My oncologist doesn’t use that term. He uses “there is no evidence of cancer remaining in your body.” But, I will use it. That was the diagnosis after my final examination today.
I almost feel like I have no right to celebrate. There probably are very few surviving cancer patients who had a shorter or easier time than me. Diagnosed with Merkel cell carcinoma on October 15, 2024. 90 minute operation on October 30. 27 radiation treatments in December and January. Declared cancer free on January 28, 2025.
Less than 3 1/2 months. No nights in a hospital. Never bedridden. Didn’t lose my hair except for some of the hair on my right arm. Never even threw up or ran a fever. Strongest medication I took was an occasional Tylenol.
I have a close friend from high school who has been treated for cancer for over 16 years. It’s been rough for him. After his last treatment, they made an appointment for him to see an oncologist in early March. They think he now may be cancer free and want the oncologist to confirm that.
Sixteen years battling cancer. That is a war. Three and a half months with cancer is only a small skirmish.
Still, we will celebrate tonight with a steak dinner with my family at a fancy Atlanta restaurant. Then, on Sunday back to Barcelona to be with Masha again, and we will celebrate Monday night at our favorite restaurant.
Because Merkel cell carcinoma is such an aggressive type of cancer, they recommend Pet CT scans every 3 months to confirm it hasn’t returned. But, there is a 90% chance it won’t.
I don’t think anyone on this Board really knows me very well. So this last comment might not mean much or seem truthful to you. But, my family and those who do know me well know that I absolutely mean it:
Outside each radiation treatment room at Emory they have a mold for each patient which they use to make sure the right part of your body is in exactly the right position for the radiation. When I started, there were two small head molds for children with brain cancer. Then, there was one. One of the children passed away. Now, there are two again. A 3 year old girl started treatment on December 26, the day after Christmas. The first afternoon, she showed up with her entire family: parents, grandparents, 3 brothers and sisters. Justifiably, she looked terrified. I thought it then and I still think it now: if I could trade my prognosis for hers, I would do it in an instant. I’ve already lived more than 78 years; if cancer took my life in another 5 or 6 months, I still had a hell of a run. She deserves an equally long and happy life and I wish that I could give it to her. But, I can’t. Cancer isn’t fair.
I almost feel like I have no right to celebrate. There probably are very few surviving cancer patients who had a shorter or easier time than me. Diagnosed with Merkel cell carcinoma on October 15, 2024. 90 minute operation on October 30. 27 radiation treatments in December and January. Declared cancer free on January 28, 2025.
Less than 3 1/2 months. No nights in a hospital. Never bedridden. Didn’t lose my hair except for some of the hair on my right arm. Never even threw up or ran a fever. Strongest medication I took was an occasional Tylenol.
I have a close friend from high school who has been treated for cancer for over 16 years. It’s been rough for him. After his last treatment, they made an appointment for him to see an oncologist in early March. They think he now may be cancer free and want the oncologist to confirm that.
Sixteen years battling cancer. That is a war. Three and a half months with cancer is only a small skirmish.
Still, we will celebrate tonight with a steak dinner with my family at a fancy Atlanta restaurant. Then, on Sunday back to Barcelona to be with Masha again, and we will celebrate Monday night at our favorite restaurant.
Because Merkel cell carcinoma is such an aggressive type of cancer, they recommend Pet CT scans every 3 months to confirm it hasn’t returned. But, there is a 90% chance it won’t.
I don’t think anyone on this Board really knows me very well. So this last comment might not mean much or seem truthful to you. But, my family and those who do know me well know that I absolutely mean it:
Outside each radiation treatment room at Emory they have a mold for each patient which they use to make sure the right part of your body is in exactly the right position for the radiation. When I started, there were two small head molds for children with brain cancer. Then, there was one. One of the children passed away. Now, there are two again. A 3 year old girl started treatment on December 26, the day after Christmas. The first afternoon, she showed up with her entire family: parents, grandparents, 3 brothers and sisters. Justifiably, she looked terrified. I thought it then and I still think it now: if I could trade my prognosis for hers, I would do it in an instant. I’ve already lived more than 78 years; if cancer took my life in another 5 or 6 months, I still had a hell of a run. She deserves an equally long and happy life and I wish that I could give it to her. But, I can’t. Cancer isn’t fair.
