The Monarch, the Man

The Monarch, the Man: What King Charles III’s Health Tells Us About the Crown Today

I feel like all I do is give disclaimers, but I want to be clear. I am not a doctor nor am I in direct contact with anyone from Buckingham Palace. I am also not here to spread rumors, and anything I state here is either common sense or my opinion. It is well known that King Charles has been battling cancer for some time, and it has been my feeling, after reading all the news articles and seeing him in public, that his cancer is most likely terminal pancreatic cancer. While this is most likely debilitating, one can’t but help but remember he watched his mother “get on with it” for her entire reign; I am sure his sense of duty is leading any decisions that need to be made regarding treatment. It is concerning enough for me that his health seems to be the most talked about topic when it comes to the King, but I also have a feeling that the palace is downplaying the severity of the situation.

For all the centuries the British monarchy has endured, one truth has remained stubbornly consistent: sovereigns may carry divine symbolism, but they are never immune to human frailty. The Tudors knew this. The Stuarts knew this. And now, in the reign of King Charles III, the modern world is watching a familiar royal story unfold—one that blends duty, illness, resilience, and the weight of expectation.

Over the past year, King Charles has navigated cancer treatment alongside a carefully managed public schedule. His diagnosis, announced in early 2024, led to rounds of therapy and the occasional hospitalization—yet his recent appearances tell a more nuanced story. During a November visit to Chatfield Health Care, the King greeted veterans with warmth, made light-hearted jokes about his “plates and screws,” and appeared steady, if understandably slower in pace. He continues to use a CPAP device for sleep apnea, a reminder of the everyday realities even a monarch must manage.

What we are witnessing is not a tabloid spectacle, but the quiet choreography of reassurance. He is present, but selectively. Engaged, but mindful. The Palace remains discreet—as royal households always have—but the King’s visibility signals intention: the monarchy is functioning, adapting, and steadying itself in a period of transition.

Historically, royal health has been as political as it is personal. Henry VIII’s festering leg, Elizabeth I’s carefully concealed ailments, even Henry VII’s chronic worry that his own frailty might unravel hard-won stability—each shaped the monarchy’s image and authority. Physical vulnerability has always been part of the story, even when hidden behind velvet, ritual, and statecraft. Charles’s openness about treatment marks a distinctly modern turn, but the underlying dynamic remains ancient: a sovereign’s body is never entirely their own.

In many ways, his current health journey highlights the monarchy’s shift toward shared responsibility. Senior royals—William, Catherine, the Princess Royal, the Duchess of Edinburgh—have subtly expanded their roles, stepping into engagements the King cannot always attend. This is not crisis; it is evolution. Monarchies survive not because the sovereign is immortal, but because the institution knows how to bend without breaking.

What Charles models now is something previous kings had little luxury to display: vulnerability without abdication, illness without retreat, humanity without diminishing authority. The Crown does not weaken when a monarch shows their mortality. If anything, it reminds us why the institution persists—its stability is not dependent on youthful vigor or flawless health, but on continuity, adaptability, and symbolism.

Watching Charles III navigate treatment and public life may feel new in its transparency, but it resonates deeply with the long arc of royal history. For centuries, kings have ruled while wounded, weary, aging, or ill. The difference today is that we see it more clearly—and perhaps appreciate it more honestly.

Monarchs may be crowned in gold, but they reign in flesh and bone. And as ever, the resilience of the institution lies not in denying that truth, but in outlasting it.

To Your Majesty, please take care.

::curtsies in American::