, cancer and I will meet again.

I’ll be muddling through for the rest of my life. But I can offer a few thoughts that have helped me muddle well. I’ll name seven. Hopefully a few of them will be helpful to you.

1. Perspective is power. There are a lot of messages “out there” about cancer. Most of them—even the negative ones—have a grain of truth or an anecdote behind them. But this is YOUR cancer. More importantly, this is YOUR life. So, you get to choose how you wish to face it. And the mindset you adopt makes all the difference in the world. The perspective you take can give you power. It’s not magic. Your perspective won’t cure cancer, but it can empower you to face cancer well. The remaining ideas are some of the perspectives or mindsets that have been helpful to me.

2. Talk is cheap—except when it’s honest and authentic; then it’s priceless. I’ve chosen to be as transparent as possible about my cancer—including my physical experience and my emotional journey. This has been an important way for me to process everything for myself. But it’s also created unexpected opportunities to receive solidarity from others—and even to be thanked by others for putting words to an often silent journey. Whatever words you can find, so long as they are honest and authentic, will have link you to others.

3. Cancer is a team sport. Yes, it’s your body, but your life intersects with other lives. Pick some of those lives to be your team because no one can take on cancer by themselves. Trust your doctors and the other medical people you go to. They’re putting their expertise on your side, and they’re glad to be on your team. Just as importantly, in whatever way works best for you, weave a circle of support from family and friends. There are days you’ll feel alone, but those days will be fewer if you nurture connections to family and friends. I’ve found new depth in many of my relationships.

4. The most important place to face cancer is in your heart. I don’t mean the organ that pumps your blood; I mean that place where your hopes and dreams, fears and joys—and your deepest values and beliefs—hang out. In my experience, the best guides to facing cancer here are support groups, workshops, pastors, and good books. There are people who know this inner terrain well. Availing yourself of their wisdom (and sometimes receiving it in a community of others grappling with cancer, too) is a gift you can give to yourself. You deserve this gift.

5. Your body is ready for this. Well, no body and nobody is ever “ready” for cancer. But from your first wail at birth to your recent gasp at diagnosis, your body’s foremost longing has been LIFE. And it’s pretty good at it. Damn near magical in its complexity and downright wondrous in its capacity for growth, healing, and resilience. So, be tender with your body on the days it’s weary and achy. (Right after surgery my body begged for tenderness.) But also, count on your body day in and day out to be doing it best at being alive, at joining your efforts at healing and resilience. (In my case, Kegel exercises have been a godsend!) Your body is your closest partner in this struggle. Befriend it now more than ever.

6. It’s still your life to live. I don’t know about you, but I already had a long list of things I was involved in and committed to when cancer showed up on my doorstep. And while I may be waiting (13 days / 13 years) for the other shoe to drop, in the meantime I have found it unmistakably healing to get back to doing the things that bring me purpose and joy. From hiking to writing, from gardening to baking, from playing with grandkids to tending my elderly father, life is meant to be filled with living. Cancer may choose to tag along, but live your life not your cancer.

7. Give gratitude the last word. I am NOT always cheery and upbeat. Rarely so, in fact. But I keep a journal by my nightstand, and I try to end every day with a sentence of two that names something from the past day—occasionally extraordinary, more often mundane—that evokes gratitude in me. It’s a practice I began almost a year before my diagnosis—a way of easing the grip of low-level chronic depression—but since my diagnosis it has become a powerful antidote to the “not knowing” that cancer injects into a life. It is true—and will most likely always be true—that cancer is an unknown factor in my tomorrows. But by giving gratitude the last word on each just-completed day, I make a choice to approach tomorrow from a perspective of thankfulness. Even on my worst days, I can find something to jot down. And while the practice is writing words on paper, the habit it builds is looking at life expecting something good. And you’d be surprised how much goodness is there just waiting to be noticed.

Muddles—all of them. I suppose I could call this “number 8,” but I promised you seven, and I’ll keep my word. Still, as I said, I’m no expert and no hero. I don’t manage any of these perfectly—and you won’t either. But if you find a couple to keep you company as you aim to do your own muddling, I think they’ll serve you well.

Wishing you the best,
David Weiss
Saint Paul, Minnesota

NOTE: I’ve written a series of posts about my journey with prostate cancer. So far the posts include:
1. January 30: “When Cancer Comes Calling”
2. February 16 – “Waiting in Mutual Ambush”
3. March 11 – “My Prostate is History” (on the surgery)
4. March 13 – “Letters Before Surgery” (saying goodbyes)
5. March 14 – “Cancer Prognosis: Uncertain Grace”
6. March 22 – “Post-Surgery Incontinence”

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David Weiss is a theologian, writer, poet and hymnist, “writing into the whirlwind” of contemporary challenges, joys, and sorrows around climate crisis, sexuality, justice, peace, and family. Reach him at drw59mn@gmail.com. Read more at www.davidrweiss.com where he blogs under the theme, “Full Frontal Faith: Erring on the Edge of Honest.” Support him in Writing into the Whirlwind at www.patreon.com/fullfrontalfaith.