Strength on Both Sides of the Stethoscope

This is a guest post by Michael Kreuter, 40, who was diagnosed with clear cell kidney cancer in 2025. He lives in Pennsylvania where he works as a medical assistant and orthopaedic technician.

2025 was a crazy year in my life. It felt like anything that could go wrong wanted to go wrong.

On April 1, I was at work and had the WORST stomach pain imaginable. I was 6 months out of gastric bypass surgery. Throughout the day, I tried everything I could to get it to go away but eventually ended up in the ER. Multiple tests and a hospital transfer later, whatever obstructions had occurred resolved on their own. As they were discharging me, my surgeon stopped and said “wait a moment, there is something on the report about a mass on your right kidney. I want you to see urology.”

They sent me home and I made an appointment.

On the Friday before the appointment, I received a call from the scheduler: “We are changing your appointment. They want to see you in the clinic at the main hospital instead.”

The day of the appointment, I met with one doctor who said, “I am not a kidney specialist, but we wanted you to be seen sooner and I had the opening.” I was doing everything I could to hold off the “C-word.” I had more tests scheduled, then got hit with an eviction notice (unrelated to the diagnosis, but still…)! In the span of a month, I had to pack up my home, find storage, and move, all while still working a full-time job and having testing completed.

June came, and I met with my surgeon. He said from what he could tell, there was a strong possibility it was a tumor, but since I was a 40-year-old male with no other risks, aside from an aunt who had kidney cancer, he didn’t want to just remove something unless he was sure. I got an interventional radiology biopsy and the results came back. I sat at work and looked at the results — renal epithelial neoplasm, favor renal cell carcinoma.

I met with my surgeon again and we scheduled my procedure. He said that the mass location was precarious, but he felt he would only need to remove it. Just in case, we discussed removing the entire kidney. He referred me to a genetics counselor to see if there was a genetic link.

July 23 was the day everything changed. I woke up after surgery in horrible pain. The doctor came to see me and explained that while they were able to remove the tumor, they could not get the bleeding to stop completely, so they decided to remove the entire kidney. I was prepared for that eventuality, but it was still a shock. Then, the results came in from pathology. I had Stage T1b Clear Cell Renal Cell Carcinoma.

I spent the next 6 weeks trying to figure out my new normal, healing from surgery and wondering how this could have happened. In the last week of recovery, I had a convention that I was staffing. It was the first thing from before cancer that I had planned. I finally started to feel like the old me.

I spent the next 6 months incorporating my new reality into my daily routine. I began having more anxiety attacks and spoke to my family doctor. He said he would be happy to help me with medication for when it got bad, but looked me straight in the eye and said, “Mike, you had CANCER. You had TRAUMA. It is normal to have anxiety after that.” He told me to keep doing talk therapy, which I had done for years, and reminded me that I already have the tools and support system in place. He was one of the few people to say the quiet part out loud. Other people close to me were supportive, but just as it was hard for me to say, the people around me didn’t want to say it and upset me.

I strongly encourage everyone to find someone they feel comfortable talking to about their experiences and challenges. This could be a professional therapist, support group, or trusted spiritual advisor. It’s not always easy to accept help — especially when it feels like we’re already placing a burden on the people we love during our cancer journey — but opening up can truly make a difference. People want to help, so let them in!

My most recent scans and follow-up appointments showed no new masses, so we moved to annual evaluations. I finally call myself a survivor.

Looking back, I still have questions — how I developed kidney cancer less than a year after a separate, major abdominal surgery, and how the mass grew so large in such a short time. These thoughts linger, but I have the support of my loved ones and an amazing team of providers on my side.

My strongest advice to anyone who asks is this: listen to your body. Only you know how it feels to be you. When something feels different, listen to that feeling — you never know which pain or symptom could save your life.