Todd Walcott | Survivor
Location: Palm Springs, CA | Pronouns: He/Him
I first learned I had HPV in 2008, back when most doctors barely acknowledged it. They called it “something most adults get” and brushed it off like a common cold. But years later, after moving to Palm Springs, my HIV doctor decided to genotype the virus, and that’s when I found out I had strains 16 and 18—the ones most likely to cause cancer.
From that moment on, I was vigilant. I got my anus scoped annually, and for a while, it seemed manageable. The abnormal lesions that appeared could be burned off. But then, they couldn’t. What started as mild abnormalities (AIN-1) progressed into more serious stages (AIN-2), then even further to AIN-3—the last step before full-blown carcinoma.
And then, it happened. In just one year, those lesions transformed into stage 2 anal cancer. It came on fast.
Even before the official diagnosis, I could tell by the way my doctors spoke that it was cancer. After 18 years of knowing this was a possibility, the time had finally come.
The Hardest Thing I’ve Ever Been Through
Treatment wasn’t just hard—it was the hardest thing I’ve ever faced. Six weeks of radiation and two brutal rounds of chemotherapy with Mitomycin-C and 5-FU Fluorouracil pushed me to my absolute limits.
Chemo didn’t just strip me physically—it messed with my mind. I lost my ability to focus, to remember things, even to process who I was. Two weeks after my second round, I remember sitting there, asking myself, You like guys, right?—as if my entire sense of self had been erased.
Simple things became monumental. Drinking a glass of water had to be broken down into tiny, manageable steps. I knew what my job was, but I couldn’t tell you how to do it. Names? Impossible. My brain felt like it had been wiped clean.
But here’s the thing about a reset—you get to decide who you want to be when you come back.
Eight weeks after finishing treatment, my cognitive skills started returning. I began recognizing myself again. But I also saw an opportunity—to rewrite, rebuild, and step into this next phase of my life with even more clarity and purpose than before.
A Lesson in Strength and Advocacy
Both my radiation and chemotherapy oncologists told me I’d “do fine” because of my optimism. They made it clear: If you are a fatalist, you are done for. And they were right. Cancer forces you to confront everything about yourself—who you are, what you believe in, and how much fight you have left.
Would I willingly go through it all again? I honestly don’t know. But if HPV and HIV figure out a way to present cancer again, I know I’ll find the strength.
Vaccinate. Advocate. Educate.
HPV-related cancers are preventable. The vaccine came out after I was already positive—too late for me. But it’s not too late for others. If you have the chance to prevent this, take it. Vaccinate yourself, your kids, your loved ones. And if you’ve already tested positive for HPV, genotype the strains and get screened as often as your insurance will allow. Be your own advocate.
Because here’s the truth: My primary care doctor in 2008 didn’t take HPV seriously. Back then, maybe they didn’t fully understand its long-term risks. But we know now. And if your doctor still doesn’t? It’s time to find a new one.
“Vaccinate. This is a preventable cancer. Be your own advocate—because no one else will do it for you.”
