Al Plocinski: Finding Light After Testicular Cancer

Al Plocinski, from Johnson City, New York, was diagnosed with Stage 1a Classic Seminoma Testicular Cancer on December 4th, 2023. For over a year and a half, he had noticed a lump in his testicle, but was repeatedly reassured by doctors, nurse practitioners, and other medical professionals that it was nothing to worry about. They told him things like, “You’re gaining weight and having a child—you’re fine.” But he wasn’t fine. He had cancer.

On December 2, while holding his five-month-old son Elias, Al called a doctor friend and asked to be checked out. His friend agreed and told him to come in first thing Monday morning. That morning, the doctor examined him and immediately noticed something was off. When Al saw the look in his friend’s eyes, he knew something was wrong. After the visit, the doctor advised him to immediately get an ultrasound—so he did.

Around 1 p.m., his doctor friend called with urgency: “Al, you need to get blood work. Right now. The on-call doctor is going to call you. If he asks you to stay in the ER and stay the night—you’re staying the night!” Hesitantly, Al agreed. As he walked in to get his blood drawn, the call came.

“Al, do you have a minute to talk?”

“No,” he replied. “Just take it out. I’m sick of worrying about it.”

“Ok! No problem! We’ll see you in a couple hours. Just check into the ER right now and I’ll get things set up.”

The following week, Al received the dreaded news: he had testicular cancer. The mass on his testicle was 5.2 cm and diagnosed as a classic seminoma. There was some concern it might have spread to a lymph node, so he was scheduled for a PET scan.

His doctor advised him and his wife to visit Syracuse to freeze sperm in case they wanted more children in the future—so they did. After the PET scan and several consults, the results were consistent: Stage 1. The options were surveillance or 2 rounds of chemotherapy with Carboplatin.

Al found an oncologist in his hometown—the most calming doctor he’d ever encountered—who patiently explained the pros and cons of both paths.

Looking at his wife and son, the decision was obvious to Al. He opted for two rounds of Carboplatin. Having dealt with anxiety, depression, and PTSD, he knew he couldn’t live with the uncertainty hanging over his head. His doctor’s words helped settle his mind:

“Al, you have less than a 2% chance of it returning. Try your best to live your life and keep your chin up.”

Since his diagnosis, life has been—mostly—good. In November, Al learned he was going to be a father again. And this time, they hadn’t even needed to return to Syracuse. Another baby boy is on the way. They chose the name Everett.

Al continues to build an incredible career as a preschool teacher and takes pride in sending his son to the same daycare where he teaches. Still, the journey hasn’t been without its struggles. He’s experienced severe panic attacks, moments of deep doubt about his future, and undergone countless blood tests for peace of mind.

In 2020, Al lost his best friend, Frank—his rock, his closest confidant. Losing Frank left a gap that no one else could quite fill. But even in grief, Al finds silver linings. He’s surrounded by an amazing support system: family, friends, honorary siblings (he’s an only child), doctors, nurses, and coworkers—some of whom he now considers family.

As of April 11, 2025, Al leaves others with this message:

“Make sure you check yourself. Be an advocate for yourself and others. We’re in this together. Lean on your closest ones and hold them close to your heart. And for the love of Pete, don’t be like me and Dr. Google everything—that rabbit hole never ends well. Keep your chin up. There is light. You just have to open your eyes and see it.”