The Diagnosis That Changes Everything
Jason Collins announced Thursday he's fighting stage 4 glioblastoma, one of the most aggressive and deadly forms of brain cancer. The 47-year-old former NBA center—who made history in 2013 as the first active player to come out publicly—now faces a battle far more daunting than anything he encountered on a basketball court.
The disease developed quickly. Collins describes experiencing cognitive symptoms over the summer—memory loss, difficulty concentrating—that accelerated rapidly. By the time doctors diagnosed the tumor, it was already stage 4 and inoperable. Standard treatments aren't working because of his cancer's genetic profile, forcing him to pursue alternative options abroad.
Why Standard Treatment Isn't Enough
Glioblastoma is brutal. It's the same cancer that killed John McCain and Beau Biden. Survival rates are grim—most patients don't make it past 15 months even with aggressive treatment. Collins' tumor is inoperable, meaning surgery can't remove it. Worse, his cancer doesn't respond to standard temozolomide (TMZ) chemotherapy because of its genetic makeup.
That's a devastating combination. When the primary weapons doctors use against glioblastoma don't work, you're forced into experimental territory, hoping something else might buy time.
Collins has already cycled through multiple treatments: Avastin and radiation therapy were the first attempts to slow the tumor's growth. Neither delivered the results he needed. The standard care prognosis for his specific case? Eleven to fourteen months. That's the timeline Collins is fighting against.
The Singapore Treatment Strategy
Collins is now in Singapore receiving what he describes as targeted chemotherapy via EDVs—a delivery system designed to cross the blood-brain barrier and reach tumors that traditional chemotherapy can't effectively penetrate. This isn't standard care. This is experimental treatment pursued because conventional options failed.
His goal is straightforward but desperate: slow the cancer's progression long enough to qualify for personalized immunotherapy currently being developed. If he can keep the tumor stable for months, he might access cutting-edge treatments that train his immune system to attack the cancer cells.
That's a long shot. Immunotherapy for glioblastoma is still largely experimental, with mixed results in clinical trials. But when you're given a 14-month prognosis, you chase every possibility, no matter how uncertain.
The Man Who Made History
Jason Collins played 13 NBA seasons across six franchises, including memorable stints with the Nets. He wasn't a star—he was a role player, a defensive-minded big man who did the dirty work, set screens, and protected the rim. But in 2013, he became far more than a basketball player.
Collins came out publicly while still an active NBA player, becoming the first male athlete in major American professional sports to do so. That announcement carried enormous weight—not just for Collins personally, but for LGBTQ+ athletes everywhere who suddenly had visible representation in a space that had historically been unwelcoming.
His courage shifted conversations. Other athletes followed. The NBA rallied around him. Collins finished his career in 2014, but his legacy extended far beyond statistics or championship rings. He proved you could be openly gay and play professional basketball. That mattered then. It matters now.
Facing Cancer the Same Way He Faced Coming Out
Collins approaches his cancer diagnosis with the same mindset that defined his coming out: move forward, tell the story, and fight without holding back. He's public about his diagnosis, transparent about his treatments, and candid about the prognosis because he believes sharing his experience might help advance treatments for others facing the same disease.
"Avancer, raconter, et se battre à fond," he says—move forward, tell the story, and fight with everything. That's not optimism. That's pragmatism from someone who understands the stakes and chooses to engage anyway.
— NBA on ESPN (@ESPNNBA) December 11, 2025
The Reality of Glioblastoma
Glioblastoma doesn't care about courage or determination. It's a cancer that kills quickly and brutally, resistant to most treatments and almost impossible to cure. The five-year survival rate is under 10%. Most patients don't make it two years.
Collins knows this. He's not delusional about his chances. He's pursuing aggressive experimental treatment in Singapore because standard care failed and time is running out. The targeted chemotherapy might buy months. The personalized immunotherapy might extend that further if he can access it. But there's no cure on the horizon, no miracle treatment that's going to make this cancer disappear.
What he's fighting for is time—more days, more months, maybe another year. That's the brutal math of stage 4 glioblastoma.
Why He's Sharing His Story
Collins could have kept this diagnosis private. Many people in his position do, choosing to fight their battle away from public scrutiny. Instead, he's going public, documenting his treatment journey, and being explicit about the challenges he's facing.
Why? Because Collins believes transparency advances understanding. If his experience helps researchers learn something about glioblastoma treatment, if it encourages more funding for experimental therapies, if it gives other patients information about options they didn't know existed—then sharing serves a purpose beyond his individual battle.
That's consistent with how Collins has lived his public life. He came out not because it was easy or comfortable, but because visibility mattered. Now he's public about his cancer for similar reasons: because silence doesn't help anyone, and speaking up might.
What Comes Next
Collins is in Singapore undergoing treatment that might slow his tumor's growth. He's hoping to stay stable long enough to access personalized immunotherapy. Beyond that, there's no clear roadmap—just a series of decisions about which experimental treatments to try next, which side effects are tolerable, and how to maximize whatever time remains.
The standard care prognosis gave him 11 to 14 months. He's fighting to exceed that, to prove the statistics wrong, to find treatments that work where conventional approaches failed. Maybe he succeeds. Maybe the experimental therapies buy him years instead of months. Or maybe glioblastoma does what it almost always does, and Collins runs out of time despite doing everything possible to extend it.
Either way, he's approaching this battle the same way he approached coming out in 2013: with honesty, courage, and the belief that fighting publicly serves a purpose larger than himself.
Jason Collins made history as the first openly gay active NBA player. Now he's fighting the toughest battle of his life, and he's doing it the only way he knows how—head on, with transparency, and without backing down.