In the Spring of 2023, I was diagnosed with testicular cancer. After a two week onslaught of doctor’s appointments, blood tests, scans and reproductive health consultations, I went under the knife for a left radical orchiectomy. Afterwards, all seemed well; there were no signs of cancer elsewhere in my body, and so I was put on a standard observation plan. A few months later, at my very first checkup, things went disastrously wrong. My bloodwork showed a very high yield of tumor markers, and the subsequent CT scans revealed that my cancer had spread to multiple large clusters of retroperitoneal and pelvic lymph nodes, as well as more distant lymph nodes in my chest, and a small spot on my lung. My cancer was uncommonly aggressive and spreading fast. I had no choice but to start chemotherapy immediately. Before I had time to process this monumental shift in my life, I was in the operating room again, having a mediport placed in my chest, and when I awoke, I was attached to the slow drip of the chemo. The next six months were the hardest of my life. My body did not react well to chemotherapy. By the second week of treatment, I had to be hospitalized for 5 days. My immune system hadn’t just tanked, to quote my doctor “it was gone”. At that point, my body couldn’t regulate even the healthy bacteria of my gut, which were spreading and making me extremely ill. Catching the common cold would have put me in a life or death situation. My immune system was thankfully able to bounce back during my 5 day residence at the hospital, but I continued to feel sicker and sicker. I could only get to my infusions by wheelchair as I was often too weak to walk or so dizzy I would fall, which happened on multiple occasions. I remember sitting in a wheelchair during a 95 degree scorching August day waiting for my parents to come around and pick me up in the car. I was wrapped in a warm fuzzy robe, shivering despite the oppressive heat. All told I went through four rounds of chemotherapy. I was hospitalized for 5 days on two separate occasions, lost 45 pounds, underwent three surgeries and received an emergency blood transfusion. It was brutal, but it also worked. By the end of my chemotherapy treatments, my scans showed no signs of cancer and my bloodwork had stabilized. It’s been a little over a year to the day since I ended treatment, and I am beyond thankful to say that there are still no signs of my cancer returning. However, my battle left me with many wounds, and a few scars that will never fade. It took me the better part of a year and countless hours in physical therapy to regain my strength and to feel like myself again. I’m left with kidney damage and constant sensations of both pins and needles and numbness in my feet due to neuropathy. Yet thanks to the unending support of loved ones, family, friends and my incredible, remarkable care team at Memorial Sloan Kettering Cancer Center, I am alive today and thriving in my life, and my future looks even brighter.

Through countless medical innovations and unfathomable amounts of research, testicular cancer has gone from a killer to one of the highest cure rates of all cancers. And through further research and study, the successes in the battle against testicular cancer may be passed on to the fight against all cancers. Until the cure rate for testicular cancer, and every other form of cancer, becomes 100%, there is more work to do. That is why I am asking for donations this Movember. Having lived through my battle with cancer, and been gifted a new chance at life, I wish for all people who hear the dreaded words “you have cancer” to be given the same. As you donate, I will grow out my mustache with pride this Movember. Thank you all.