Almost 5 years, and counting

With that random, yet holy, date of five years looming just six months away, I received some great news from Long Island oncologist Dr. Paul Hyman of Bay Shore on the Great South Bay.


Dr. Paul Hyman

The doc, an avid Mets fan (in contrast to Dr. Lee Zehngebot of Orlando, an insanely avid Yankees fan) yesterday told me to come back in a year. I think that's the Holy Grail for cancer patients. It's the time, converging with that five-year mark, a Mets no-hitter after 50 years and the transit of Venus across the Sun, that means I'm out of the woods for all intents and purposes. It means my tests showed up looking good, all the numbers should be about where they are and all the dots are there and the T's crossed.

So Dr. Hyman looked over the bloodwork, added information to his practice's new computer and software upgrades and then said, "everything looks good." Ah. Magical words to a person who has pretty much gone through hell, looked Satan, or whomever he was, straight in the eyes, kneed him in the hoo-has and walked slowly back home.

So it's been a long, bumpy journey, and there's more, I'm sure, to come. But Dr. Hyman's proclamation that he doesn't need to see me until past my five-year-out date of late December means I'm that much closer to the light than to the dark. It means my expiration date has not yet arrived. 

Dr. Phil Styne



Dr. Lee Zehngebot

 Along this trek, there have been several ups and quite a few downs. I've lost  my mother, gained two granddaughters and two sons-in-law, though one of those has since left the herd, gained three siblings and a bunch of nieces and nephews (see kohnzone.blogspot.com), and lost a couple of friends, one to this exact disease. I've met people via the interwebs with cancer of the esophagus who I later lost and I've made some remarkable friends, some in unexpected places, like hospitals and doctors' offices.


Dr. Joe Boyer

 And though I tried to avoid doctors most of my life, it all caught up with me in September 2007, when I was diagnosed with cancer of the esophagus, which until that year was pretty much a death sentence, killing 87 percent of the people unfortunate enough to receive the diagnosis.

Dr. Z, Dr. Joe Boyer, Dr. Phil Styne and a cast of thousands at Florida Hospital in Orlando, thankfully, were all part of a conspiracy to save lives, working on a grand experiment, a series of trials to figure a way to up the odds for esophageal cancer patients. I lucked out and caught them after they doubled survivability to more than 30 percent via their participation in a major study by the Minnie Pearl Cancer Research Network. As Catherine put it, I'm one of the 30 percent.



Dr. Z, for example, is not exactly a friend (never met outside of the office or hospital) though I do consider him one. But he is the man who almost more than anyone saved my life. (Yes, Joe Boyer was a big player, too, wielding a big scalpel and now a bunch of little robots even as he instructs at UCF and leads the thoractic surgical unit at Florida Hospital.)

Dr. Z and I have each other's cell numbers, and use them from time to time. He texted me a photo of him dropping down a slope on skis last year after one of his extreme vacations. I texted him yesterday in the car (no, I wasn't driving) after my visit with Dr. Hyman. I wrote: "Just saw oncologist who said all looks good and wants to see me in a year. Thank you for saving my life. Seriously."

And this die-hard, lifelong Yanks fan replies: "Anytime. You look better than the Yankees."

Hear that, A-Rod?

Back home, whew

Well, the surgery went well thanks to the steady hands of surgeon Brian Fallon and his team at Southside Hospital.

Results of testing won't be back for a few days - pathology is never quick - but I got a feeling from Dr. Fallon that the three elememts he removed from me were nothing to worry too much about.

He said he removed a thick fluid-like mass that may have appeared on CT scans as a desmoid tumor, plus some tissue. He also drew fluid from my pleura for tests.

And, true to his word, I was discharged yesterday after passing the hospital's requirements.

Since, it's been R&R at home, and I return to work tomorrow.

Woo hoo.

posted from Bloggeroid

Filling in missed months, and a morning mashup

It's been five months, give or take, since I've updated but there's a good reason. The dog ate my homework.

Actually, it's a bit more complex than that. Basically, since December I:

• Was offered a new job in Long Island;
• Accepted the new job in Long Island;
• Left the Orlando Sentinel but kept many friends;
• Left the comfort of insurance for 24 uninsured days with Cobra as a backup;
• Was diagnosed with cancer based on pathology taken from my pleura;
• Was told I needed a PET scan;
• Was told by my longtime caretaker Florida Hospital Orlando they wanted $10,000 down before they'd conduct a PET scan, even knowing Cobra would cover it (note, Florida Hospital is on my poo-poo list -- that's where I encourage anyone who would listen to boycott the hospital and Adventist Health);
• Was given a PET scan at M.D. Anderson Cancer Center at Orlando Regional Medical Center with no money down, with the anticipation of Cobra coverage;
• Was told I am cancer-free based on the PET scan;
• Dr. Z asked pathology to re-evaluate my sample, and the conclusion was no cancer was actually there; 
• Started work in Long Island with Newsday;
• Was covered with insurance starting Day 1 -- which was Jan. 24, 2011;
• Found doctors to care for me; they're a good group and I'm confident all will be well;
• Love my new job, new colleagues, new bosses and new residence in Bohemia, N.Y. (yes, we're Bohemians);
• Found out after a follow-up CT scan that I have a desmoid tumor outside my right chest wall and attached to a rib;
• Will undergo surgery in about eight hours at Southside Hospital in Bay Shore.

Well, that is the quick version that led me from then and there to the here and now.

So, I am now off food and water until surgery in the morning at the hands of Dr. Brian Fallon, the hospital's chief of thoracic surgery at the hospital. I'll be at the hospital overnight and then go home. By Sunday, I should be mostly as good as new.

I'll have my smart phone and laptop in the hospital, but I don't think I'll be able to tweet or blog from the O.R.

So until my drug-induced update tomorrow afternoon, behave yourselves.