Cancer changed me. I am still figuring out exactly how, but one thing is clear: it has given me a completely different perspective on life.
Before cancer, it was easy to treat time like something I could always count on. Work, schedules, unfinished projects, and small frustrations could feel bigger than they really were. Then a fall on my dock became surgery, cancer, chemotherapy, another surgery, and a hospital bed where I wondered if I would ever make it home. That has a way of putting everything into sharp focus.
What matters is not complicated. It is Nichole beside me through one infusion after another. It is Alex and Avery needing their dad. It is my mom walking through the door, my dad and Marla sitting with me, Tyler and Wes taking their turns in the chair beside me, and Jason making the trip to Indianapolis so Nichole would not face that surgery alone. It is getting the boat out for a few hours when my body allows it, seeing the dogwood Wes and Rob helped me plant, sharing a normal meal, laughing with the people I love, and simply being home.
Cancer did not turn every day into a perfect day, and it did not make me stop getting frustrated by little things. But it changed the weight I give them. A lot of what once felt urgent is just noise. Time with the people I love is not the background of my life; it is the point. Life is shorter and more precious than I understood before, and the ordinary days I once took for granted are the same days I fought so hard to get back to.
It also taught me that being strong does not mean you are never afraid. I was afraid plenty of times.
Strength is being scared and showing up anyway. It is sitting in the chemo chair when you know exactly how you are going to feel afterward. It is getting another scan when you are terrified of what it might show. It is walking into major surgery because you know it is what needs to be done.
Sometimes strength is much less dramatic.
Sometimes it is getting out of bed. Taking a shower. Eating something. Walking around the block. Or admitting to someone you love that you are having a bad day.
I got through this by making the fight smaller.
I could not do three cycles of BEP in one day. I could do today’s infusion.
I could not recover from RPLND in one afternoon. I could walk to the end of the hallway.
I could not guarantee I would never have another complication. I could go to the emergency room when something felt wrong.
One thing at a time. One day at a time.
Cancer took a testicle. It took months of my life. It took comfort, certainty, and pieces of the person I was before all of this began.
But it did not take me.
Keep going
I am sharing this because testicular cancer is personal, uncomfortable, and easy to avoid talking about. Men are often taught to tough things out, laugh off pain, or wait for a problem to go away. I did some of that after my injury.
My message is simple: listen to your body. If something changes, get it checked. If swelling or pain does not improve, keep asking questions. Do not let embarrassment keep you from getting checked. Embarrassment is temporary. Your life is not.
If you just heard the words “testicular cancer,” you are allowed to be scared. You are allowed to be angry. You are allowed to have days when you do not feel positive or inspirational. Cancer does not require you to become some superhero version of yourself.
Ask questions. Learn about your disease. Advocate for yourself. Find doctors with real experience treating testicular cancer. Accept help. And when the whole journey feels impossibly large, stop looking at the whole journey. Handle what is directly in front of you.
To the guy sitting at home tonight staring at a pathology report he barely understands...
To the guy about to walk into his first BEP infusion...
To the guy who just lost his hair...
To the guy lying awake wondering whether he will see his kids grow up...
And to the guy staring at the ceiling of a hospital room wondering how much more he can take...
Keep going.
You do not have to win the whole fight today. You just have to fight today’s fight. Tomorrow, fight the next one. Those days start adding up.
Today, my scans are clear. I know the fight is not completely over; surveillance is part of my life now. But I am here. I am with the people I love. I am grateful. And I am moving forward.
Cancer took a lot from me. But it did not get to write my final chapter.
You can be scared. You can struggle. You can have days when you do not feel strong at all.
Keep going. You can kick cancer’s ass.
I am living proof.
PERSONAL ESSAY •