I don’t typically like lab blood tests, PET scans, or CT scans. They are time-consuming and involve things like not exercising the day before, not eating before the test, and so on. However, these are the tests for my 6-month status checks for head and neck cancer recurrence. My last radiation and chemotherapy sessions were in the second week of April 2023, so I’ve had a few test results since, confirming a cancer-free status.
On November 18 of last year, it was time for the tests. They are officially called CT Soft Tissue Neck with IV Contrast and PET/CT Skull Base to Mid-Thigh. Three hours and I’m done. There is an app called “MyChart” that consolidates all your medical information in one place. Most health providers use it—or should. It’s handy, and you get your test results before or at the same time as your doctor. (That can be a double-edged sword.)
It’s about 8:00 AM, and my wife, Judy, and I are sitting in the living room enjoying our regular morning coffee routine. An automated email titled “You Have a New Test Result in MyChart” appears on my phone. Great, have the tests on November 18th and get the results on the 20th.
I opened the app and looked for test results. I read the CT scan first, and it all looked great. I like the words "Unremarkable" and "Normal." On to the PET/CT results. The words I like on those tests are “No abnormal uptake.” Those were the words I saw as I read the report—until I didn’t. There were 2 exceptions. Nasopharynx: Uptake in the right nasopharyngeal soft tissues. Oral cavity/oropharynx: Uptake in the right tongue and right soft palate. This was the original site of cancer.
“My impression: Uptake in the right nasopharyngeal soft tissues, right tongue, and right soft palate is highly suspicious for a malignant tumor. Recommend obtaining an ENT consultation.”
I looked over at Judy, and I said, “Let me read something to you.” So, I read the impression above word for word. She looked at me with concern and put her head on my shoulder. Happy Holidays!
I was more stunned by this news than when I initially learned that the biopsy from my lymph node in November of 2022 was positive for cancer. At that time, I knew something was wrong and expected to hear the word C-A-N-C-E-R, based on what I was being told and what I had read. Of course, when it was confirmed, I was unhappy knowing my body was not up to the task, but I had prepared for it and felt strangely stoic. With the initial cancer diagnosis, I had no idea what would happen next. I knew about chemo and radiation as a means to fight it, but it was still a mystery.
She mentioned that, sometimes, the scans show false readings for various reasons. We agreed that the NAV/Dx blood test should confirm her findings.
However, with the current test results, I could foresee what I was in for. Chemo and radiation therapies are both very unpleasant. After you’re done with the radiation, its ill effects still haven’t hit their peak. You get to keep enjoying it.
When I feel I have done everything I can or have no control whatsoever at the moment, I can rationalize. If I’m on a plane and we hit significant turbulence, the rough ride doesn’t bother me. I have no control over what will happen. If the plane starts to go down, I have nowhere to go.
Scared? Yes. The memories of total lethargy, pain, weight loss, loss of taste and the desire to eat or drink all came back. They were never forgotten, but I had found a suitable place in my brain where they would linger but not often intrude on my life.
Also, last time it took me a year to get my basketball game back.
I had a previously scheduled appointment in late December with my oncologist, again, a semiannual checkup where they review the tests, but my ENT (ear, nose, and throat) doctor’s appointment wasn’t until March of 2026. I needed to see her first.
The healthcare system in Las Vegas, Nevada, is overwhelmed. There are excellent doctors and other medical professionals here, but getting quick appointments and making sure your voice is heard requires you to advocate for yourself. So, the first thing I had to do was get my ENT appointment moved up. That was not going to be easy; these doctors are booked and then overbooked. And I had a new ENT; my former ENT left Las Vegas for San Diego, California. Who could blame him?
Threatening, yelling, and aggression will not get you anything, especially an earlier medical appointment.
I emailed the doctor’s aide with my test results and explained why I needed an appointment as soon as possible. I waited a couple of days and then called to ask for an earlier appointment. I was lucky; the doctor agreed to see me on December 3 at 7:45 AM. I would have gone every day and just waited in the lobby if I had needed to. The first thing she mentioned was that during her review of the tests, the CT scan showed no right nasopharyngeal activity. It was the PET scan afterward that noted that. That bothered her.
She numbed my nasal passages and used the endoscope to go through my nose—not as uncomfortable as it might seem—to see if there was any evidence of a recurrence of cancer. She noticed nothing to suggest any abnormality.
That’s when she mentioned that, sometimes, the scans show false readings for various reasons. We agreed that the NAV/Dx blood testᵃ should confirm her findings.
Previously, I loved getting that test because it had confirmed the PET/CT scan findings and provided further evidence of being cancer free at that moment.
The new NAV/Dx test had been moved up to December 2. A mobile phlebotomist came by my house, took my blood, and FedExed it to the lab. It was now December 8, and I was waiting for the NAV/Dx results. It took longer to analyze the blood sample for that test, so it was no surprise I hadn’t received the results. Even though I had a clean bill of health from one doctor, I was still protecting my psyche by not acknowledging that result until I got the NAV/Dx blood test results.
December 8 marked 19 days since I had read the PET/CT scan results. Oh, the things that were once again going on in my mind. Optimism, resignation, Stoicism, life review. Should have, could have, did, didn’t—worst- and best-case scenarios, financial implications, the emotional effects on my wife and children, dying well versus dying with fear.
I had tried to work while I was getting the initial chemo and radiation treatments. I thought I could power through them. Wrong.
So, I was starting to prepare myself for that feeling of throat pain, trouble swallowing, chronic lethargy, and mind fogginess, and wanting to be productive but lacking energy and resolve. The thought of never tasting again was depressing. I remembered the immediate dizziness when I got up from lying or sitting and knew I had about 5 seconds before I had to find somewhere to sit again.
During the months of sitting in the waiting room, waiting for chemo treatments, and waiting at the radiation center a few blocks away, I saw the looks of sadness and exhaustion on those waiting with me. It was always so quiet. Thankfully, there were never any children, just people in their 50s—as best I could tell—and older. Though I knew that what we were going through was meant to save our lives, it was a rotten way to live, with no guarantees for the future. I hoped the people around me had achieved some of what they wanted in their lives.
The nurses were kind and dedicated. You have to choose to be an oncology nurse; it’s not for everyone. I always felt bad when they came over with the lead case holding the chemotherapy that they would be adding through my chest port. They were wearing aprons and gloves to protect themselves.
I remember when it became clear that I was winning my battle with cancer. I was elated. I wanted to thank everyone, the oncologist, ENT and radiation doctors, their immediate families, and their other relatives.
There were plans. Get my appetite back, which would increase my weight, and get back into excellent physical condition, which I believe helped me battle cancer. Get back to work and refill the coffers that had taken a beating.
Though I knew that what we were going through was meant to save our lives, it was a rotten way to live, with no guarantees for the future.
I decided I wanted to help other cancer patients, especially head and neck cancer sufferers, and be an advocate for those who had survived and those who were in the thick of it. Funny thing. Once I had my final appointments and switched to every 3 and then 6 months for tests and checkups, I never looked back.
My reason? Fear. After seeing and experiencing all that sadness and discomfort, I found I could not bring myself to go there and relive it. I just wanted to be away from sick people. I was disappointed in myself. I should have taken my good fortune and “paid it forward.” But other than answering a few surveys and brief interactions on some websites dedicated to people who had/have head and neck cancer, I just wanted it all behind me.
So, I’m back in familiar mental territory and potentially health-wise as well. On December 10, I got that familiar email, “You Have a New Health Result in MyChart.” I logged in and went to the “Results” tab, and I hesitated to press it. I was scared to see the results. I pressed the tab, and this is what I saw first.
Tumor Tissue Modified Viral
(TTMV)-HPV DNA Score
Negative
Not Detected
That’s what I needed to see, that and the “0” TTMV-HPV DNA Score graph. The ENT doctor finds no evidence of disease. The NAV/Dx blood test shows no evidence of any HPV-related cancer. So why am I still nervous? I needed that last confirmation from the oncologist. I was 90% convinced, but the oncology doctor’s okay would top it off.
12/20/2025 1:34 PM
So, around 11:45 AM yesterday, the oncologist told me he believed the initial scan showed a “Shadow (Hot Spot),” indicating activity. However, that activity also has the potential for false-positives. That could be inflammation, scar tissue, or other factors. With the NAV/Dx result, he was confident but cautious about the false-positive. He wanted another PET scan in 2 months.
I’m good with that.
So, I’m not 100% convinced, but I’ll go with 95%, as cancer is a cowardly beast, sneaking up behind you and tapping on your right shoulder as “it”ᵇ stands on your left. I have been on an emotional roller coaster. It’s the price one must be willing to pay to experience life. Bad days, months, years, all rolled up into your life. Different people pay up in other ways, but no one escapes the experience.
I Googledᶜ some cancer data, and during those 29 days I waited for my results, an estimated 168,000 people in the United States and 2.5 million worldwide had a cancer diagnosis. Yikes.
I’m lucky, I’ve had the chance to live 65 years (more to come if I can help it). That beast, cancer, takes a lot of young people and children. Like my oncologist said when I met him the first time…F**k cancer.
Author’s notes—I believe I can do some good, reaching out and helping those who are battling head and neck cancer, or have had a recurrence. By writing this, I hope to “walk the talk” and not sit idly by, just wringing my hands, hoping I’m finally done with this.
- A blood test was developed to screen for evidence of cancer cells in head and neck cancer. It’s called NAV/Dx and would show any sign of the HPV-related cancer if it was in my blood.
- I wrote some stories about my discourse with cancer during my battle with it. I had decided to give it a unique name. Then I decided not to give something so sinister the courtesy of a name; therefore, I call cancer “it,” in lowercase.
- I Googled “How many cases of cancer were diagnosed between November 20th and December 19th, 2025?” The AI answer is what I used above.
