My bucket list had one thing on it after a prostate cancer diagnosis

I walked into the prostate cancer clinic and immediately noticed I stood out like a sore thumb.

Among a sea of bald old men, there I was – dressed as a woman, complete with makeup and a wig.

I sat down in the waiting room and my mind drifted to the conversation I had with my GP just days before.

I’d done a prostate specific antigen (PSA) test and hoped for a score under four, which would indicate a result with no cause for concern of cancer for someone like me in their 60s. More than 20 would need to be investigated, but I was horrified to learn that mine came back with a score of 286.

Snapped out of my daze by a nurse calling my male name, I walked in to meet my young consultant and his jaw immediately dropped.

He must have seen the fear in my face too, as his opening remark was: ‘Don’t look so worried, you’re not going to die this week. You should have 18 months left – maybe 30 with treatment.’

My turn for the jaw drop. 

Thankfully, that was six years ago and I’m still alive and kicking. But I’ve had to face numerous hurdles as a transgender woman with prostate cancer.

Growing up in 1950s Britain, I always felt different to everybody else.

From as young as seven, I’d try on my mother’s blouses whenever I could. My friends were mostly girls because it felt more right for me.

But back then, there was no room for being different. Everybody conformed, nobody was out as gay or lesbian – let alone transgender.

So for decades, I dismissed, ignored, suppressed and stamped out my immutable desire to explore my gender identity. As a result, I married, had children and settled down – just like everyone else I knew.

But around the time I turned 60, something shifted. I couldn’t contain the voice screaming at me to break free any longer. 

So I started attending transvestite and transexual nights in bars outside the town I lived in. It was scary to step out in public as my true self, yet liberating.

This progressed to running and cycling while presenting as female, then full days out in nearby cities dressed as a female. When I came home each time, I’d swap back into my male clothes in the car. 

I formed supportive and kind friendships with cisgender women who were part of my fitness community. They called me Michaela and I experienced so much gender euphoria as a result. 

I decided to come out to my wife, who was shocked and very distressed – she can still find it difficult to this day. But we try hard and are succeeding in keeping our long, close, special relationship together.

Apart from my lifelong partner though, no friends, family, neighbours or colleagues had a clue.

Then, at the age of 63 – prompted by a Premier League campaign – I plucked up the courage to book a prostate cancer screening, as I had the symptoms of urgency and frequency in using the toilet. I also knew that my father had prostate cancer.

But when I went to my GP, she actually advised me that PSA tests were not accurate as they can sometimes give false positive results and lead to unwarranted interventions.

She handed me a leaflet and said that if I really insisted on a test, I could come back. But that was enough to scare me off. I was embarrassed and apprehensive regarding procedures anyway so I just left and forgot about it.

Besides, I was running half marathons and racing my bike at the time. All my blood tests were always perfect too, so I didn’t think I needed it.

By the time I reached my late 60s, the urgency became impossible to control, so I went to another GP in our excellent practice. The original GP who sent me packing had left in the intervening seven years.

I had a biopsy and three scans to find all the cancer. Then it was confirmed I was T4 – the final stage of advanced cancer.

Receiving the diagnosis shook up my existence. But actually, after being told that I might only have a year and a half to live, I wrote down a bucket list.

The top three items were: Be Michaela. Be Michaela. Be Michaela.

It was now or never to be my authentic self. 

So with the final few pieces of my internal jigsaw in place, I boldly told the world who the hell I was. Although surprised, neighbours, friends, and family have been accepting. And after a lifetime of denial the relief, joy and liberation was and still is incredible.

It’s just so good to do normal things like cutting the lawn, washing the car, popping down to the shops or going for coffee without driving miles. No more dread of being spotted.

Unlike many trans folk, I am not divorced or have lost contact with my family. We work out any problems together and we compromise. 

As for my cancer diagnosis, I have completed 20 sessions of radiotherapy – the hardest part was the monthly injections into my stomach of a powerful drug that completely blocked my testosterone. It was and still is debilitating and very fatiguing.

But the female hormone oestrogen opened up my range of emotions in a novel, interesting and remarkable way. And feminised me.

Remarkably, six months after my diagnosis, a consultant told me that my cancer was now T2 and my prognosis had increased to five years or more. I cried tears of joy when I found out that my PSA score had plummeted to zero.

Throughout my myriad of hospital appointments, I feel lucky to say that I was thankfully afforded the utmost professionalism, respect and never misgendered. My treatment by the NHS has simply been outstanding, besides that GP who initially discouraged a PSA test.

Today, I’m just living my life day-by-day.

I am pleased to recently be an ambassador for Tackle Prostate Cancer – an organisation offering peer support and safe places for prostate cancer survivors. I’m also a member of a support group called Out With Prostate Cancer (OwPC), which is aimed at the LGBTQ+ community.

For anyone over 50 years old with a prostate – no matter your gender identity – I want to encourage you to go to your doctor for a routine prostate screening. Even if you don’t have symptoms.

I have been proactive in persuading acquaintances to take the test and it’s saved two people’s lives so far. If sharing my story helps encourage others too, that’s even better.

As for me, I’m convinced that my cancer won’t return.

I want to live in peace and freely, while being treated equally and with respect. I’m thankful to have a great supportive family too.

After a lifetime of living a lie, I am at last free and proud to be a transgender woman, who is also a prostate cancer survivor.

As told to James Besanvalle

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