Travel expert Rick Steves gives update on cancer battle

SEATTLE - In a Tuesday night post to social media, travel expert and guidebook author Rick Steves provided an update on his battle with prostate cancer.

Back in August, Rick revealed he would have surgery as part of his treatment and promised to keep fans updated. He has been advocating for open and honest conversations about cancer.

In his statement to X (formerly Twitter), the 68-year-old author said, in part, that cancer "permeates all corners of our society, and it’s nothing to be ashamed of or to hide."

Keep reading for the full statement from beloved Washington writer Rick Steves released on October 8.

"Thanks for all the support since I first told you about my prostate cancer diagnosis. I promised you an update when I shared this news back in August — and I’m happy to say that I’m home now after successful surgery and a night in the hospital. (Packing light for my homecoming, I left my prostate there.)

Since I was first diagnosed, I’ve thought of cancer as the latest adventure in a lifetime of travels — and like always, I’m excited to share a trip report with you.

My journey began with a blood draw to screen for prostate cancer. I was told that, at my age, a PSA score of 4 or greater would be considered "abnormal." So, when I got the shocking news that I had a PSA score of 55, it was like I’d been thrown into a new land fraught with mystery and uncertainty. Suddenly swept away from my general practitioner and into the world of oncology, I needed to make important decisions about things I knew nothing of… and I barely spoke the language.

In my case, I had options (basically non-surgical treatments or just cut it out). Caring people with strong opinions and lessons from experience weighed in as if in a debate tournament, competing in the interest of my health.

Psychologically, I was inclined to embrace the "ectomy" route — cut it out. And in my case (where the cancer is, how it’s acting, and my willingness to deal with — or live with — the side effects), it seemed surgery was my best option. After talking with my doctor and carefully considering each treatment strategy, I chose to undergo a robotic radical prostatectomy.

On the big morning, my alarm rings at 4:30 a.m.… and the day for surgery is finally here — certainly a high point on this journey’s itinerary: Drive through a sleepy world, check in, strip down… gown up. A moment of prayer with my surgeon and Shelley (my angel caregiver through the physical and emotional white water of this ride). Then, careen gracefully down the hallway on a gurney (feeling kind of melodramatic to actually live the POV of so many movie scenes) and enter the operating room — which is reassuringly filled with an awe-inspiring mix of masked-up experts, technology, sterility, and humanity. I give myself over to the crew that now holds my very future in their hands. The ventilation mask lowers… take three… deep… breaths… and…

I wake up feeling great, chatty, and making jokes I think are clever… clearly on some serious medicine. Thankfully, my doctor has a good report: Surgery went well, there was no sign of any spread, and the cancer seems to have been embedded deep in my prostate, which is now at the lab.

Before the surgery, I had two visions of my cancerous prostate: a small apple with an invisible rot at its core and an old dandelion with missing spores. My wish was the apple, and that’s what I got. But we won’t really know how "it went" until the lab reports are in. And that’s when I hope to hear the words "cancer-free."

But for now, I’m still in the next stage of this trip: "the road to recovery." Buckling myself gingerly into the passenger seat, I was overcome with thankfulness: that I live in a corner of the world where hospitals aren’t being bombed or flooded... that I have access to a brilliant surgeon and the best tech anywhere at Seattle’s @FredHutch Cancer Center... that I am surrounded by the love and support of so many…and receiving quality care in a major medical crisis with no concerns about crippling costs (which for a citizen of any great nation should be a civil liberty). Yes, I am thankful.

On my first day back home (when not napping), I read through cards and social media comments from caring people sharing experiences and cheering me on. All those good vibes, warm thoughts, and fervent prayers — while intangible — took on a kind of tangibility as they collectively worked to fill my sails with hope and strength to finish this journey successfully. Thank you.

It wasn’t so long ago that people called cancer "the C word," or if they called it by name, they did so in a whisper. As anyone who gets cancer learns, it permeates all corners of our society, and it’s nothing to be ashamed of or to hide — and when it comes to older men, it seems being tested for prostate cancer (a simple blood test you can request from your GP) is a smart idea.

As for me, the next step is to get my catheter taken out — after which I’ll be steep on the incontinence learning curve. Then, I’ll get the lab reports. (I’ll be sure to keep you posted.)

In the meantime, I’m making a point to celebrate the vibrancy that fills my world... to give thanks for everything that works well in my body... and to meditate on how communities, technologies, and livable environments that we enjoy are not accidental — they happen when good people care and do good things.

I’m looking forward to many more years of happy travels — and, of course, I’ll be sure to bring you along!

—Rick"