Robert Ginyard

My world was rocked when I was diagnosed with prostate cancer at the age of 48. Married to a wonderful woman and blessed with 2 amazing daughters, both under the age of 5, I could not believe cancer had made its way into my body. I was the guy others would call on to offer prayers and well wishes to those who fell victim to the disease. Never would I have imagined being on the receiving end of prayers and well-wishes extended to me by my friends and family.

Robert Ginyard speaking at the Patient Perspectives program at the 2025 AUA Annual Meeting. 

How could this happen to me? I thought I did all the right things in life. As a child and adult, I attended church, paid my tithes, and helped people in need. Sure, I did some things most kids do: fed the dog liver, peas, and broccoli under the dinner table when my mom was not watching; rode my bike further than just around the corner as I had been instructed; and bought illegal fireworks with my allowance money. Was I now being punished for all of my bad deeds?

My cancer diagnosis caused me to become deeply introspective. I was vigorously thinking and searching for so many answers. I was recalling moments in my life that might have been clues to valuable lessons I was supposed to learn that might have altered future outcomes—namely, not having cancer. Going through what I call the “looking in the rearview mirror process,” what bothered me most was that I felt I had not lived my life with a sense of urgency and intention. After being successfully treated for prostate cancer, I vowed to live my life with a fervent spirit and intention.

Three questions helped me live my life with intention and, as a result, helped me live a life of purpose after surviving cancer:

Who am I, really?

Why am I here?

What am I supposed to do with my life?

The first question forced me to look deep within my soul and list all the attributes that make me the person I am. The second question prompted me to take inventory of my attributes, gifts, and talents. The third question prompted me to review the answers to questions 1 and 2 and then determine how I can make a positive contribution to humankind while being true to myself.

This transformative experience has given me a deeper appreciation for life’s simple pleasures I often took for granted and overlooked, such as the beauty of sunrises and sunsets, the melodious chirping of birds in unison akin to a symphonic overture, and the tranquility found in moments of stillness and silence.

I now embrace the power of saying no. The freedom to say no without justification has allowed me to focus on the purpose-driven projects I say yes to. Additionally, saying no has also provided the social space I need to devote to my family.

My faith keeps me humble enough to realize that my purpose is not just about self-enrichment; it’s bigger than me. It drives home the point that there is an important balance that must be maintained between pursuing personal fulfillment and considering the well-being of others.

My time is no longer taken for granted now that I recognize that there is a clock of life that is not visible to any of us. You simply never know when your time is up. Living a life after cancer with purpose gives me a sense of urgency and directs how I spend my time to fully enjoy the human experience.

While I would have hoped the lesson of living a life of purpose could have been gleaned from a broken arm, falling from an apple tree, being hit by a truck, or nearly severing a leg at the knee with a chainsaw (all of which I have experienced), it was cancer that proved to be the lesson that pointed me back in the direction of my purpose.

P.S. Dear Cancer, I still abhor your existence.