My name is Luca. I am Italian and 54 years old.

I come from Lucania, in southern Italy. For 25 years, I worked in Milan before deciding to return home. I was drawn back by a slower pace of life, cleaner air, and wholesome food. I believed these were the foundations of healthy ageing.

Two years ago, in April, I attended the feast of Saint Francis in Viggianello, a small village on Mount Pollino. Like many traditional celebrations in rural Italy, it was generous to the point of excess. There were more than 40 refreshment stations offering wine, coffee, pizza, and every local delicacy imaginable. You eat until you cannot eat anymore. That is the tradition.

The following morning, I went to the bathroom and something felt wrong. My intestines produced what I can only describe as a stone, unusually hard and large. There was blood in the toilet. I told myself it was nothing. After such a heavy weekend, it seemed almost normal.

Within days, everything appeared to return to normal. I moved on.

Two weeks later, I received a letter from the local health authority inviting me to take part in colorectal cancer screening with a faecal occult blood test, part of Italy’s national prevention programme.

Two years earlier, at age 50, I had received the same letter and thrown it away. I felt healthy. I was active. I was busy. I did not think it applied to me.

This time, something was different.

Part curiosity, part stubborn confidence, I decided to take the test. It was simple. Non-invasive. And honestly, I assumed any traces of blood would still be there from that weekend.

When the hospital called me in for a colonoscopy, I was not particularly alarmed. I felt fine. I had no real symptoms. Like most people, I felt uneasy about the procedure, but I went.

During the examination, the doctor suddenly said, half jokingly, “Houston, we have a problem.”

Even though the scope is no thicker than a finger, it could not pass. There was a narrowing.

He took samples, spoke quietly with the nurses, and stopped the procedure. Later, after I had recovered from the light anaesthesia, he handed me an envelope with images and a report and told me to go to General Surgery on the sixth floor.

A few hours later, I sat across from another doctor. He spoke for fifteen minutes in medical language I could not fully follow.

Finally, I interrupted him.

“I do not understand all these terms. Please tell me what you think I have.”

He looked straight at me and said:

“You have colon cancer.”

That is how I found out.

Further tests confirmed it. A 7-centimetre stage III tumour, with two lymph nodes already affected. The cancer had likely been growing for at least two years.

My story carries two simple lessons.

First. If I had done the screening at 50, I would probably have needed only surgery. I might have avoided chemotherapy. I might have escaped a lethal bullet.

Second. If I had ignored the small signals from my body and let fear or arrogance stop me from acting, I would likely not be here today.

Screening saved my life.

Listening to our bodies matters. Acting on early warning signs matters. Prevention is not optional. It is essential.

It may sound harsh, but underestimating early diagnosis can lead to a mistake from which there is no return.

Cancer can be treated. But only if it is caught in time.

That timing decides whether you survive and how you live the life that follows.

I share my story for one reason. So others do not wait.

If you receive a screening invitation, do it.

Good prevention to all.