The title above sounds like it was written by the Department of Redundancy Department. So I'll explain:
Last Friday I saw Dr. Lee Zehngebot, who reiterated what he'd told me a couple of days earlier: I'm pretty darned lucky.
As it turns out, the tumor removed by Dr. Joseph Boyer was a desmoid tumor, which is comprised of spindle cells, as Dr. Boyer had told me soon after the Jan. 18 surgery.
But the spindle cells formed this desmoid, not a carcinoma, which is a malignant form of cancer. While desmoids are benign, meaning they won't spread throughout my body, they are locally aggressive and quite dangerous on their own. This desmoid was seriously attached to my lung and was touching my esophagus. It could have gotten ugly had it remained for much longer.
In fact, research I've done since the diagnosis indicates I am one of 27 lucky individuals in the English-speaking world on record to have an intra-thoracic desmoid. Dr. Boyer, soon to be an associate professor at UCF's new medical school, might actually write a paper on the case, if his research jibes with mine now that he's becoming an academic in addition to just an amazing surgeon. (Line for autographs begins at the rear.)
So Dr. Z said this was the best possible scenario for me: A benign tumor; not related in any way to my previous case of cancer; removed from my body; no other signs of cancer within; I won't need chemo to treat the desmoid. Whew!
In addition, my severe chest pains are pretty much a thing of the past. Since my release from Florida Hospital on Jan. 22, I have not had an incidence of Prinzmetal's Angina. That is more good news and quite a blessing. After a year of torment, it seems to be over.
So after seeing Dr. Z on Friday, I saw Dr. Boyer on Wednesday. He confirmed that he got every bit of the tumor, which is why he had to take a piece of the lung. He removed the dressing from my incision and said it looks good. There's still quite a bit of swelling, but he said that will decrease in time, as will the pain and the numbness on my right side and chest. He said there's a chance the desmoid would return -- it's not uncommon. But he didn't think it would because of its location and origins. Whew again!
Dr. Boyer also referred me to a new cardiologist. As you may recall, I fired my previous heart doctor in Florida Hospital after he told me he came to the diagnosis of Prinzmetal's Angina "because now I believe you." This must have meant that when I was complaining about severe chest pains for the previous year he didn't believe me. Which must be why he didn't order a simple test to see what was up with my heart, such as wearing a holter monitor to record my EKG for a day or two. But I digress.
Heres the more: Monday, I meet with my new cardiologist, Dr. Egerton van den Berg Jr., whose office happens to be a flight below Dr. Boyer's. I chatted with his medical assistant, Jeremy, who described his boss as not just a great doctor but also a really good person. I like that in doctors -- so far, all of my current docs are great at their jobs and great people.
I know, it wasn't all that exciting, but it's good to me. I want a competent cardiologist to check out my ticker and make sure that after a year of spasms in my cardiac arteries there isn't any lasting damage.
I'll find out in just a couple of days. I'm hoping the good news continues...I sure can use it; maybe 2010 will be a good year after all.
Thursday, February 4, 2010
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Dr. Z turns a frown upside-down
What is it about Dr. Lee Zehngebot, the amazing oncologist from Orlando?
Even as he feeds me somewhat less-than-great news it turns out to be really good news.
Dr. Z called a short time ago to let me in on some news garnered from this morning's tumor board meeting.
Turns out that the tumor pulled from my chest last week was not a spindle-cell carcinoma, a very rare malignancy. That's the great news. Really great news.
It was, however, a desmoid tumor, which also is rare but is not malignant. Not cancer.
"A desmoid is a growth of cells that is not malignant," Dr. Z said. "The bad news is there's a chance it will come back."
And after doing some reseach since his call, it's a good chance a desmoid will return.
They most commonly arise near scars due to abdominal surgery, according to WebMD. They also are "locally aggressive" and can cause trouble for nearby tissue, especially muscles. "Desmoid tumors tend to infiltrate adjacent muscle bundles, frequently entrapping them and causing their degeneration," eMedicine reports.
"This course and the tendency for recurrence make the treatment of these relatively rare fibrous tumors challenging."
Of course, I'm always up to a challenge.
I'll visit Friday morning with Dr. Z and we'll figure out a way to monitor the growth of these things. I presume it will be with continued CT scans, which picked this sucker up during the summer and recorded its growth a few months later.
So the really good news -- no malignancy -- was marred a smidge by the fact that I have a new nemesis to keep an eye on.
Even as he feeds me somewhat less-than-great news it turns out to be really good news.
Dr. Z called a short time ago to let me in on some news garnered from this morning's tumor board meeting.
Turns out that the tumor pulled from my chest last week was not a spindle-cell carcinoma, a very rare malignancy. That's the great news. Really great news.
It was, however, a desmoid tumor, which also is rare but is not malignant. Not cancer.
"A desmoid is a growth of cells that is not malignant," Dr. Z said. "The bad news is there's a chance it will come back."
And after doing some reseach since his call, it's a good chance a desmoid will return.
They most commonly arise near scars due to abdominal surgery, according to WebMD. They also are "locally aggressive" and can cause trouble for nearby tissue, especially muscles. "Desmoid tumors tend to infiltrate adjacent muscle bundles, frequently entrapping them and causing their degeneration," eMedicine reports.
"This course and the tendency for recurrence make the treatment of these relatively rare fibrous tumors challenging."
Of course, I'm always up to a challenge.
I'll visit Friday morning with Dr. Z and we'll figure out a way to monitor the growth of these things. I presume it will be with continued CT scans, which picked this sucker up during the summer and recorded its growth a few months later.
So the really good news -- no malignancy -- was marred a smidge by the fact that I have a new nemesis to keep an eye on.
Monday, January 25, 2010
Home, sweet home
As wonderful as the folks at Florida Hospital were, it's so good to be home.
During the weekend I enjoyed the birthday celebrations for granddaughter Emily. Aimee and Luis held the party at My Gym in the Dr. Philips area, and though skeptical at first I confess that the place was really cool, and all the little ones had a blast. There was another party afterward at Luis' parents' home in Kissimmee. Family was there in abundance, as were family friends. I was so glad to see friends and colleagues Anika and Eric Palm and their 4-month-old daughter Olamina, or Mina for short.
Though I must say that it was in a mirror at My Gym that I noticed I was standing stooped down, looking old. It was because of the surgery I had less than a week before and the pain pills I was on. But I looked old and rickety, and I guess at that moment I was. (No comments from those like my daughters who would say I look old all the time.)
My days mainly involve sleep. Some of it is created by exhaustion from activity, albeit minimal activity. Some is chemically induced. (You know my motto: Better living through chemistry!)
I get on the computer once a day for a few minutes, give or take. I have received so many comments from friends on Facebook and from this blog, and I'd love to reply to all, but it'll have to be when I can focus for a bit longer.
I have a visit with Dr. Joe Boyer, the surgeon who pulled the tumor from my chest, next week and prior to that visit I hope to hear from the doctor about a new cardiologist.
At that visit I hope to get an estimate of how long my recovery will take and when I'll be able to return to work. Most folks look for ways to get out of work, yet I just can't wait to return.
Maybe that's because it'll mean my life's getting back to normal.
During the weekend I enjoyed the birthday celebrations for granddaughter Emily. Aimee and Luis held the party at My Gym in the Dr. Philips area, and though skeptical at first I confess that the place was really cool, and all the little ones had a blast. There was another party afterward at Luis' parents' home in Kissimmee. Family was there in abundance, as were family friends. I was so glad to see friends and colleagues Anika and Eric Palm and their 4-month-old daughter Olamina, or Mina for short.
Though I must say that it was in a mirror at My Gym that I noticed I was standing stooped down, looking old. It was because of the surgery I had less than a week before and the pain pills I was on. But I looked old and rickety, and I guess at that moment I was. (No comments from those like my daughters who would say I look old all the time.)
My days mainly involve sleep. Some of it is created by exhaustion from activity, albeit minimal activity. Some is chemically induced. (You know my motto: Better living through chemistry!)
I get on the computer once a day for a few minutes, give or take. I have received so many comments from friends on Facebook and from this blog, and I'd love to reply to all, but it'll have to be when I can focus for a bit longer.
I have a visit with Dr. Joe Boyer, the surgeon who pulled the tumor from my chest, next week and prior to that visit I hope to hear from the doctor about a new cardiologist.
At that visit I hope to get an estimate of how long my recovery will take and when I'll be able to return to work. Most folks look for ways to get out of work, yet I just can't wait to return.
Maybe that's because it'll mean my life's getting back to normal.
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
Odds and ends
Except for the surgery and related pain, my stay at Florida Hospital has been filled with stories of courtesy, kindness, and at least one example of just the opposite.
First, the good.
Surgical prep nurses. They have a tough job with immediate deadlines and still make patients feel like human beings.
Cardiac step-down nurses. After a day and a half stepping down, I had one of my so-called "fart attacks" -- which caused a lot of sweat. Two words after that -- sponge bath.
ICU nurses. Beside another sponge bath, these ladies and gentlemen are amazing at what they do. Last night, when an alarm went off just about the entire staff converged at the room of an 100-year-old woman. She didn't make it, but that is not because of this team's efforts.
Now the bad
An unnamed former doctor of mine. Now up until today this doctor seemed a caring, focused man. Today, as he explained what was wrong -- a diagnosis Dr.Lee Zehngebot had come to more than a year ago -- spasms of cardiac arteries, a form of angina -- I pointed out, "I told you guys about this over a year ago." His response: "Now I believe you" So, for a year, I have been having the most horrible pains I've ever experience because...what? I cannot even fathom an excuse.
Any ideas out there?
First, the good.
Surgical prep nurses. They have a tough job with immediate deadlines and still make patients feel like human beings.
Cardiac step-down nurses. After a day and a half stepping down, I had one of my so-called "fart attacks" -- which caused a lot of sweat. Two words after that -- sponge bath.
ICU nurses. Beside another sponge bath, these ladies and gentlemen are amazing at what they do. Last night, when an alarm went off just about the entire staff converged at the room of an 100-year-old woman. She didn't make it, but that is not because of this team's efforts.
Now the bad
An unnamed former doctor of mine. Now up until today this doctor seemed a caring, focused man. Today, as he explained what was wrong -- a diagnosis Dr.Lee Zehngebot had come to more than a year ago -- spasms of cardiac arteries, a form of angina -- I pointed out, "I told you guys about this over a year ago." His response: "Now I believe you" So, for a year, I have been having the most horrible pains I've ever experience because...what? I cannot even fathom an excuse.
Any ideas out there?
Well, turns out it is a cancer
I learned two things yesterday about the 6 cm by 5 cm mass pulled ftom my chest Monday:
First that it likely is a rare form of tumor called spindle-cell carcinoma and that it most likely has all been removed from my body. It is so rare, in fact, that it stealthily hid in my body past two PET scans designed to detect fast growing tumors like this.
Second, that it was likely not the cause of those faux heart attacks -- or fart attacks as I like to jest. Rather they are likely caused by something diagnosed by Dr. Lee Zehngrbot -- my oncologist -- more than a year ago: cardiac arterial spasms.
Apparently they really were not being taken seriously until I had two of them in the hospital, one Monday on the operating table that freaked out thoracic surgeon Dr. Joe Boyer.
He called in my new favorite cardiologist, Dr. Cal Weaver.
So now I am in the cardiac ICU for a day so they can stabalize my blood pressure and figure out what is going on with my heart.
As for the tumor, the pathology tests should be in later today.
First that it likely is a rare form of tumor called spindle-cell carcinoma and that it most likely has all been removed from my body. It is so rare, in fact, that it stealthily hid in my body past two PET scans designed to detect fast growing tumors like this.
Second, that it was likely not the cause of those faux heart attacks -- or fart attacks as I like to jest. Rather they are likely caused by something diagnosed by Dr. Lee Zehngrbot -- my oncologist -- more than a year ago: cardiac arterial spasms.
Apparently they really were not being taken seriously until I had two of them in the hospital, one Monday on the operating table that freaked out thoracic surgeon Dr. Joe Boyer.
He called in my new favorite cardiologist, Dr. Cal Weaver.
So now I am in the cardiac ICU for a day so they can stabalize my blood pressure and figure out what is going on with my heart.
As for the tumor, the pathology tests should be in later today.
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
Post-op party? OK wouldn't go that far
It is nearly 4:20 a.m. Tuseday, about a day after I started Round 2 of surgery here at Florida Hospital.
Went to Rapid In and Out a bit before 5 yesterday. Thankfully I didn't have paperwork to fill out. That was done last week.
Soon I am in a prep room not far from the one I was in a little over two years ago. A couple of notable moments: Warm blankets and "Shave and a chest cut, two bits!" The tech comes in to shave my chest and side and i aked him to avoid a lirrle skin tag on my chest, and he did. Remarkable because when I asked last time the request was ignored. Further, after the young man was nearly done I asked if he could balance me out and shave the other side. He did, gladly.
IV and main lines were injected and before you knew it -- or better phrased, before I knew it -- i was out like a light.
I awakened in post-op recovery, were a person to my left was in far graver shape than I. There was no one to my right, until a 5- or 6-month-old child was wheeled in on a gurney topped with a crib -like contraption.
Soon enough I was ready to move to a room, but there was a "code blue" on the way and so I had to wait.
Finally I was brought to my room, 8840.
As described in an earlier post, it is quite amazing: Wide-screen TV, a view of the sunset to -- um -- live for, and a great nursing staff.
The one downer of the day came when I found out the thumb-size "soft-tissue mass" in me was far larger than thought -- as if you' attached four thumbs together like a raft of thumbs. (Do i get a refund on the CT scan or radiology report from August or December?)
And it no longer is a mass but a tumor -- hopefully benign.
Hopefully, I will find that out today.
Went to Rapid In and Out a bit before 5 yesterday. Thankfully I didn't have paperwork to fill out. That was done last week.
Soon I am in a prep room not far from the one I was in a little over two years ago. A couple of notable moments: Warm blankets and "Shave and a chest cut, two bits!" The tech comes in to shave my chest and side and i aked him to avoid a lirrle skin tag on my chest, and he did. Remarkable because when I asked last time the request was ignored. Further, after the young man was nearly done I asked if he could balance me out and shave the other side. He did, gladly.
IV and main lines were injected and before you knew it -- or better phrased, before I knew it -- i was out like a light.
I awakened in post-op recovery, were a person to my left was in far graver shape than I. There was no one to my right, until a 5- or 6-month-old child was wheeled in on a gurney topped with a crib -like contraption.
Soon enough I was ready to move to a room, but there was a "code blue" on the way and so I had to wait.
Finally I was brought to my room, 8840.
As described in an earlier post, it is quite amazing: Wide-screen TV, a view of the sunset to -- um -- live for, and a great nursing staff.
The one downer of the day came when I found out the thumb-size "soft-tissue mass" in me was far larger than thought -- as if you' attached four thumbs together like a raft of thumbs. (Do i get a refund on the CT scan or radiology report from August or December?)
And it no longer is a mass but a tumor -- hopefully benign.
Hopefully, I will find that out today.
Sunday, January 17, 2010
Pre-surgery update
Well, in the past week a lot has happened.
I did make an appointment and saw Dr. Joe Boyer on Wednesday. We agreed I need surgery to remove the "soft tissue mass" that he said is adjacent and possibly affixed to the exterior of my "neo-esophagus."
He explained the risks of said surgery as well as his likely method. Dr. Boyer first will try to operate laparoscopically, by making three small incisions to my right side and going in with a camera and itsy-bitsy tools. Yes, that is the technical term.
If that doesn't work out, my side will again become a slab of flank steak and be sliced open so he can get hold of the growth and yank it out.
The surgery should take a couple of hours.
I have been to Florida Hospital, poked, prodded, peed in cups, oozed blood and glowed in the dark in preparation for my operation early -- very early -- Monday morning.
Tonight and again about 4 a.m. I have to shower with a medicated soap to kill anything alive on my upper torso.
After the morning shower I go to the hospital by 5 a.m. to prepare for the 7:30 a.m. operation.
When I awaken several hours later, I will be in the ICU. There I will still have a foley catheter and a main line into my aorta.
Once I move to a real room, I will be in the hospital's spanking new tower, with its 42 inch flatscreen TVs and unlimited cable and internet and video games.
Of course I will probably be too stoned to enjoy it all.
I should be hospitalized three or more days, depending on the type of surgery Dr. Boyer employs.
Saturday was my last day at work before starting short-term disability. Hopefully I will return sooner rather than later. I will miss my friends and colleagues during my absence but will keep in touch by phone and email.
So here is to hoping today isn't the last day of the rest of my life and that tomorrow's early morning procedure goes smoothly.
Till we meet again!
I did make an appointment and saw Dr. Joe Boyer on Wednesday. We agreed I need surgery to remove the "soft tissue mass" that he said is adjacent and possibly affixed to the exterior of my "neo-esophagus."
He explained the risks of said surgery as well as his likely method. Dr. Boyer first will try to operate laparoscopically, by making three small incisions to my right side and going in with a camera and itsy-bitsy tools. Yes, that is the technical term.
If that doesn't work out, my side will again become a slab of flank steak and be sliced open so he can get hold of the growth and yank it out.
The surgery should take a couple of hours.
I have been to Florida Hospital, poked, prodded, peed in cups, oozed blood and glowed in the dark in preparation for my operation early -- very early -- Monday morning.
Tonight and again about 4 a.m. I have to shower with a medicated soap to kill anything alive on my upper torso.
After the morning shower I go to the hospital by 5 a.m. to prepare for the 7:30 a.m. operation.
When I awaken several hours later, I will be in the ICU. There I will still have a foley catheter and a main line into my aorta.
Once I move to a real room, I will be in the hospital's spanking new tower, with its 42 inch flatscreen TVs and unlimited cable and internet and video games.
Of course I will probably be too stoned to enjoy it all.
I should be hospitalized three or more days, depending on the type of surgery Dr. Boyer employs.
Saturday was my last day at work before starting short-term disability. Hopefully I will return sooner rather than later. I will miss my friends and colleagues during my absence but will keep in touch by phone and email.
So here is to hoping today isn't the last day of the rest of my life and that tomorrow's early morning procedure goes smoothly.
Till we meet again!
Sunday, January 10, 2010
Surgery is next step
Dr. Joseph Boyer and I chatted Friday about my situation. He was teetering as to whether to order surgery.
Generally he'd have considered waiting but because i am symptomatic -- my pains continue, only more frequently and with more severity -- he said the surgery is justified.
But he warned that there are risks, namely the surgery will hurt -- no way around that. In addition, it may not stop the faux heart attack as I call them. Finally, he pointed out, the surgery would be so close to his previous masterpiece -- my resected sliced and diced stomach-esophagus hybrid -- that it could cause damage there.
Those are all valid concerns I was weighhing over this weekend.
Until this morning.
That was when I had another incident. The pain convinced me that I really need to make a change. It is so unbearable that I decided right then to phone Dr. Boyer on Monday and schedule the surgery.
I figure the pain outweighs the risks. If I am destined to a lifetime of pains as severe as I have had -- in medical parlance a 10 to 11 out of 10 -- I am not sure whether I would forgive myself for not taking the chance.
So I imagine that after arranging things at work and getting an estimate from Dr. Boyer as to how much time I will need, the surgery will be scheduled relatively quickly.
Hopefully that will put an end to more than a year of these horrible heart attack symptoms.
Generally he'd have considered waiting but because i am symptomatic -- my pains continue, only more frequently and with more severity -- he said the surgery is justified.
But he warned that there are risks, namely the surgery will hurt -- no way around that. In addition, it may not stop the faux heart attack as I call them. Finally, he pointed out, the surgery would be so close to his previous masterpiece -- my resected sliced and diced stomach-esophagus hybrid -- that it could cause damage there.
Those are all valid concerns I was weighhing over this weekend.
Until this morning.
That was when I had another incident. The pain convinced me that I really need to make a change. It is so unbearable that I decided right then to phone Dr. Boyer on Monday and schedule the surgery.
I figure the pain outweighs the risks. If I am destined to a lifetime of pains as severe as I have had -- in medical parlance a 10 to 11 out of 10 -- I am not sure whether I would forgive myself for not taking the chance.
So I imagine that after arranging things at work and getting an estimate from Dr. Boyer as to how much time I will need, the surgery will be scheduled relatively quickly.
Hopefully that will put an end to more than a year of these horrible heart attack symptoms.
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
Glow-in-the-dark editor
I had a CT scan this morning to see if that soft-tissue gelatinous mass adjoined to the outside of my esophagus has grown in the past month.
The scan was requested by Dr. Joseph Boyer, the chief of thoracic surgery at Florida Hospital. He is trying to determine whether to remoce the mass from my body and if so, whether to remove it endoscopically or surgically.
His colleagues discussed my case last week after receiving results of the biopsy taken before Christmastime, which determined cancer was not the issue because it came back negative.
So Dr. Boyer will first determine whether there was growth and if so whether it warrants removal, then determine how.
When we spoke last week, he told me he was somewhat perplexed, saying he'd never come across such a case before. He seemed to think I probably would end up in surgery but had to exhaust all possibilities first because of the dangers involved.
The would-be surgical site in my body is adjacent to the spot where two years and two weeks ago Dr. Boyer dissected my stomach, removed most of my esophagus and then took all the remaining parts and made a pull-through esophagus-stomach hybrid. So he doesn't want to damage the great job he'd already done. Plus, the area is close to the lungs and heart in my chest.
As Dr. Philip Styne told me, "there is a limited amount of space" there.
So I should find out in a couple of days what might be in store.
Happy New Year!
The scan was requested by Dr. Joseph Boyer, the chief of thoracic surgery at Florida Hospital. He is trying to determine whether to remoce the mass from my body and if so, whether to remove it endoscopically or surgically.
His colleagues discussed my case last week after receiving results of the biopsy taken before Christmastime, which determined cancer was not the issue because it came back negative.
So Dr. Boyer will first determine whether there was growth and if so whether it warrants removal, then determine how.
When we spoke last week, he told me he was somewhat perplexed, saying he'd never come across such a case before. He seemed to think I probably would end up in surgery but had to exhaust all possibilities first because of the dangers involved.
The would-be surgical site in my body is adjacent to the spot where two years and two weeks ago Dr. Boyer dissected my stomach, removed most of my esophagus and then took all the remaining parts and made a pull-through esophagus-stomach hybrid. So he doesn't want to damage the great job he'd already done. Plus, the area is close to the lungs and heart in my chest.
As Dr. Philip Styne told me, "there is a limited amount of space" there.
So I should find out in a couple of days what might be in store.
Happy New Year!
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
The case of the soft-tissue mass
When last we met, I was going to see thoracic surgeon Dr. Joseph Boyer, who might have to remove the growing growth attached to the esophagus he created from the excesses of my stomach.
Dr. Boyer said the PET scan's all-clear might be inconclusive because the CT scan showed this growth had pretty much quadrupled in size since the summer. He felt a biopsy was needed, and suggested Dr. William Mayoral, a partner of Dr. Philip Styne. Well, he said he could do it but the procedure "would hurt more" if he had to surgically obtain the biopsy. Further, Dr. Boyer said if Dr. Mayoral pulled the biopsy, he might be able to suction the entire soft-tissue growth from my body if it was comprised of fluid.
So, the docs got together and scheduled me for the biopsy on Friday -- Dr. Mayoral was going to grab the sample via an endoscopy with ultrasound to locate the growth outside the esophagus, then use a needle or some other small surgical device to obtain the sample.
He did this procedure and it went well. As I was waiting for the car to be pulled around at Orlando Regional Medical Center, Dr. Mayoral phoned me to say it appeared the tissue was not malignant.
Whew! This confirmed the PET scan's findings: I apparently don't have more cancer growing inside me.
So Monday, I saw Dr. Lee Zehngebot, the oncologist who along with a slew of other docs and medical professionals saved my life through chemistry. Dr. Z spoke to Dr. Mayoral, who confirmed that the tissue was negative for cancer. But he was concerned: "I don't know what it is," Dr. Z said. And that concerns him.
So his office is setting up another CT scan for two weeks from now to take another look at the growth to see if it has grown further since my last scan Dec. 7. After that, it's likely he'll want Dr. Boyer to remove the soft-tissue mass.
I asked Dr. Z what the worst-case scenario is. He said I could have cancer. But the pathology tested negative, I reminded him. He agreed, yet was concerned because it was such a mystery.
(I always like a good mystery, but somehow this one I'm not enjoying so much.)
So there will be more tests and scans -- possibly surgery -- and I presume isotopes flowing through my veins as the docs solve "The Case of the Soft-Tissue Mass," coming soon to a blog post near you.
Dr. Boyer said the PET scan's all-clear might be inconclusive because the CT scan showed this growth had pretty much quadrupled in size since the summer. He felt a biopsy was needed, and suggested Dr. William Mayoral, a partner of Dr. Philip Styne. Well, he said he could do it but the procedure "would hurt more" if he had to surgically obtain the biopsy. Further, Dr. Boyer said if Dr. Mayoral pulled the biopsy, he might be able to suction the entire soft-tissue growth from my body if it was comprised of fluid.
So, the docs got together and scheduled me for the biopsy on Friday -- Dr. Mayoral was going to grab the sample via an endoscopy with ultrasound to locate the growth outside the esophagus, then use a needle or some other small surgical device to obtain the sample.
He did this procedure and it went well. As I was waiting for the car to be pulled around at Orlando Regional Medical Center, Dr. Mayoral phoned me to say it appeared the tissue was not malignant.
Whew! This confirmed the PET scan's findings: I apparently don't have more cancer growing inside me.
So Monday, I saw Dr. Lee Zehngebot, the oncologist who along with a slew of other docs and medical professionals saved my life through chemistry. Dr. Z spoke to Dr. Mayoral, who confirmed that the tissue was negative for cancer. But he was concerned: "I don't know what it is," Dr. Z said. And that concerns him.
So his office is setting up another CT scan for two weeks from now to take another look at the growth to see if it has grown further since my last scan Dec. 7. After that, it's likely he'll want Dr. Boyer to remove the soft-tissue mass.
I asked Dr. Z what the worst-case scenario is. He said I could have cancer. But the pathology tested negative, I reminded him. He agreed, yet was concerned because it was such a mystery.
(I always like a good mystery, but somehow this one I'm not enjoying so much.)
So there will be more tests and scans -- possibly surgery -- and I presume isotopes flowing through my veins as the docs solve "The Case of the Soft-Tissue Mass," coming soon to a blog post near you.
Sunday, December 13, 2009
Revisiting with Dr. Boyer
Since receiving the all-clear-sort-of from Dr. Lee Zehngebot last week, I made an appointment with Dr. Joseph Boyer, the surgeon who turned my cancerous esophagus and stomach into a stomach that acts like an esophagus.
I'll be at his new office across Orange Avenue from the main Florida Hospital Orlando building Wednesday morning. By then he and Dr. Z will have discussed the scans I've had last week and in August and maybe come up with a gameplan.
That's my hope, at least.
Meantime, I saw my new cardiologist, Dr. R. Charles Curry, who reiterated that whatever is causing my faux heart attacks, it's not the heart, it's not arteries feeding the hear and it likely is, as Dr. James Miner and Dr. Philip Styne explained, spasms of the arteries feeding the stomach and esophagus.
Still, no one is taking into account the cyst or whatever it is in my chest cavity and what role it may have in the attacks. Hopefully after Dr. Boyer works his magic, the attacks will go away.
I'll be at his new office across Orange Avenue from the main Florida Hospital Orlando building Wednesday morning. By then he and Dr. Z will have discussed the scans I've had last week and in August and maybe come up with a gameplan.
That's my hope, at least.
Meantime, I saw my new cardiologist, Dr. R. Charles Curry, who reiterated that whatever is causing my faux heart attacks, it's not the heart, it's not arteries feeding the hear and it likely is, as Dr. James Miner and Dr. Philip Styne explained, spasms of the arteries feeding the stomach and esophagus.
Still, no one is taking into account the cyst or whatever it is in my chest cavity and what role it may have in the attacks. Hopefully after Dr. Boyer works his magic, the attacks will go away.
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
A negative that is totally positive
How many times in your life has a doctor called you at 8:15 at night? Not too often, right.
So it's a testament to Dr. Lee Zehngebot, the Orlando oncologist who helped save my life, that he called a short time ago to give me the abbreviated version of the results of my PET and CT scans taken Monday.
In short, he's "100 percent" confident that I have no cancer in me. The PET scan, which detects probable areas of the body in which cancer cells are growing, was negative.
Whew!
He said that the weird cyst-like confab in my chest, though, has grown since the last set of scans in August. While he's confident it's not a cancerous tumor growing, he's not sure exactly what it is.
Most likely, he said, it's "some kind of collection of fluid."
So Dr. Z said I should call surgeon Dr. Joseph Boyer in the morning to set up an appointment for next week. Dr. Boyer is the head of thoracic surgery at Florida Hospital, and the guy who cut and filleted my stomach and esophagus into a working organ from a cancerous one.
I imagine the next few weeks or months might involve a biopsy or two and possibly a surgery. But at least the doctors won't be treating a cancerous tumor.
And that's the best news this holiday season.
So it's a testament to Dr. Lee Zehngebot, the Orlando oncologist who helped save my life, that he called a short time ago to give me the abbreviated version of the results of my PET and CT scans taken Monday.
In short, he's "100 percent" confident that I have no cancer in me. The PET scan, which detects probable areas of the body in which cancer cells are growing, was negative.
Whew!
He said that the weird cyst-like confab in my chest, though, has grown since the last set of scans in August. While he's confident it's not a cancerous tumor growing, he's not sure exactly what it is.
Most likely, he said, it's "some kind of collection of fluid."
So Dr. Z said I should call surgeon Dr. Joseph Boyer in the morning to set up an appointment for next week. Dr. Boyer is the head of thoracic surgery at Florida Hospital, and the guy who cut and filleted my stomach and esophagus into a working organ from a cancerous one.
I imagine the next few weeks or months might involve a biopsy or two and possibly a surgery. But at least the doctors won't be treating a cancerous tumor.
And that's the best news this holiday season.
Monday, December 7, 2009
A day of testing
I'll be at the nuclear imaging building across Orange Avenue from Florida Hospital Orlando at 11:30 this morning for a PET scan, then a few hours later in the main campus for a CT scan.
This double-whammy dose of radiation hopefully will allow my doctors to complete a diagnosis begun in August and left undetermined until now.
Back then, a PET scan saw something.
What it was couldn't be determined. So they docs scheduled a PET scan.
The PET scan didn't quite notice the small mass in my abdomen that the CT did, but it found something very small in my lungs.
What it was couldn't be determined. So my docs did what all good docs do: They consulted other docs, and still others.
In the end, Dr. Lee Zehngebot, an extraordinary oncologist, consulted with Dr. Philip Styne, an extraordinary gastroenterologist. They both checked in with other internists, gastro docs, radiologists and the like.
The conclusion? Wait three months. As it turns, it's four, but who's counting?
This will give whatever is in me to either change or not change. The docs felt this was safer than "going in" and performing biopsies on the various spots they detected. The initial thingie in my abdomen is likely a cyst. Probably not dangerous, they thought but didn't know. I think it's the thing in my lung that drew the most concern.
So in less than a dozen hours I'll have radioactive glucose injected in me from something that looks as if it came out of a sci-fi movie and then will spend about an hour or two relaxing so my body can absorb said glucose. Then the scanning doohickey will determine which parts of my body, if any, absorb the glucose quicker than expected. If something does, it's possible that is a cancerous area, since cancer cells and very few others absorb glucose rapidly.
After all that's over, I will go across the street and drink an iodine-laced cocktail for the CT scan, which isn't nearly has complex.
By the end of the day, I'll be warned to stay away from pregnant women and small children for a day as a precaution. However, my eyes will be able to light up a dark road and my hands will glow in the dark. As for other exterior organs, well, we'll just have to keep that private.
A few days later, hopefully I'll get the all clear from Dr. Z. I don't want to get news about these tests in two weeks when I see him.
This double-whammy dose of radiation hopefully will allow my doctors to complete a diagnosis begun in August and left undetermined until now.
Back then, a PET scan saw something.
What it was couldn't be determined. So they docs scheduled a PET scan.
The PET scan didn't quite notice the small mass in my abdomen that the CT did, but it found something very small in my lungs.
What it was couldn't be determined. So my docs did what all good docs do: They consulted other docs, and still others.
In the end, Dr. Lee Zehngebot, an extraordinary oncologist, consulted with Dr. Philip Styne, an extraordinary gastroenterologist. They both checked in with other internists, gastro docs, radiologists and the like.
The conclusion? Wait three months. As it turns, it's four, but who's counting?
This will give whatever is in me to either change or not change. The docs felt this was safer than "going in" and performing biopsies on the various spots they detected. The initial thingie in my abdomen is likely a cyst. Probably not dangerous, they thought but didn't know. I think it's the thing in my lung that drew the most concern.
So in less than a dozen hours I'll have radioactive glucose injected in me from something that looks as if it came out of a sci-fi movie and then will spend about an hour or two relaxing so my body can absorb said glucose. Then the scanning doohickey will determine which parts of my body, if any, absorb the glucose quicker than expected. If something does, it's possible that is a cancerous area, since cancer cells and very few others absorb glucose rapidly.
After all that's over, I will go across the street and drink an iodine-laced cocktail for the CT scan, which isn't nearly has complex.
By the end of the day, I'll be warned to stay away from pregnant women and small children for a day as a precaution. However, my eyes will be able to light up a dark road and my hands will glow in the dark. As for other exterior organs, well, we'll just have to keep that private.
A few days later, hopefully I'll get the all clear from Dr. Z. I don't want to get news about these tests in two weeks when I see him.
Thursday, November 26, 2009
Thanksgiving for me: Two years ago, I was not sure this day would arrive
It's amazing how the future looks.
Two years ago I was not certain my future would include today, Thanksgiving 2009, or my birthday a couple of days later.
In my mind, the future looks like today.
Two years ago, I'd just been removed from my 24/7 chemo pump and was preparing -- as I am now -- for tests on Dec. 7. I was thankful then for my doctors, my family, my friends and for life.
Still, I remember telling my cousin David Spitz, the popular Connecticut chiropractor, that I feared I would not make it to age 50. I was panicked, often tearful. But 50 became a goal. At the time, it seemed distant, remote, unattainable.
Today, it's a bit closer -- just a few days away.
So on this Thanksgiving, I feel truly blessed with that family, those friends, my wonderful doctors, their wonderful staffs, and the knowledge that I've reached another milestone, another goal on the road to recovery from esophageal cancer.
And as a way of paying it forward, I'll reiterate as I have probably too often in this blog: If you get heartburn, if you have acid reflux or even if you take a few Tums or Rolaids every day, you could get cancer. See a doctor, have an endoscopy, consult your family doctor or gastroenterologist.
Heartburn and acid reflux could lead to Barrett's Esophagus, a precursor to esophageal cancer. There are treatments at that stage to help avoid cancer. But doing nothing is not one of them.
Be thankful for what you have today, as I am, and celebrate with your loved ones. Be kind to those loved ones and take care of yourself.
Oh, another tip here -- moderate amounts of turkey, sweet potatoes, corn on the cob and pumpkin pie are not known causes of Barrett's Esophagus or esophageal cancer. So eat up and celebrate, with your loved ones of course!
Two years ago I was not certain my future would include today, Thanksgiving 2009, or my birthday a couple of days later.
In my mind, the future looks like today.
Two years ago, I'd just been removed from my 24/7 chemo pump and was preparing -- as I am now -- for tests on Dec. 7. I was thankful then for my doctors, my family, my friends and for life.
Still, I remember telling my cousin David Spitz, the popular Connecticut chiropractor, that I feared I would not make it to age 50. I was panicked, often tearful. But 50 became a goal. At the time, it seemed distant, remote, unattainable.
Today, it's a bit closer -- just a few days away.
So on this Thanksgiving, I feel truly blessed with that family, those friends, my wonderful doctors, their wonderful staffs, and the knowledge that I've reached another milestone, another goal on the road to recovery from esophageal cancer.
And as a way of paying it forward, I'll reiterate as I have probably too often in this blog: If you get heartburn, if you have acid reflux or even if you take a few Tums or Rolaids every day, you could get cancer. See a doctor, have an endoscopy, consult your family doctor or gastroenterologist.
Heartburn and acid reflux could lead to Barrett's Esophagus, a precursor to esophageal cancer. There are treatments at that stage to help avoid cancer. But doing nothing is not one of them.
Be thankful for what you have today, as I am, and celebrate with your loved ones. Be kind to those loved ones and take care of yourself.
Oh, another tip here -- moderate amounts of turkey, sweet potatoes, corn on the cob and pumpkin pie are not known causes of Barrett's Esophagus or esophageal cancer. So eat up and celebrate, with your loved ones of course!
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Did I ever tell you about ...
Not sure if I ever mentioned in detail my experience with these faux heart attacks I've been having lately.
They're not heart attacks, but sure feel like them -- or so I've been told. I become sweaty and exhausted, chest is compressed and my chest and left arm are in extreme pain. Not quite as bad as after my surgery but damned close.
The heart and the stomach/esophagus are fed by the same network of arteries, so what affects one of these smooth-muscle tissues feeds the other. Since they're faux heart attacks and possibly be caused by something I eat, I tend to call them fart attacks. Gotta laugh at something, right?
They began toward the end of last year, when I really thought I was having a heart attack. It's what sent me to Florida Heart Group and Dr. James Miner. But after cardiac catheterization and other tests, I was cleared -- no heart attack.
Dr. Miner suggested my problems might be related to my cancer surgery. Dr. Philip Styne, the gastroenterologist in Orlando, didn't disagree. He said the attacks might be caused by esophageal spasms.
So the docs prescribed a couple of drugs in case another faux heart attack hits. They seem to hit almost nightly now, some more severe than others.
Some I believe are caused by my schedule -- and the fact that I tend to snack at night when I get off work. Others I just can't explain. They hit at night, during the day, once or twice at work.
Thankfully I have the meds and they really work. One, called Nulev, dissolves under my tongue and is supposed to help with such spasms. It works off and on. The nitro-based drug seems more consistent and reliable. Between the two I've avoided most of the really bad attacks. Those occur about once a week and I just can't manage them.
I tend to think these attacks may be caused by one of the two elements that have stymied my docs since August, when I had CT and PET scans with inconclusive results. The CT scan detected what might be a cyst in my chest. I think it is this cyst that is pressing on an artery that feeds both my heart and esophagus/stomach, especially after I eat, when the stomach -- kind of in my chest because of the surgery -- is bloated.
I've been scheduled for another round of CT and PET scans in early December. Perhaps then the docs will get a handle on what is causing the fart attacks.
They're not heart attacks, but sure feel like them -- or so I've been told. I become sweaty and exhausted, chest is compressed and my chest and left arm are in extreme pain. Not quite as bad as after my surgery but damned close.
The heart and the stomach/esophagus are fed by the same network of arteries, so what affects one of these smooth-muscle tissues feeds the other. Since they're faux heart attacks and possibly be caused by something I eat, I tend to call them fart attacks. Gotta laugh at something, right?
They began toward the end of last year, when I really thought I was having a heart attack. It's what sent me to Florida Heart Group and Dr. James Miner. But after cardiac catheterization and other tests, I was cleared -- no heart attack.
Dr. Miner suggested my problems might be related to my cancer surgery. Dr. Philip Styne, the gastroenterologist in Orlando, didn't disagree. He said the attacks might be caused by esophageal spasms.
So the docs prescribed a couple of drugs in case another faux heart attack hits. They seem to hit almost nightly now, some more severe than others.
Some I believe are caused by my schedule -- and the fact that I tend to snack at night when I get off work. Others I just can't explain. They hit at night, during the day, once or twice at work.
Thankfully I have the meds and they really work. One, called Nulev, dissolves under my tongue and is supposed to help with such spasms. It works off and on. The nitro-based drug seems more consistent and reliable. Between the two I've avoided most of the really bad attacks. Those occur about once a week and I just can't manage them.
I tend to think these attacks may be caused by one of the two elements that have stymied my docs since August, when I had CT and PET scans with inconclusive results. The CT scan detected what might be a cyst in my chest. I think it is this cyst that is pressing on an artery that feeds both my heart and esophagus/stomach, especially after I eat, when the stomach -- kind of in my chest because of the surgery -- is bloated.
I've been scheduled for another round of CT and PET scans in early December. Perhaps then the docs will get a handle on what is causing the fart attacks.
Thursday, October 1, 2009
The check was in the mail
Finally, I was able to follow through on a pledge to make a donation to Florida Hospital Cancer Institute.
That happened this morning.
In the name of transparency, I just endorsed the check to the Florida Hospital Foundation.
It wasn't a massive amount, just $149 and change. But it felt good to pass the money along from -- you, my friends, family, colleagues and complete strangers. It was all your doing. And I thank you.
Jaclyn Lindsey, a development specialist, was in the Foundation's Orange Avenue office when I arrived this morning. She's a good person and was honestly very happy to have the check. It will be bundled with other, similar small donations and will be used to purchase equipment for the Cancer Institute that might just help save someone's life.
Maybe even my own. Or yours.
There are other ways to donate small amounts. I learned a couple of weeks ago that the Foundation set up a way for cell-phone users to text in $5 donations from their cell phones. Just text the word FIGHT to 90999. The $5 donation will be billed to your cell phone account.
So let's keep up this fight against cancer of all kinds. One of the best ways is by checking out this blog regularly.
That happened this morning.
In the name of transparency, I just endorsed the check to the Florida Hospital Foundation.
It wasn't a massive amount, just $149 and change. But it felt good to pass the money along from -- you, my friends, family, colleagues and complete strangers. It was all your doing. And I thank you.
Jaclyn Lindsey, a development specialist, was in the Foundation's Orange Avenue office when I arrived this morning. She's a good person and was honestly very happy to have the check. It will be bundled with other, similar small donations and will be used to purchase equipment for the Cancer Institute that might just help save someone's life.
Maybe even my own. Or yours.
There are other ways to donate small amounts. I learned a couple of weeks ago that the Foundation set up a way for cell-phone users to text in $5 donations from their cell phones. Just text the word FIGHT to 90999. The $5 donation will be billed to your cell phone account.
So let's keep up this fight against cancer of all kinds. One of the best ways is by checking out this blog regularly.
Monday, September 21, 2009
Yes, it's been two years
In the past two years, I have:
I can hardly believe it has been two years. Not that this time flew by because I was having fun, because much was not very fun, but it has flown by. Much of that was spent in a chemically induced haze, for sure. But most of the time was spent at home or in work while I was wide awake.
Still, two years ago, my difficulties swallowing during the summer and fall prompted me listen to my wife and see a doctor.
Dr. John Pfeiffer thought I might have a minor problem with my esophagus but doubted it was cancer. He referred me to Dr. Philip Styne, an amazing gastroenterologist. He conducted an endoscopy after which he told me, "There was some swelling. You may need surgery. We took biopsies."
Now, as you might expect, hearing the words We Took Biopsies isn't a good thing. It really freaked me out.
Next on my all-time hit parade was the introduction, very quickly, I might add, to CT scans and PET scans and iodine cocktails for contrast in the images, and then Dr. David Diamond, a radio oncologist and Dr. Lee Zehngebot, the premire oncologist in Central Florida, surgeon Joseph Boyer and a cast of thousands among Florida Hospital's cancer-fighting team.
In a whirlwind of events from the day I was told that the biopsies pulled by Dr. Styne were, in fact, cancerous to the start of my concurrent chemo and radiation therapies about a week later, my life was a haze.
I remember basically being fitted for my radiation therapies by having a CT scan so the doctors and nuclear physicists could determine exactly where to bombard my body with intense X-rays, having a medical "port" inserted into my chest in a minor surgical procedure that linked the outside world to my jugular vein, having my head shaved the morning of my first chemo treatment and many other milestones.
Good times.
Since then, the tumor in my esophagus was killed by the radiation, chemo kept cancer from traveling throughout my body, subsequent surgery the Friday before Christmas 2007 removed the by-then dead tumor from my entrails and my stomach was downsized by two thirds so part of it could become a faux esophagus.
And I launched this blog to help educate anyone who would read or listen about cancer of the esophagus.
Because my cancer was not genetic (to the best of my knowledge) and it was not sudden. Rather, it came about through a course of behavior conducted during much of my adulthood. Since my 20s, I'd had heartburn, sometimes severe heartburn, probably caused by poor eating habits. The state-of-the-art treatment of the time was Tums or Rolaids, or their generic clones, which I gobbled down regularly.
Only after I changed jobs and moved to Orlando did the acid reflux subside. I thought the new surroundings eased by stress, thus reducing my dependence on Tums.
Boy was I wrong.
Rather, my lower esophagus was being bombarded with so much acid that it tried to defend itself by developing cells similar to the lining of the stomach. The pre-cancer condition known as Barrett's Esophagus combined with my hiatial hernia was the perfect storm that led to my tumor.
Cancer of the esophagus in recent years has become one of the fastest-growing forms of the scourge. Partly, that's because the disease often is detected in its later stages, when eating becomes difficult. Remember, that's how come I went to the doctor.
Esophageal cancer is one of the most lethal. In Florida, according to the American Cancer Society's most recent statistics, 1,010 people died out of 1,170 people diagnosed with the condition. In the U.S., there were 16,470 new cases last year and of those 14,280 ended up six feet under. Not good at all.
There are some bright spots. The five-year survivability rate is 34 percent. That's more than double what it was before a new protocol was developed soon before I was diagnosed. Esophageal cancer remains the seventh-leading form of cancer among men It accounts for 11,250 lives, 4 percent of all male cancer deaths.
All of this leads to this:
Get help. If you have difficulties swallowing, get help right away. Do not wait. See your doctor, tell him or her your symptoms. Encourage an aggressive diagnosis and treatment. Insist upon it.
I'm now two years out. I plan to be around through years three, four and five.
I've helped several people through this blog and in person. So the effort has not been for naught.
And, to beat all that I'm about to turn 50. A couple of years ago, that was something I didn't think would happen.
- Met wonderful people
- Lost my mother
- Found a brother, two sisters, cousins, nieces, nephews and an aunt
- Rekindled old friendships, built new ones and discovered still others
- Found inner strengths
- Found inner weaknesses
- Presumably overcame cancer
- Found out my heart is healthy
- Found out my resectioned stomach still has some issues
- Discovered low-fiber diets are less than adequate and not very tasty
- Lost much of my sense of fear
- Began to have heart attack-like jolts of pain nightly that the docs still can't quite control
- Found a new resolve
- Wished for, rather than rued, the day that I'd actually turn 50
I can hardly believe it has been two years. Not that this time flew by because I was having fun, because much was not very fun, but it has flown by. Much of that was spent in a chemically induced haze, for sure. But most of the time was spent at home or in work while I was wide awake.
Still, two years ago, my difficulties swallowing during the summer and fall prompted me listen to my wife and see a doctor.
Dr. John Pfeiffer thought I might have a minor problem with my esophagus but doubted it was cancer. He referred me to Dr. Philip Styne, an amazing gastroenterologist. He conducted an endoscopy after which he told me, "There was some swelling. You may need surgery. We took biopsies."
Now, as you might expect, hearing the words We Took Biopsies isn't a good thing. It really freaked me out.
Next on my all-time hit parade was the introduction, very quickly, I might add, to CT scans and PET scans and iodine cocktails for contrast in the images, and then Dr. David Diamond, a radio oncologist and Dr. Lee Zehngebot, the premire oncologist in Central Florida, surgeon Joseph Boyer and a cast of thousands among Florida Hospital's cancer-fighting team.
In a whirlwind of events from the day I was told that the biopsies pulled by Dr. Styne were, in fact, cancerous to the start of my concurrent chemo and radiation therapies about a week later, my life was a haze.
I remember basically being fitted for my radiation therapies by having a CT scan so the doctors and nuclear physicists could determine exactly where to bombard my body with intense X-rays, having a medical "port" inserted into my chest in a minor surgical procedure that linked the outside world to my jugular vein, having my head shaved the morning of my first chemo treatment and many other milestones.
Good times.
Since then, the tumor in my esophagus was killed by the radiation, chemo kept cancer from traveling throughout my body, subsequent surgery the Friday before Christmas 2007 removed the by-then dead tumor from my entrails and my stomach was downsized by two thirds so part of it could become a faux esophagus.
And I launched this blog to help educate anyone who would read or listen about cancer of the esophagus.
Because my cancer was not genetic (to the best of my knowledge) and it was not sudden. Rather, it came about through a course of behavior conducted during much of my adulthood. Since my 20s, I'd had heartburn, sometimes severe heartburn, probably caused by poor eating habits. The state-of-the-art treatment of the time was Tums or Rolaids, or their generic clones, which I gobbled down regularly.
Only after I changed jobs and moved to Orlando did the acid reflux subside. I thought the new surroundings eased by stress, thus reducing my dependence on Tums.
Boy was I wrong.
Rather, my lower esophagus was being bombarded with so much acid that it tried to defend itself by developing cells similar to the lining of the stomach. The pre-cancer condition known as Barrett's Esophagus combined with my hiatial hernia was the perfect storm that led to my tumor.
Cancer of the esophagus in recent years has become one of the fastest-growing forms of the scourge. Partly, that's because the disease often is detected in its later stages, when eating becomes difficult. Remember, that's how come I went to the doctor.
Esophageal cancer is one of the most lethal. In Florida, according to the American Cancer Society's most recent statistics, 1,010 people died out of 1,170 people diagnosed with the condition. In the U.S., there were 16,470 new cases last year and of those 14,280 ended up six feet under. Not good at all.
There are some bright spots. The five-year survivability rate is 34 percent. That's more than double what it was before a new protocol was developed soon before I was diagnosed. Esophageal cancer remains the seventh-leading form of cancer among men It accounts for 11,250 lives, 4 percent of all male cancer deaths.
All of this leads to this:
Get help. If you have difficulties swallowing, get help right away. Do not wait. See your doctor, tell him or her your symptoms. Encourage an aggressive diagnosis and treatment. Insist upon it.
I'm now two years out. I plan to be around through years three, four and five.
I've helped several people through this blog and in person. So the effort has not been for naught.
And, to beat all that I'm about to turn 50. A couple of years ago, that was something I didn't think would happen.
Monday, September 14, 2009
A solid Foundation
I've repeatedly asked friends, family, colleagues and others to support sponsors of my blog and learn from the information they provide.
I'm quite thrilled and humbled that you did.
It's enabled me to donate to the Florida Hospital Cancer Institute, the organization that -- under the direction of the best doctors in Orlando -- I credit with saving my life.
Monday, I met with three representatives of the Florida Hospital Foundation -- each of whom works directly or indirectly with the Cancer Institute.
Jaclyn Lindsey, development specialist with the foundation, contacted me a little over a week ago with a bit of curiosity about the blog. With Jaclyn today were Kimberlee Strong, executive director of the Foundation; and Beth Schaan, another leader with the foundation.
Jaclyn told me about another fund-raising method of the digital era. A donation via cell-phone text messaging. It's the latest, and it lets folks text donations $5 at a time. If you text the word FIGHT to 90999 you will be making a $5 donation to the Florida Hospital Cancer Institute -- the money will be billed to your cell phone. I encourage you to send the text.
I'm quite thrilled and humbled that you did.
It's enabled me to donate to the Florida Hospital Cancer Institute, the organization that -- under the direction of the best doctors in Orlando -- I credit with saving my life.
Monday, I met with three representatives of the Florida Hospital Foundation -- each of whom works directly or indirectly with the Cancer Institute.
Jaclyn Lindsey, development specialist with the foundation, contacted me a little over a week ago with a bit of curiosity about the blog. With Jaclyn today were Kimberlee Strong, executive director of the Foundation; and Beth Schaan, another leader with the foundation.
I think our meeting was great for the three Florida Hospital Foundation execs and myself. They heard a lot of good things about their hospital and the doctors who saved my life -- John Pfeiffer, of Celebration, my family doctor; Philip Styne, the gastroenterologist who first discovered my tumor; Lee Zehngebot, my oncologist; David Diamond, my radi0-oncologist; and Joseph Boyer, the surgeon who pretty much had me as a fillet and then put me back together minus a dead tumor.
I told them my story and that I wanted to raise money for my cause, their cause.
They told me how the $150 I raised and any future money will be used, and about other ways they're trying to raise money.
The small donations such as mine will be bundled with others into a much larger pool. A committee of doctors and administrators then will pick something to buy and get it. Most recently they used this fund to purchase a state-of-the-art endoscopic ultrasound device.
As we advance in the whole wireless-wi-fi-blogosphere revolution, there's money to be made -- or raised for a charity. I found a way to do this with the blog -- a penny at a time, it seems -- and it would be great if other patients could do the same with their blogs.Jaclyn told me about another fund-raising method of the digital era. A donation via cell-phone text messaging. It's the latest, and it lets folks text donations $5 at a time. If you text the word FIGHT to 90999 you will be making a $5 donation to the Florida Hospital Cancer Institute -- the money will be billed to your cell phone. I encourage you to send the text.
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