Esteban was 44. Healthy. Athletic. Not the profile anyone thinks of when they think colorectal cancer.
The symptoms started in the summer of 2021. Blood when he went to the bathroom. Something was off. He knew it.
His doctor didn’t.
“She told me ten things it could be,” Esteban recalls. “Hemorrhoids. Diet. Try this, adjust that.” He went back a second time. A third. Each time, the answer was some version of: you’re young, you’re healthy, it’s probably nothing.
Lesson 1: Trust your body over the first answer.
Doctors see thousands of patients. They’re pattern-matching against probabilities. At 44, healthy, no family history — the probability said it wasn’t cancer. But Esteban’s body kept saying otherwise. The most important thing he did in those early months was keep going back. Not because he had certainty. Because he had persistence.
Then his stepfather was diagnosed.
Three days after Labor Day 2021, the man who had been married to Esteban’s mother for 27 years walked into a hospital and came out with a stage four colorectal cancer diagnosis. A mass that had completely blocked his colon. Sudden. Devastating. Esteban became his healthcare surrogate — showing up with legal documents, demanding clarity from nurses about procedures the older man had signed without understanding, driving to the hospital at night to stop a surgery that hadn’t been explained.
And while he was sitting in that hospital, reading test results, learning what this disease actually looked like — something kept registering.
This feels familiar.
He went back to his doctor. This time he didn’t ask. He demanded a colonoscopy.
Lesson 2: Sometimes it takes someone else’s diagnosis to hear your own body clearly.
Whether it’s a family member, a friend, a stranger’s story you read online — sometimes the thing that breaks through the noise is seeing it up close in someone you love. Don’t wait for that moment. But if it happens, use it.
Demanding the colonoscopy was the right move. Getting it was a different fight entirely.
It was October when Esteban finally got the referral. The gastroenterologist — the specialist, the person whose entire job is this — didn’t move with urgency. Consultation in December. Then: we’ll call you in a couple of weeks to schedule. Two weeks passed. No call. He called them.
“We were just about to call you,” the scheduler told him. “We can get you in for February.”
He pushed. Anything sooner?
“Oh, actually January 6th works.”
He took it.
Five months from first symptom to colonoscopy. Five months of a system that never once treated this as urgent — even when the referral was in, even when he had pushed his way to the front of the line.
The colonoscopy confirmed what his body had been trying to tell him since summer.
Colorectal cancer. Age 45.
Lesson 3: The system will not move for you. You have to move for the system.
Scheduling works on availability, not urgency. The gastroenterologist’s calendar doesn’t know you’re worried. The scheduler who calls back two weeks late isn’t malicious — they just have a full queue. The only person who knows how urgent your situation feels is you. Use that. Call back. Ask for cancellation slots. Ask what moves faster. Keep the pressure on.
“I wish I would have known then what I know now,” Esteban says. “Because now I know how to get seen today. If something happens, I know exactly how to get seen today.”
There was a second metastasis.
The cancer returned. This time Esteban knew what he was dealing with — and he knew how to fight it. He was aggressive with treatment. He was connected to the right people. He understood his disease in a way most patients never do, because he had spent the time to learn it, question it, research it, and talk to others who had been through it.
“I know that if I would have waited another six months the first time — if I hadn’t been so aggressive when I treated my metastasis — I probably wouldn’t be here. I know that.”
He’s still here.
Lesson 4: Knowledge is the second treatment.
The medicine your doctors prescribe is the first treatment. Understanding your disease — actually understanding it, not just being told about it — is the second. Esteban studied his cancer the way he studies everything: completely. What are the stages. What are the treatment options. What are the statistics. What questions should he be asking. The patients who advocate most effectively for themselves are almost always the ones who understand their situation most clearly. You don’t have to become a doctor. You have to become an informed version of yourself.
In the past year, Esteban has connected with dozens of cancer patients and survivors. He reaches out. He answers questions. He shares what he learned the hard way so others don’t have to.
Five or six of the people he met personally over the last year are dead today.
“That’s sobering,” he says. “That could have just as easily been me.”
He says it without drama. Just as a fact he carries — not to frighten anyone, but because it’s true, and because the truth is useful.
He pushed when the system didn’t push back. He demanded when the system moved slowly. He got aggressive when the system was passive.
He’s still here.
If something feels wrong:
Push. Push harder than is comfortable. Push until someone takes it seriously. Get the appointment. Follow up when they don’t call. Ask for anything sooner. Go back to the doctor one more time.
Esteban did all of that.
And he’s still here.
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