Life-saving prostate cancer support shows treatment lessons NHS must learn

When people talk about prostate cancer, they often talk about treatments, surgery, radiotherapy, hormone therapy, and prostate-specific antigen (PSA) levels. But rarely do we talk with equal seriousness about the emotional side effects: the grief, the fear, the isolation. And yet, it's here, in the invisible realm of mental health, that many men tell us they struggle the most. And the consequences are devastating. Recent research has found that men with prostate cancer are over four times more likely to die by suicide than the general male population.

Behind that stark statistic are real people, dads, brothers, partners, facing not only the physical toll of cancer but a profound, often hidden psychological burden. At Tackle Prostate Cancer, a national charity made up of more than 150 independent support groups across the UK, we've spent years listening to the real stories behind those numbers.

And what we've found is this: for many men, being diagnosed with prostate cancer is not just a physical challenge, it's a psychological reckoning. Their sense of masculinity, their future, their intimacy, their role in the family and workplace, everything is suddenly in question.

I've worked in cancer charities for over two decades, including Macmillan, PCUK and the British Lung Foundation. But it was when I joined Tackle that I truly saw the quiet bravery of men supporting other men, not with platitudes, but with raw honesty and shared experience.

I've sat in community halls, function rooms, and on Zoom calls where men talk about the dark days, the post-treatment depression, the sense of being "written off," the shame they've felt about incontinence or erectile dysfunction. And in those very same rooms, I've seen something else, too: hope.

One of our group members put it powerfully when they said: "I honestly don't know where I'd be without the support group. I was in a really dark place after treatment, angry, withdrawn, and not sleeping.

"Then someone gave me a leaflet and said, 'Give them a call.' I walked into that first meeting thinking I'd say nothing. But I listened. And slowly, I spoke. And I haven't looked back."

At Tackle, we don't believe in passive sympathy. We believe in active solidarity. That's why our core work revolves around strengthening peer support across the country.

Whether it's a man in Devon walking through the door of a support group for the first time, scared and overwhelmed, or a black support group leader in London guiding newly diagnosed men through culturally nuanced fears, we are building a movement that says: "You are not alone. Your story matters."

Peer support isn't just comforting, it's clinically significant. It can be lifesaving. And yet, so many men are conditioned to "just get on with it", often seeing vulnerability as weakness.

That's why our Movember-funded project is so important. It's called Make Sense of It: Treatment Decision Support for Prostate Cancer, and it goes a step beyond general support. It trains volunteers with lived experience of prostate cancer to coach other men, especially in those fragile weeks just after diagnosis.

They're not counsellors. They're not clinicians. But they are equals. They are listeners. And in a system that can sometimes feel rushed or impersonal, they are the pause, the breath, the space to be fully heard.

Of course, prostate cancer doesn't just affect the person with the diagnosis. It profoundly impacts families, especially partners.

In recent months, I've also experienced this personally, as my own husband was diagnosed with an aggressive cancer. Suddenly, I wasn't just a professional advocating for better support, I was a partner, a carer, someone watching the man I love face fear and pain on a scale I never imagined.

And I've been honest about this: it's been overwhelming. Even with all my knowledge and all my networks, I found myself exhausted, unsure, and tearful at times. What's helped me most is what we advocate for every day at Tackle: connection.

Friends who understand. Quiet, meaningful moments. A safe space to be vulnerable. And above all, the reminder that none of us can do this alone.

One man's partner recently told us: "When he was diagnosed, I became nurse, counsellor, chauffeur, and emotional punchbag.

"It was lonely. But when I joined a local meeting, I realised I wasn't the only one feeling that way. I met other partners who just got it. I could exhale for the first time in months."

It's a sentiment I now feel in my bones. As a carer, your world narrows. The future feels shaky. And yet, there is strength in being seen.

That's why we're working hard to ensure Tackle's support extends to partners and families, because they need it too.

It's time to change the script. Strength isn't about silence. It's about survival, and that includes mental survival. A man who cries in frustration or fear isn't weak. He's human. And when he connects with someone who truly understands, something powerful happens: resilience is born.

That statistic, four times more likely to die by suicide, should be a wake-up call to all of us. Not just to speak, but to listen.

And to keep building the kind of spaces where vulnerability is met with empathy, not embarrassment. We're proud to stand beside men and their loved ones and partners at every stage, from shock to recovery, from surgery to laughter.

At Tackle, we'll keep championing their voices, growing our support groups, training peer coaches, and helping people rewrite what it means to cope with cancer.

This is why we are backing the Daily Express's Cancer Care campaign, to ensure all cancer patients have access to mental health support both during and after treatment.