I’m proud of dad for opening up on prostate cancer

When my dad, Gerry Kelly, was diagnosed with prostate cancer in 2021, my world turned upside down.

Cancer is one of those words that lands with a thud. It changes everything instantly. One moment, life is ordinary. The next, you’re sitting with a knot in your stomach, wondering what the future holds.

And, if I’m honest, I might never have known that moment at all if it hadn’t been for my mam. She was the one who noticed something wasn’t right and, more importantly, the one who insisted dad go to the doctor. Left to his own devices, I don’t think he would have gone. That decision — her speaking up — changed everything.

People tried to reassure me at the time. “Ah, prostate cancer is very treatable,” they’d say kindly. And while I appreciated the comfort, it didn’t erase the fear. Treatable or not, it was still cancer. And it was my dad. The man who had always been larger than life, full of humour and energy, was suddenly facing something serious and frightening.

The months that followed were a blur of hospital corridors, waiting rooms, and whispered conversations. He had surgery, and thankfully, it went well. He came out the other side cancer clear. But being cancer clear doesn’t mean the story ends. It doesn’t mean life snaps back to normal.

What many people don’t realise — what I didn’t fully understand myself at first — is that the side-effects of prostate cancer treatment can last for years. They affect not only the man himself but the whole family. That was a lesson I had to learn.

And it’s exactly why Dad decided, in 2023, to write a book.

That book — Prostate, Piddling And Passion — isn’t just about the diagnosis or the surgery. It’s about the reality of living with the after-effects, the daily adjustments, the things people rarely talk about out loud. And, in true Gerry Kelly style, he told it all with humour, honesty, and absolutely no filter.

One of the moments that gained him the most attention was his appearance on The Tommy Tiernan Show. Sitting opposite Tommy, Dad produced a sausage to demonstrate how to use a penile clamp — a small device that helps men manage incontinence, one of the most common and often unspoken side effects after prostate surgery.

Where most people would have been too embarrassed to even name it, he turned it into a moment that was both hilarious and eye-opening. That single prop, and his willingness to talk so openly, got people laughing — but more importantly, it got them listening.

Which, as his daughter, was mortifying.

It wasn’t the talk about hospitals or bodily functions that embarrassed me the most. It was the talk about sex. I could just about cope with him describing operations and side-effects, but hearing my dad discuss intimacy in print and on stage? That was almost too much.

There were definitely moments where I wanted to crawl under the table.

But here’s the thing: it worked.

What embarrassed me made other people breathe easier. By tackling the subjects most people avoid — including sex — my dad gave readers permission to face the realities of prostate cancer without shame. Men who might have brushed things under the carpet started opening up. Wives, daughters, and partners found the words to start conversations they’d been putting off.

At first, I worried people would laugh at him. Instead, they laughed with him — and then they listened. His wit drew them in, but his honesty kept them there. Before long, the book was doing what he had hoped: breaking down taboos around men’s health.

I’ll admit, there was pride mixed in with my embarrassment. Seeing the response from the community was extraordinary. People stopped me to say, “Your dad’s book made me go to the doctor,” or, “It gave me the courage to talk to my husband about his health.” That’s when I realised the book wasn’t really about my dad anymore — it was about everyone it reached.

And it didn’t stop with the book. Dad became an ambassador for the Marie Keating Foundation, standing on stages and in front of cameras, telling stories and cracking jokes about topics that most people would never dare mention. There I was in the audience, half hiding my face when he touched on sex again, but knowing deep down that he was doing something important. He was making people listen.

Looking back, my own journey has gone from fear, to embarrassment, to pride. Fear when I first heard the diagnosis. Embarrassment when dad announced he was going to share every detail with the world. And pride now, seeing the impact of his words.

As his daughter, I know the quieter moments behind the humour too. I know that laughter sometimes masked worry, and that even after a successful surgery, there’s always a shadow of ‘what if?’ lingering in the background. But I also know that humour gave him power. It turned fear into something he could manage, and it helped others do the same.

During Blue September, Prostate Cancer Awareness Month, I’ve been thinking a lot about what dad’s story means. For me, the biggest lesson is simple: when we talk, we take away fear. Silence is where shame grows, but laughter and honesty cut it down to size.

So, yes, I’ve had to endure hearing my dad talk about things no daughter ever wants to hear her father say. But if that openness helped one man catch cancer early, or one family feel less alone, then every cringe on my part was worth it.

I used to think his story was mine alone. Now I know it belongs to everyone who has ever been too embarrassed, too afraid, or too proud to talk about men’s health.

And if that means my dad had to embarrass me half to death by discussing sex in public, or by waving sausages around on national television? Well, so be it. Because in the end, his courage — and even his comedy — is saving lives.