I was 19 years old and living what felt like a dream.
I was racing bicycles professionally in Europe, chasing a career I had worked toward for years. My days revolved around training, racing, and seeing how far I could push my body. Cancer wasn’t something I ever thought about. It certainly wasn’t something I thought could happen to me.
Then one day, everything changed.
I found a lump on my testicle.
Like a lot of young men, I didn’t immediately think the worst. I was healthy. I was fit. I was competing at a high level. Cancer was something that happened to other people.
Still, I got it checked out.
Within what felt like a matter of days, I went from being a professional athlete focused on my next race to hearing words no 19-year-old expects to hear:
“You have testicular cancer.”
The diagnosis hit hard, but what followed moved even faster.
I underwent surgery to remove my testicle and quickly learned that surgery wasn’t going to be the end of my journey. The cancer had spread, and chemotherapy was next.
Suddenly my life became scans, bloodwork, oncology appointments, and treatment schedules. The future I had planned for myself disappeared overnight.
Chemotherapy challenged me in ways I never imagined.
As an athlete, I had spent years testing my physical limits. I knew what exhaustion felt like. I knew what suffering felt like.
But cancer was different.
Cancer didn’t care how fit I was.
Cancer didn’t care how mentally tough I thought I was.
During treatment, I developed pulmonary embolisms—blood clots in my lungs—which created another layer of fear and uncertainty during an already difficult battle. There were moments when I wondered what my future would look like. There were moments when I wondered if I would ever feel like myself again.
The physical side of cancer is difficult, but what surprised me most was the mental and emotional toll.
There is a loneliness that can come with a cancer diagnosis, especially as a young man.
Your friends are worried about college, careers, dating, and weekend plans.
You’re worried about survival.
People around you care deeply, but very few truly understand what you’re experiencing.
At 19, I didn’t know another young man who had gone through testicular cancer. I didn’t have a community of survivors around me. I didn’t know what life would look like after treatment.
I wish I had.
Because the truth is that life after cancer exists.
Today, I’m more than a survivor.
I’m a husband.
I’m a father.
A TC advocate.
I’m the Chief Mission Officer of the Testicular Cancer Foundation.
Most importantly, I’m proof that cancer does not get to write the rest of your story.
My diagnosis changed the trajectory of my life, but it also gave me something I never expected: purpose.
Every day I have the opportunity to speak with newly diagnosed patients, survivors, caregivers, and families who are facing the same fears I once faced. I get to remind them that they are not alone. I get to help build the community that I wish had existed when I was going through treatment.
If you’re reading this because you’ve recently been diagnosed, I want you to know something I wish someone had told me when I was 19:
You are going to be scared.
You are going to have difficult days.
You are going to face uncertainty.
But you are stronger than you realize, and you do not have to face this alone.
Testicular cancer took me off my bike and sent me down a path I never would have chosen for myself.
But it also introduced me to some of the strongest people I’ve ever met, taught me what truly matters, and gave me a mission that continues to shape my life today.
Cancer became part of my story.
It just didn’t become the ending.