Mostly a clean bill of health

Got back from Dr. Lee Zehngebot's office a short time ago, and I received some very good news.

My CT scans earlier this month showed no signs of improper tissue mass anywhere in my chest or abdomen.

This means no cancer. The past year and a half of physical, radioactive and chemical torture seems to have worked. It also left some odd "scars" inside my body. Like a liver that was "cooked" a little too well done by the radiation. Lungs that also were sauteed by some isotope and produce a little bit too much fluid along with the oxygen my body needs.

Because there's so much going on in my scan, the docs want another one before my next appointment with Dr. Z in August. Soon I'll be glowing in the dark, if I don't already.

And then there's my heart. Dr. Z said my recent weirdness in that arena might be caused by coronary spasms and he'd like some more tests done with Dr. James Miner. Not sure what's going to happen, but I presume I'll find out soon.

But as for my CT scans, everything looks good, the doc said. The report from the radiologist said everything pretty much looks as expected. I just wish they'd expected, oh, maybe someone in better shape with a smaller gut. Then I'd be really happy with those findings. Though I am quite pleased with the findings. Dr. Z was pleased as well, though harried in his new set-up.

Oh, speaking of Dr. Z, he has new digs down the Florida Hospital Plaza hallway from his previous office. Not that the practice moved, just his partners moved him into an office all to his own.

Yes, he's just that good.

As one nurse said to me, "This is like the Hilton" compared with his old office.

And, I'm guessing, the rest of the practice wants to use PCs, not Macs.

Gulp, the scan

In just four months since my previous CT scan in December, things at Florida Hospital's imaging labs have changed.

What used to be a couple of swills of horrible orange-flavored drink prior to the scan has morphed into two pints of bottled water spiked with an iodine solution an hour before the scan and then one more pint of a different iodine solution minutes before. So while I loved the flavorless solution, far superior to the faux store-brand-Tang-flavored drink we had before, that is outweighed by the wasted hour one must spend at the hospital prior to the scan.

It's not as if I -- and most every cancer patient -- has not wasted countless hours at hospitals and doctors office waiting in lobbies or in infusion rooms for and during treatments. But just when you thought you'd escaped that routine, it's back. I didn't even bring my traditional time-waster -- a sudoku book. But, thankfully, Catherine joined me so we had some time with each other.

The CT tech who snapped my internal photos and also gave the most pain-free IV poke I've ever had said Florida Hospital changed the procedure about a month ago and that the protocol is better. Perhaps the chemicals in the bottled water provide better contrast for the CT. I wouldn't doubt it. That place is always improving upon itself.

The tech also said it has to do with distributing the contrast drinks. I mentioned in 2007 about the milky contrast drinks they make you consume before a PET scan and some CT scans (use liquid strawberry-flavored Quik to make it go down easier). Well, by administering the drink prior to the scan -- not the day or days before -- Florida Hospital's imaging service can't be seen as distributing medications like a pharmacy. Maybe the lawyers got involved.

Florida Hospital also changed the procedure at its Advanced Nuclear Imaging center across the street, where PET scans are produced. So be prepared for a wait there as well.

I won't hear about the results of the scan until later this month -- the 27th -- but I figure no news is good news. If something shows up that shouldn't be there, I think I'll hear from the doctor sooner. I'm hoping I don't.

So don't panic about taking the scans, just be prepared to wait a while once at the hospital. Arrive an hour or more before your appointment -- and bring something to read.

Another day, another scan

I have a confession. I forgot about an appointment for a CT scan on Monday. I just went about my business and realized it only when I had my first cell call of the day and noticed the notification.

So I go to Florida Hospital on Tuesday afternoon for the scan. No biggie. I've done these things every four months for nearly two years, and even more frequently prior to my surgery. By now I should glow in the dark.

The scan will allow my doctors to see if anything is growing inside of me. Well, let me rephrase that. The doctors will see if anything bad is growing inside. I don't think so; there's no blockage that I can tell.

So I feel pretty good going into this scan. I see Dr. Z in mid-April and I feel certain I'll have a relatively clean bill of health.

As I go through this scan, this Web site is about to be visited by its 18,000th viewer. With that milestone, I hope to remind everyone that esophageal cancer is among the fastest-growing cancers in the United States and around the world. Primarily affecting men, it now also is crossing the gender gap and striking more and more women.

But there are ways to avoid it. It all centers on seeing a doctor regularly and -- unlike what I did -- tell the doctor if you have persistent heartburn. Further, tell the doc if your persistent heartburn goes away, because that's not normal either. It could indicate an advanced condition known as Barrett's Esophagus, which is a precursor to cancer.

Take your medications as if your life depends on it. If your doctor put you on any of the meds that keep your body from making acid, use it. It could save your life and is a small price to pay to watch your children grow up, celebrate holidays or enjoy a spring afternoon.

So, going to the CT scan Tuesday is just a small inconvenience, and hopefully it will confirm to my doctors that they did an outstanding job in 2007 and 2008 keeping me alive.

New news about esophageal cancer

In recent weeks, there have been a few developments in the fight against cancer of the esophagus.

Esophageal cancer in general is among the fastest growing forms of the disease. And a study by the National Institute on Alcohol Abuse and Alcoholism, first reported in The New York Times, indicates even a small amount of alcohol -- a glass of wine or half bottle of beer -- could increase the chance of developing squamous cell esophageal cancer. This is even more so if the patient is of Asian ancestry.

Squamous cell cancer is most often at the upper end of the esophagus, while the type of cancer I had, adenocarcinoma, generally affects the lower end of the esophagus near the stomach. Squamous cell carcinoma also can be caused by smoking, or in combination with drinking.

Here's a link to the New York Times article. 

The other development was the death earlier this month of the actor Ron Silver. Silver had been in a two-year battle with esophageal cancer. He died Sunday, March 15.

His death opened my eyes to the fact that even though I feel pretty good now, I'm not out of the woods 18 months after my initial diagnosis.

I'll continue to update on a more regular basis.

A year ago this date ...

Exactly a year ago this date, I returned to work after nearly five months of cancer treatments, surgery and recovery.

It was too long to be away but necessary. Oddly, before my bout with cancer, I was a relatively -- if not overweight -- person, hardly ever availing myself of sick days, let alone using up my annual allotment.

So last year, my return was the start of my work week, Tuesday, Feb. 12, 2008. Everyone in the newsroom welcomed me back, and while I was a little slower than I'd been I got right back into it.

We had a couple of parties at work, with cakes, fruit and other desserts over two days to celebrate my return.

My friends at work truly were that during my absence and return. While away they visited, wrote, sent plants and flowers, food and warmth. They visited me in the hospital, at home, constructed a scrap book to cheer me up (which it did, immensely) and in many other ways made me feel good. When I walked back into the newsroom I was greeted by two rounds of applause. I was at a loss for words, which, my friends will recall, doesn't happen often.

Since then, I've gone off my pain pills entirely, gained back about a dozen pounds and seem to be doing well at work.

Some friends have left the paper and a few others have come aboard. Change, hopefully with health, seems to be the norm nowadays.

Records come, records go

Earlier today, the 17,000th visitor to my blogs, CancerVivor.blogspot.com and kohnzone.blogspot.com, stopped by for a few.

They were greeted by either photos of a really cute newborn named Emily (kohnzone) or some less than cute images of the inner workings of my body (CancerVivor).

At the former, I was announcing the birth of my first grandchild and showing off some photos. That's pretty self-explanatory, so I'll focus on the cancer site.

There, as I have since it launched, I am trying to educate as many people as possible about esophageal cancer and how to avoid it.

So I'll rehash some things I've said in the past:

First, YES! You can get cancer from heartburn. It's not all that difficult, apparently. I did it. Just eat spicy foods -- lots of them -- mixed with greasy, unhealthy items. For a long time. That will set you in the right direction. To follow up, avoid seeing a doc about heartburn or taking meds to treat it. Then, when the heartburn fades away suddenly, think of it as a blessing that your self-medication has helped, not the condition know as Barrett's Esophagus which masks a pre-cancerous condition. If any of these symptoms occur, longtime heartburn or sudden discontinuation of heartburn for no real reason, see a doctor.

Second, esophageal cancer survival is so low because it often is diagnosed in advanced stages. For me, the tumor was large enough to block much of my swallowing, but not all. So if you find it difficult to get food from your mouth to your stomach, see a doctor. The sooner the better.

Third, statistically, esophageal cancer is growing, both nationwide and in Florida. It continues to be very lethal, as noted above. Of the 1,170 Floridians to come down with the disease, 1,010 people died in the American Cancer Society's most recent statistical report. The numbers were grim nationwide as well in 2008: 16,470 new cases and 14,280 deaths.

There's a five-year survivability rate of 34 percent for those with the cancer contained to the esophagus, as mine was, so I'm not nearly out of the woods yet. For all stages of the cancer, the survivability rate plunges to 16 percent.

When diagnosed, I was staged at 2 to 3, meaning it was advanced but had not yet spread to the lymphatic system. That's what saved my life -- so far.

Across the country, esophageal cancer is the seventh-leading form of cancer among men, claiming 11,250 lives -- or 4 percent of all male cancer deaths.

So please, please, if any of this sounds like you, get help. Get it now. Do not wait. I'm not a doctor but I can speak from experience and, sadly, this is an area in which I have experience. Be cautions and take a proactive stance.

It could save your life.