Still here.Still moving.
My cancer journey, the people who have carried me, and the faith that keeps me moving through the storm.
For those who do not know the storm I have been facing: on October 8, 2024, at 35 years old, I was diagnosed with Stage I colorectal cancer.
Nothing prepares you for the moment cancer becomes part of your vocabulary. Life separates into a before and an after. Plans become appointments. Ordinary days become valuable. You begin measuring time differently—not only in scans, treatments, and test results, but in drives taken, trails finished, photographs made, prayers answered, and mornings you were allowed to wake up and try again.
This is not a farewell, and it is not a request for sympathy. My prognosis remains very positive. This is simply the honest version of where I have been, where I am now, and what has kept me standing.
The road to today
The diagnosis
At 35, I was diagnosed with Stage I colorectal cancer. What began as a frightening sentence became the start of a fight—and a complete change in perspective.
Radiation and chemotherapy
I began my first course of radiation and chemotherapy. Treatment demanded more than I knew I had, physically and mentally, but I kept moving forward one appointment and one day at a time.
Another round
A second course of chemotherapy followed. I finished just in time for Rubithon 2025—and two weeks later, I was on the Rubicon Trail.
A new life
I was baptized. My faith had already carried me through the darkest parts of treatment; this was a public marker of the life and hope I had found in Jesus.
Surgery
I underwent major surgery to remove the tumor. It required real and lasting sacrifices, but it also gave me the chance to keep living—and I will never treat that chance casually.
A positive Signatera test
A Signatera blood test detected circulating tumor DNA. That result meant restaging, more uncertainty, and another treatment plan.
Back into treatment
I began another course of chemotherapy, with treatment and guidance from MD Anderson Cancer Center.
Still pushing
The chemotherapy finally got my hair. It did not get my resilience.
Two weeks after chemo
Two weeks after finishing chemotherapy, my brother and I took the LX450 onto one of the hardest four-wheel-drive trails in the world. The Rubicon is punishing when you are completely healthy. Doing it while my body was still recovering was probably a little crazy.
But it was also proof that cancer did not get to decide whether I was finished living. We spent three days covering twelve brutal miles of granite, broken parts, dust, recovery work, and unforgettable scenery. I came home exhausted—and more alive than ever.
The chemo got my hair. It did not get my resilience.
Faith through the storm
I do not pretend that faith makes this easy. It does not erase fear, exhaustion, pain, or the difficult questions. It gives me somewhere to stand when those things arrive.
Psalm 23 reminds me that even in the darkest valley, I do not walk alone. Psalm 34 reminds me that the Lord is close to the brokenhearted. Psalm 91 gives me a picture of refuge when life feels exposed and uncertain.
All of my strength comes from Jesus. I would not be here today without my faith. When my own strength has run out, His has not.
Psalm 23 · Psalm 34 · Psalm 91
Isaiah 41:10 · Philippians 4:13
2 Corinthians 12:9 · Romans 5:3–4
Please do not feel sorry for me.
Cancer has changed my life, but it has also given me a clearer view of what life is worth. In a strange way, I have been given the opportunity to live more freely—to stop postponing joy, cherish the people and memories I have, and be grateful for every ordinary day.
Do not carry sadness for me. Be thankful if this is not the storm you are walking through, and let that gratitude change how you live today.
No one fights alone
I may be the one sitting in the treatment chair, but I have never carried this by myself. My mom has been there through more than words can explain. My dad and my brother have continued to stand beside me. My friends have shown up in the difficult moments and made room for laughter in the middle of them.
I am deeply grateful for the Orsillos, Ashley, everyone in the 406 Cruisers community, and the many people who have called, prayed, traveled, driven, checked in, shared a meal, or simply treated me like Aaron instead of a diagnosis.
You have helped carry me farther than you know.
The road ahead
I am continuing treatment with MD Anderson Cancer Center. There are still appointments, tests, and difficult days ahead, but my medical team remains positive about the prognosis. So do I.
I am still driving. Still taking photographs. Still making plans. Still finding reasons to laugh. Still trusting God with the parts of the road I cannot see.
From here forward
This section will grow as the journey continues.
Still in the fight
Treatment continues. The chemotherapy has taken my hair and tested my endurance, but I am still pushing forward. My prognosis remains positive, my faith remains firm, and I am continuing to live the life in front of me.
