Don't Get Cancer (Again), Dan!

How to Not Get Cancer (Again)

noreply@blogger.com (Dan Baldwin) — Mon, 19 Mar 2012 18:30:00 +0000

Well it's been over three years since I've written in this blog. I actually thought I'd never write in the blog again unless my cancer returned.

Well the cancer's not returned, I know because I had my first scan in 3 years this past January to prove it. I'd like to say the cancer did not come back because I adjusted my lifestyle over the past three years - but I can't - because I really did not adjust any of my pre-cancer behavior. I actually gained 10 pounds over the past three years to tip the scale on January 1, 2012 at 235, ten pounds shy of my all time high back in 2003.

But much has changed since my last post in December 2008. One change is Nancy's parents both came to live with us as their health was failing due to their own stage 4 cancers. The other change is that I've kind of converted my business to the point where I'm a paid blogger.

Watching my mother and father in-law die of lung and prostate cancer right before my eyes was the two-by-four I needed to hit me in the head to finally get me to adjust my own lifestyle choices to minimize getting cancer again.

And since I blog for a living I figured I might as well document my "how to not get cancer again" lifestyle choices for the benefit of others.

So if you're looking for a blog about how to not get cancer written by a semi-professional blogger who has had cancer - this is your blog!

What's On My Top 10 Anti-Cancer Lifestyle Change List?

1.Seriously consider doing that which "experts" report reduces one's risk of getting cancer like...

2. Exercise,

3. Don't be overweight,

4. Reduce stress, and

5. Don't do things that "experts" report increases one's risk of getting cancer, like

6. Using tobacco,

7. Eating crappy food,

8. Being a miserable person,

9. Tanning on purpose,

10. Eating lead paint, etc.

As often as time allows I'll blog here to let you know what I've learned about the 10 points above.

Thank You

noreply@blogger.com (Dan Baldwin) — Tue, 16 Dec 2008 16:13:00 +0000

I will update this blog from time to time to let everyone who finds it know how I'm doing. For now though I'd like to close my active treatment blog reports by saying "thank you".

First, I thank my wife Nancy for putting up with "Cancer Dan". She successfully went through breast cancer treatment 4 years ago. Together we're now "two-time cancer ass kickers".

Second, I thank my kids, family and friends for giving me all of 10-seconds of sympathy and then going back to treating me like a normal person (who has no hair and gray skin.)

Third, I thank all the medical professionals, care takers and even the insurance company. I know it's your job but you all gave me much more than I'm sure you were compensated for. You cared about me. I noticed and appreciated that very much.

Fourth, I thank everyone who has walked the cancer path in front of me. Thanks for publishing your treatment blogs. I hope those of you who come down the cancer path behind me find my blog as helpful as the blogs I found and read when I first discovered I had cancer.

Last (but not least), I thank God. Prayer and reflection got me through this ordeal. When things seemed most bleak I would simply think about my favorite line of scripture from Jesus' "Sermon on the Mount", "Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they?" Matthew 6:26.

I'm Cured?

noreply@blogger.com (Dan Baldwin) — Tue, 16 Dec 2008 15:58:00 +0000

My primary oncologist says, "You're cured!" I guess that's the deal with Hodgkin's. Like testicular cancer & childhood leukemia, Hodgkin's is one of the three "curable" cancers.

My radiation oncologist says, "I use the 'cured' word pretty cautiously". It doesn't really matter to me - I'm just glad I'm no longer in active treatment. Treatment is a huge grind on your time and while you're not being treated you're feeling tired and/or "like crap" all the time.

The elderly "church ladies" are thrilled at my recovery. (Like it or not, when the church ladies discover you're "afflicted" they add you to their official daily prayer requests and you become part of their "prayer job". ) When they ask me on Sundays how I'm doing I assure them that I am in fact cured (and thankful and appreciative). One in particular, Irene, delights in taking me by the arm and introducing me to others as a "walking miracle". She's right.

Whether I "stay cured" for forty years or just forty weeks is not up to me. What's up to me is to live my life now like it will be both.

Radiation Done!

noreply@blogger.com (Dan Baldwin) — Tue, 16 Dec 2008 15:34:00 +0000

The 17 daily radiation treatments are over - and in this season of Thanksgiving, I am. Depending on who you ask, for all practical purposes, I'm cured.

Compared to chemo, the radiation treatments were quite anti-climatic. With each of the eight bi-monthly chemo treatments I got get four hours of people feeling sorry and being nice to me. With chemo it's two quick, 10-second zaps after 15-minutes of waiting for my turn on the machine.

The biggest difference between chemo & radiation is the setup before the first treatment. With chemo there's no setup. With radiation it seemed like a month of setup as I had to meet with a radiation oncologist. Then I had to get measured and fitted to a Styrofoam form to hold me still while being radiated. Then I had to go through a trial zapping. It just seemed to go on and on before my first actual radiation.

I've posted a stock web photo of what the machine looks like. The technicians position the machine above you using lasers lining up to little tattoo dots they put on your chest and then zap you from above. The whole machine then rotates around and then you get zapped from below. All the while you're lying on a Styrofoam form on a table.

The worse part of the treatment is the skin area that gets radiated (for me it was the upper left quadrant of my chest & back) gets pretty crusty for about two or three weeks after the treatment is over. (Kind of like a party favor!)

The people at the radiation treatment center were very nice though from the technicians, to the nurse and my radiation oncologist, Dr. Washington. They gave me a nice completion certificate after my last treatment.

No Visible Cancer in PET Scan!

noreply@blogger.com (Dan Baldwin) — Wed, 03 Sep 2008 18:46:00 +0000

Last week I had a PET scan to see how good a job the chemo therapy has been doing at killing the cancer in the three areas the cancer appeared in my original PET scan several months ago. To my great relief that doctor called to report that there was no visible cancer but that I still had to do my eighth and last infusion this Thursday. (Had the PET Scan still showed cancer then I may have had to continue the chemo twice a month for two additional months.)

So currently I do my last of eight infusions tomorrow and then I have to get radiated 17 times to kill any microscopic cancer cells in the three tumor areas that might be hiding. After that I've supposedly got a 80% chance of being 100% "cured".

In reality I understand that because the cancer treatment I'm going through is rather carcinogenic itself I have a 10% chance of getting some other cancer within the next 20 years. But hey, I'll take the 20 years and the 90% chance it will be longer since I'm pretty sure I would have been dead in 4 years had I elected not to be treated this time around.

Neutropenic Hospital Stay

noreply@blogger.com (Dan Baldwin) — Wed, 03 Sep 2008 18:28:00 +0000

Sorry I have not posted in a while, killing Cancer is a full time job what with all the doctor appointments and medical tests (not to mention feeling poorly or desperately tired 70% of the time).

The most interesting thing that's happened since my last post is that I ended up in the hospital for about three days, a week and a half after my fourth infusion (half way through). It seems I was having a lot of sweats and was running a fever of about 101 degrees or so off and on for several days. When I mentioned it to my doctor's nurse she told me to go to the emergency room at UCSD and tell them I had a Neutropenic fever and that they would probably admit me.

Sure enough, several hours later the ER doctor was explaining that my ANC count was below 500 and that was not a good thing if I had some sort of fever in my body. So they admitted me to my own room (so I didn't catch someone else's kooties) and started pumping me full of antibiotics from Monday evening through late Wednesday afternoon. Sure enough they ended up killing whatever was causing the fever and got my ANC count way up with a couple injections of Neupogen.

Speaking of injections, they also insisted on giving me a shot of Heparin in the stomach (quite unpleasant no matter how pretty the nurse) every eight hours to "prevent blood clots". After a while I figured out that they try to do that with everyone admitted to the hospital and I was not really all that special. When I knew I was getting out on Wednesday I said, "Thanks, but no thanks" on the last couple injections.

One special note is that if you're going to get stuck in a San Diego hospital I highly recommend UCSD's Thorton hospital. It looks like a fancy hotel and as a patient you order your three meals a day from what looks like a hotel room service menu. The food was excellent and it's even served by someone in a room service uniform. (Best thing about it is you don't have to tip them!)

Chemo Me More, I'm Loving it!

noreply@blogger.com (Dan Baldwin) — Sun, 20 Jul 2008 22:03:00 +0000

I've now had four of my eight scheduled chemo infusions. The following information is primarily for you all trying to anticipate what your own pending chemo will be like.

1. Hair Loss? Yes. Eighty percent fell out three days after my second infusion. Three days later I cut the rest off.

2. Nausea, vomiting, heartburn, dry mouth, diarrhea, constipation or weigh loss? Yes, no, yes, yes, I wish, YES and just starting. After two months and four infusions my gut is suddenly very concerned about what I eat. If I think it will make my poop hard I will not eat it. Why? Click here. I gained five pounds over the first two months of chemo. I think I'll now give that back and then some over the next two months.

3. Slow healing nicks, cuts & viruses? That's a big yes. The problem is except for feeling "different" all the time during chemo - you can't really specifically tell that your white blood count has dropped to almost non-existent and is just barely recovering before the next infusion 14 days later. Every little cut takes four times the normal time to heal. Hang nail? I got band aids for that. This? Ongoing ouchy! Prevention, prevention, prevention. Does your kid have a snuffly nose & a low grade temperature from some unknown "kid virus". If you get it it'll last a week or more where your kid might shake it in a a couple days. I've gone to wearing those lovely blue paper face masks whenever I go into a crowd.

4. Ability to tolerate chemo regimen without interruption? Almost. Before my chemo started my oncologist said it was VERY important to stay with the full treatment without interruption from the side effects. I assured the doctor that would not be a problem. I figure that at 6'2" and 215 pounds I'm a pretty macho dude (at least that's what Nancy assures me of). Ten days after my very first infusion though the hospital lab calls me to tell me my blood count has not recovered enough to have my second scheduled infusion 4 days later. My doctor advised that I needed a shot of Neupogen the next day to raise my white blood count and even hope to have the scheduled infusion three or four days late. Neupogen shots cost $75 each but only if I give the shot to myself and then only if my insurance carrier's selected online pharmacy sends them to me overnight. I've had to give myself a shot after my first & third infusion. In addition to low blood counts, after my first infusion I told my doctor that I didn't poop or even fart for about 10 days. That caused him to be very concerned about paralytic ileus, a possible side effect from the Vinblastine - the "V" in ABVD. He took me off Vinblastine for the second infusion and then ramped it back up. I protested but he assured me that ileus was not to be trifled with and I needed to do whatever it took to become "Mr. Soft Poop".

5. Fatigue and chemo brain? Yes. After the first couple infusions I'd sleep about 24 hours straight on the third & fourth day after the infusion and then need an afternoon nap every other day. I still need naps everyday and the 24 hour nap need can fall on any of the 14 days. My ability to concentrate on something lasts about 15 minutes. Reading the paper? I need a nap afterwards.

6. Bottom line? Chemo sucks!

Bald is Beautiful

noreply@blogger.com (Dan Baldwin) — Sun, 20 Jul 2008 21:27:00 +0000

When I asked my oncologist about the recommended ABVD chemo treatment he assured me that it was one of the gentler chemo regimens. I asked him, "Will I would go bald?". He said "no".

I should have asked him, "Will eighty percent of my hair fall out and make me look like some kind of pathetic cancer freak seeking sympathy from all who cast their eyes in my general direction?"

To make a long story short, about two days after my second infusion my hair started falling out in big clumps in the shower, all over my bed pillow and pretty much every where else in the house that I touched my hair. Slicking my hair back with gel only made me look like an 80 year old still trying to get away with a "comb over".

After three extremely depressing days I decided to seize control and the car keys. Sixty minutes later I was beautifully bald thanks to a friendly old fashioned barber shop and a modest investment of $10.75.

Getting bald is easier than staying bald though. After about a week I noticed that about 10% of my hair was still growing. So I decided that I would try to "Nair the hair off" with that creamy stuff that women use on their legs in the shower. (Personal note: Don't put Nair on your scalp when your scalp is sunburned and peeling. Ouch!)

It seems the best way to stay bald is to use a disposable razor with a lubricating strip & hair conditioner. I've also bought an electric razor to see if that might be the best daily way to "stay beautiful".

Mmmmm, chemo!

noreply@blogger.com (Dan Baldwin) — Mon, 09 Jun 2008 16:43:00 +0000

Well it's been a weekend, a week and then another weekend since I enjoyed my first "chemotomy" (short for chemo lobotomy, of course).

As the photos above & video below suggest, I had absolutely no idea what the days after my first chemo infusion would be like. The following list summarizes:

1. VOMITING - None. They give you so many anti-vomiting drugs that it feels like your gut actually gets switched to "off" for about five days.

2. NAUSEA - No nausea per se, but because your gut isn't doing anything for almost a week it feels like you have someone else's guts in you. It's a very annoying feeling.

3. FATIGUE - Yes. Napping daily for the first week. Serious three hour naps.

4. DIZZYNESS - Yes. The chemo kills the blood to starve the cancer of what it needs to grow (I guess). What the chemo's doing to the cancer the chemo's also doing to everything else that needs anything from your blood.

5. LIKE BEING PREGNANT - I never really understood how annoying it can be to have something foreign take over complete control of your body. It totally sucks. After being pregnant with three our kids, my wife Nancy is my new hero! (Sorry, hon. I never new!)

6. CRANKY & IRRITABLE - Absolutely. Ask my poor family. I hope now that I know what chemo feels like I'll be mentally better prepared & not let the surprise put me in such a miserable mood.

7. THE "HUH, WHAT?" EFFECT - Some call it "chemo brain" but I like the term "chemotomy". All I can say is that for about five days all I did was wander around the house between naps trying to remember what the hell I just started doing two minutes ago. I now understand why people who get dementia also get mad. It's really quite annoying.

8. LOSS OF APPETITE - I wish! Instead of giving you drugs that turn off your gut they ought to give you something that turns off your appetite and your desire to engage in "happy hour" to make the misery go away.

All in all though, since I wasn't puking my guts out or curled into the fetal position for a week I'd say the whole chemo thing went a whole lot better than I thought it would.

RECOMMENDATIONS - For those of you reading this blog & freaking out in advance of starting your own chemo I humbly pass on the following:

A. Eat Light & Skip the Spices - For some unknown reason my stomach was not happy unless it was full. Think of the hour after Thanksgiving dinner. Stuffing your gut is not something you want to do when your gut is closed for business for about five days. Plus, I used to eat hot sauce and spices on everything. No more. Trust me, I tried.

B. Skip Exercising for a Couple Days - Unless you like that dizzy, almost-falling-over feeling.

C. Just Smile, Don't Speak to Your Poor Children - If that "hey look at me" noise teenagers love to make every waking hour of the day isn't something you're crazy about to begin with, chemo doesn't make that sound more pleasant. Buy some soft foam earplugs (really), and go take another nap behind a closed door.

D. You will Feel Normal Again - Like I'm an expert after one chemo infusion, right? I can say that by the beginning of the second weekend (I had chemo on a Thursday) I felt pretty much back to normal.

E. Skip Lots of Direct Sun - For some reason my face turned beet red after being in the sun just a little bit the first couple days after chemo.

Video Anyone? Speaking from personal experience, I know that for the month or so between the time you think you might have cancer ("Oh shit, I'm gonna die!") and the realization that having cancer is not a lot different that getting a second (or third) job, ("Like I got extra time in my life for one more stupid, time-wasting activity"), "cancer people" have an unquenchable thirst for any and all information about what they're about to go through. For all you happy cancer campers out there in blog-land I humbly offer about 12 minutes of my life in the chemo chair. (Videograpy services cheerfully provided by the "always ready for the next adventure", Mrs. Cancer Dan AKA my loving wife, Nancy.)

I Survived Chemo Infusion Round 1 of 8

noreply@blogger.com (Dan Baldwin) — Fri, 30 May 2008 16:56:00 +0000

Because of or in spite of 11 different chemicals coursing through my body I'm muddling through the "day after". As my poor family can attest to I'm quite irritable and generally unpleasant to be around though.

We did take some funny pictures yesterday at the beginning of my six hour visit to the "infusion" center at UCSD. I hope to have a full blow by blow published a bit later here when I'm feeling a bit better.

Thanks for all your thoughts and prayers. They're helping.

I Got My Port Put in My Starboard Side!

noreply@blogger.com (Dan Baldwin) — Sun, 25 May 2008 01:25:00 +0000

It's a cool little device called the Smart Port CT "With Vortex Technology"!

Dr. Finch here put it in. Doesn't he look like he would fit right in on the "Grey's Anatomy" TV show?

The video below is of an older model of the port. "Port" seems to be a short name for "vascular access device" ("vascular" meaning big-ass blood vessel). The port is a device that goes in the chest just under the skin half way between the nipple and the collar-bone.

To get it in the doctor cuts an incision while I'm under sedation (not totally asleep but not totally awake) and then kind of digs a pocket out of the fat between my skin & chest muscle about an inch south of the incision. After tucking the device in he then snakes a catheter (tube) up under my chest skin, over my collar bone and then into my jugular vein. From fist poke to final sew the whole procedure could not have taken more than 30 minutes. They said I was asking questions through the whole procedure - I guess that's what they get for not knocking me all the way out.

The photo to the right shows the port that goes under my skin in the left hand. The device in the right hand is what connects to the port via a needle through the chest skin. the other end of that tube is connected to an IV pump I believe that helps them load me up with four IV bags full of chemo juice.

As always, the staff taking care of me could not have been nicer. The doctor was a fairly serious but friendly fellow named Dr. Michael Finch. The two nurses were very professional but happy to joke around a bit when Nancy and I asked if we could take a funny picture for our blog. Their names are Robin Garland, RN & Linda Lobbestael, RN.
(I hope I look this happy when "they" start using the port to fill me full of chemo juice every two weeks for four months starting next Thursday, May 29th.)

The "Doctor's Chair"

noreply@blogger.com (Dan Baldwin) — Sun, 25 May 2008 01:00:00 +0000

I was so happy to find out I only had Hodgkin's lymphoma a couple weeks ago I forgot to share the silly trick Nancy & I played on my oncologist.

We were both quite nervous waiting in the exam room for Dr. Castro to come in and give us the official diagnosis. It seemed like we were waiting an eternity. The picture to the right is me waiting "patiently".

Anyway, I noticed that the chair the doctor sits in was one of those chairs that goes up and down only by spinning the chair while holding the rolling feet still. I also noticed that the chair was screwed all the way down to it's lowest level - which made sense - as my oncologist Dr. Castro is a huge man professionally but - well I guess you get the picture. I asked Nancy, "Do you think he would notice if we screwed the chair up to the top so it was as tall as it could be?"

Like a ten-year old middle-school prankster I re-adjusted the chair all the way up, had a quick chuckle with my partner in crime and then went back to worrying about dying from cancer.

About five minutes later Dr. Castro came in and tried to sit on his chair. He immediately seemed to think something was amiss, got off and actually turned the chair upside down to see what was the matter. By then Nancy and I almost had tears coming out of our eyes from holding back a laugh when Dr. Castro gave us a strange look and then moved onto telling me all about my having cancer while at the same time trying to find a comfortable "Doctor-like" way to sit on an office chair that was almost as high as a bar stool.

Well it seemed funny at the time!

Six Million Dollar "Dan"

noreply@blogger.com (Dan Baldwin) — Thu, 15 May 2008 04:57:00 +0000

Do you ever wonder what "they" do with all your health insurance premiums?

I used to think "they" spent it on fancy health insurance company Christmas office parties in Hawaii. Now I'm pretty sure they just save it up so they can spend it on me at the UCSD John Moores Cancer Center.

On Friday I go in for my second "procedure" ("operation" for all you old school types). "They" (not the insurance company "they", the Cancer Center "they") are going to install a "pass-port" into my chest to make it easier on everyone to administer chemo therapy.

"What's a pass-port"? Good question.

I thought chemo was like getting a shot in your arm. Apparently it's a little more involved - like a couple of hours of having health care practitioners pouring acid into your body. I guess doing it the old fashioned way through an IV in your arm runs the risk of messing up your arm veins (or your arm skin if the chemo fluid accidentally leaks out!)

So with the port "they" implant a little hollow squeeze box under your chest skin (no, not an accordion) that's about the size of six old silver dollars that has a tube that is inserted into one of the "big" veins in your chest. (Cool, huh?) Apparently, the basic idea is - if you're going to take a caustic pee somewhere, is it better to pee caustic fluid into a straw (you're holding in your hand) or into the Mississippi river standing on a cliff?

So anyway, I'm getting the port installed on Friday. They say it's a real operation but instead of general anesthesia I just get "sedated".

How does all this make me the "Six Million dollar Dan"? Well I was Googling the port procedure and one blog I found said "they" charge $5,000 for the procedure. It got me started thinking, "How much does having Cancer cost?"

Fortunately we have PPO insurance where we can kind of pick our doctors but we still have to pick up 20% of the cost of the dinner. I shopped around for the MRI, the first test that began this journey. After hearing I likely had lymphoma after the MRI I kind of stopped shopping around.

Bottom line? Pay your health insurance premiums first, buy food second!

You've got "Nodular Sclerosis Hodgkin's Disease!"

noreply@blogger.com (Dan Baldwin) — Wed, 07 May 2008 05:56:00 +0000

Me: What?

Doctor: Remember when we were talking about the "Hollywood Cancer"? The kind you want to get if you're going to have cancer at all? Well that's what you've got. But it's not really called "Hollywood Cancer" - that's just what we tell patients to keep them from freaking out. It's really called Hodgkin's Disease and you've got the flavor called "nodular sclerosis".

Me: Huh?

Doctor: So the good part is that there's at least a 80% chance you'll be 100% cured which means you'll probably still die in about 50 years but you'll likely die from something other than Hodgkins Disease.

Me: Oh, good...

Doctor: But I've still got to talk to all my home boys here at UCSD Moores Cancer Center about you. You see we get together once a week and brag about all the cool cancer cases we've got. Sure, yours is a pretty pedestrian case of cancer, but hey, it's still real cancer - don't let anyone tell you different - you still get a t-shirt at the end! Wait, what was I talking about? Oh, yeah - I've got to present your case to all the other cancer doctors here on Friday - and assuming that everyone agrees then we'll share the recommended course of treatment with you which will likely be four months of ABVD chemo followed by two weeks of radiation therapy. So six months from now it's possible this will all be behind you.

Me: Thank you God! Thank you Jesus! Thank you Holy Ghost! Thank you family, friends and friends I haven't met who have prayed for me, my family and all those who are sick in body, mind or spirit!

"And there came a leper to him, beseeching him, and kneeling down to him, and saying unto him, If thou wilt, thou canst make me clean. And Jesus, moved with compassion, put forth his hand, and touched him, and saith unto him, I will; be thou clean." Mark 1:40,41

This is not really what my fine doctor, Dr. Castro said. He said it all very professionally. I just reworded it to make the official diagnosis of my cancer sound somewhat light hearted and/or funny. Ha, ha. :) (Except for the last part where the hand of God has assisted those like me who are sick.)

I'm Alive!

noreply@blogger.com (Dan Baldwin) — Wed, 30 Apr 2008 02:54:00 +0000

Did you ever have the feeling, "This is it!"?

On my drive home yesterday from work I was sure that today would be the day that the Lord had decided to call me home. To Nancy's general annoyance last night, I copied a will, a health directive & a power of attorney off the Internet (ilrg.com/forms) and got my neighbors together for a late night signing ceremony. But all for naught as I awoke from my surgery today quite alive and ready to put in 40 more years. (Actually when I woke up this morning I was actually pretty sure I'd be just fine.)

Except for the fact that I was having surgery, the whole experience could not have been more pleasant. In our private pre-op waiting room every member of the surgical team visited me and Nancy to answer any questions we might have and were all quite friendly and cheery. (See slide show below). Dr. Brumund did suggest we switch from sedation to general anesthesia as he was going in deeper than he initially thought he might have to - but even that was no problem as I woke up from the surgery feeling like I had a nice relaxing nap.

It turns out the "relaxing" was all the good pain killers. Eight hours later the goofy juice is wearing off & I'm pretty sore. We'll see how tomorrow turns out. Thanks to everyone for all the prayers. The prayers worked - I'm alive!

The surgeon, Dr. Brumund said they did a quick look at the lymph node under the microscope during the procedure to make sure they were collecting test-worthy biopsy material and he said the quick look was consistent with lymphoma of some sort. Next week we'll find out what flavor I have.

"Do Nothing Party" & Double Biopsy Day!

noreply@blogger.com (Dan Baldwin) — Tue, 29 Apr 2008 05:32:00 +0000

Our really cool neighbors through a back yard "do nothing" party for us this past Saturday evening. It was a "do nothing" as in that's what they insisted we do other than just come over. (It was pot-luck for everyone except us!)

I though it would be something of a pity-party but after discussing my situation for an obligatory 10-minutes everyone (thankfully) couldn't be less interested. That's why they're cool neighbors! (I must say though that people definitely give you better hugs when they think you might have cancer. Is that a good thing?)

The Moores UCSD Cancer Center just keeps coming through. I got the word late today that they'd be doing the bone marrow biopsy at the same time as my lymph node biopsy tomorrow morning. Ouch! Best to get all the hurt over at once, plus it cuts down on the waiting... for the FINAL DIAGNOSIS... (ominous thunder roll sound effect in the far off distance)

"Inside Dan" - A look at the MRI & PET Scan

noreply@blogger.com (Dan Baldwin) — Fri, 25 Apr 2008 04:33:00 +0000

When I went to pick up the original files of the MRI & PET scan so the surgeon Dr. Brumund could take a closer look at the job we were requesting, I asked the labs to make an extra DVD of each set of images so I could see what all the fuss was about.

Here you can see a single still image from about a thousand images on the MRI. The video below is just part of the PET scan images. In the video I guess the trouble is the three dark regions that create kind of a triangle in the left shoulder. It's all pretty cool, huh? No wonder these tests (and having cancer) is so expensive.

I go in for a pre-operative meeting tomorrow morning with an anesthesiologist & someone else in preparation for what we hope will be a double biopsy (lymph node in the shoulder and bone marrow in the hip) next Tuesday. (Sounds fun!)

First Meeting with Surgical Oncologist

noreply@blogger.com (Dan Baldwin) — Thu, 24 Apr 2008 03:42:00 +0000

The surgical oncologist we met with today is named Dr. Kevin Brumund and he looks a lot like the singer Jackson Brown. We were 30 minutes late to the appointment due to traffic and I was taken right in to the exam room. I nice fellow named Reggie took my vitals and then the doctor came in. He's grown a short beard but he still doesn't look a day over 40 (which Nancy noted by asking "How long have you been doing this?") What Dr. Brumund may lack in age though he mades up for in confidence and a business-like demeanor. (He answered Nancy, "A long time" - he likely has heard that question a few time before.)

Dr. Brumund took my history, looked at my records, felt my bumps and heard our request for an immediate excision the same day before stating that he would not be digging anything out of me until he could take a close look at my original MRI. He said that there's a "lot of expensive real estate" between my skin & the lymph node in my shoulder/neck area (like the brachial plexus nerve). He said he could theoretically do the biopsy surgery next Tuesday so long as the original MRI films (which we didn't have with us) indicated that was the most prudent course of action.

Since the original MRI films were still at the facility where I had the MRI done, I committed to going and getting them for him the same day so that the procedure could be confirmed - which I did.

So now the lymph node biopsy is tentatively scheduled for Tuesday April 29th. We asked the doctor's case manager, Susan Margolis R.N., if we could have the bone marrow biopsy done at the same time. Susan suggested that since two separate teams do the two different biopsy procedures, the odds of having both done at the same time were not good but she'd submit the request.

So anyway, Dr. Brumund knows what he wants to do and knows what he doesn't want to do with my lymph node biopsy - which soots me just fine. While he looks like Jackson Brown he's certainly no "Pretender".

First Oncologist Appointment

noreply@blogger.com (Dan Baldwin) — Wed, 23 Apr 2008 05:06:00 +0000

A thorough googling of "lymphoma" quickly led me to the idea that I ought to be working with a major "Cancer Center" to get my "lymphoma thing" analyzed & properly diagnosed. The closest cancer center to me is the UCSD Moores center in San Diego.

I met with a recommended oncologist today, Dr. Januario E. Castro outcomes or courses of actions before a lymph node biopsy & a bone marrow biopsy were done to determine a firm diagnosis. While he said the biopsy might show one of 40 different lymphomas, if he had to gues. Dr. Castro's demeanor seem perfect for me and Nancy. We waited quite awhile for the exam to start but when it finally did the doctor seemed to have all the time in the world for us. He took a very a thorough history and did a physical exam. He looked at my MRI & PET scan reports and told us that it was impossible to suggest possibles he say some indications of stage 2a Hodgkin's lymphoma. He said if I was going to get lymphoma at all that Hodgkin's was the one to get since "that's the one you always see on TV where they get diagnosed & cured all in the same 60 minutes".

I'm going to see a "head & neck" surgical oncologist tomorrow to discuss removing one of the three abnormal lymph nodes to do a biopsy & diagnosis. He said once the two biopsies were done we'd meet again in two weeks, go over the findings, answer all the questions and he'd recommend a course of treatment.

I must say that if you're going to have cancer, UCSD's Moores Cancer Center is were you want to have it worked on. Every person there is so nice. Nancy & I feel like we're visiting Club Med. You can't go anywhere without having some nice person escort you so you don't get lost. Dr. Castro's very nice nurse case manager, Theresa Diaz R.N., actually came to find us in the laboratory waiting room to update us about our appointment the next day with the surgeon. Talk about amazing customer service!

History

noreply@blogger.com (Dan Baldwin) — Wed, 23 Apr 2008 04:46:00 +0000

About three months ago while exercising I noticed a lump the size of a 1/3 of a tennis ball above my left collar bone next to my neck. After about two months of wondering what the lump was I went to see my doctor. She suggested an MRI. A week later I got a MRI and the subsequent MRI report suggested a possible lymphoma and strongly recommended a PET scan.

I got a PET scan a week later and the PET scan report suggested that I had a challenge consistent with lymphoma. My doctor said the next step was to see an oncologist so a biopsy could be scheduled so that a diagnosis could be confirmed.