Nathan W’s story

On May 30 2026, my life changed. That was the day I was diagnosed with Stage 3 bowel cancer.

There’s a very clear line in my life now: the Nathan before that day, and the Nathan after.

Before May 30, I was carefree. I was fit, healthy, loving the gym, and had just stepped into a new career in real estate — a move that meant more time at home with my family and a huge reduction in stress after two decades in big pharma. Life finally felt like it was settling into a rhythm that made sense.

There were no dramatic warning signs. No pain. No obvious red flags. Just a quiet feeling that something was different. I’ve lost everyone in my family to cancer – all different types, none hereditary, just terrible luck – so I’ve always paid attention to my body. I’d been seeing bowel cancer awareness everywhere, and my partner mentioned I seemed to be going to the bathroom more often than usual. That was enough for me to take a pharmacy bowel test.

It came back positive.

Within days I had a colonoscopy, and as I woke up, I was told I had cancer.

That was three weeks and two days ago (as I write this).

Since then, life has been a blur of scans, appointments, and emotions that hit like a freight train. CT scans. MRI. PET scan. Meetings with a surgeon. Meetings with an oncologist. Another colonoscopy to double check. And within 2.5 weeks, I was presented with a treatment plan — one as big and robust as the cancer it’s fighting.

My journey will be 12 months long:

• 3 months of chemotherapy
• then 3 months of chemotherapy with radiation
• then surgery
• followed by 3 more months of chemotherapy

This Wednesday, a port will be inserted, and that same afternoon, chemo begins. The fight officially starts.

I won’t pretend I’m not scared. I won’t pretend this is what I ever expected to be facing at this stage of my life. But here I am — and I’m not facing it alone. I have an incredible partner, two amazing sons, and a circle of people who have shown up for me in ways I’ll never forget.

My oncologist believes this cancer has only been with me for around nine months. The psychology of knowing something has been silently hurting me without my knowledge is something I’m still processing. But now that I know it’s there, I’m empowered to fight it back.

One day, one hour, one minute at a time.

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My one piece of advice:

I had no dramatic symptoms. No pain. No obvious bleeding. No weight loss. But something felt different. Not bad — just different.

So if my experience can help even one person, here’s what I want you to know:

• Listen to your body, even when the signs are subtle.
  You don’t need a crisis to justify getting checked. If something feels “off,” trust that instinct.

• Don’t ignore small changes.
  For me, it was going to the bathroom more often. Easy to dismiss. But it mattered.

• Early testing saves lives.
  A simple pharmacy bowel test started everything. Quick, private, inexpensive -and it gave me the information I needed.

• Cancer doesn’t care how healthy you look.
  I was young, fit, active. Cancer still showed up. Screening isn’t just for older people.

• Advocate for yourself.
  The system can feel slow, but keep asking questions, keep following up, keep pushing. No one will ever care about your health more than you do.

• Let people help you.
  I’m lucky to have an incredible partner, two amazing sons, and a strong support network. Accepting help isn’t weakness — it’s strength.

• Feel everything.
  Fear, anger, shock, determination — it’s all normal. You don’t have to be “strong” every second. You just have to keep going.

• Take it one day, one hour, one minute at a time.
  A 12 month treatment plan is overwhelming. But one step at a time is doable.

• Don’t wait for a wake up call.
  If something doesn’t feel right, check it. If you’re eligible for screening, do it. If you’re not eligible but something changes, still do it.

My life changed in a single day.

If sharing this helps someone else catch something earlier, then it’s worth every word.

One day, one hour, one minute at a time — that’s how I’m fighting. And if you’re reading this, I hope you take your health seriously long before you ever need to.