TALES OF KARKINOS

 

and EXPIRATION DATE

Karkinos means ‘crab’ in Greek, and cancer in Latin.

In a previous blog, early this year, I mentioned briefly the meaning of my life with diagnosis of a primary malignancy. The title is: PATIENT’S NOTES ON the ANNUAL CANCER REPORT by the AMERICAN CANCER SOCIETY.  You can find it down on the list of my blog posts. Those were my reflections on the 2026 American Cancer Society Report. Little did I know that seven months later I would be diagnosed with two new primary malignancies.

I mentioned that a cancer diagnosis is a moment of "before and after" moment.

How so?  

Cancer is a fucking life-altering experience that reshapes everything—from the smallest daily routines to our deepest perspectives on what matters. When you or a loved one is presented with this harsh news, the world feels different because it is now different.

 I survived head and neck cancer. In 2003 I underwent a successful surgery done in the élite oncologic surgery service of the University of Illinois medical center in Chicago.  My tongue was excised by a third; my neck was extensively explored, and twenty-five lymph nodes were removed as a precaution in search of metastases.  None was found. I recovered.

 In 2004 my sister Minna is also a cancer survivor. She was diagnosed with breast cancer. One of every eight women is diagnosed with breast cancer. She faced her cancer diagnosis with courage, underwent surgery and subsequently treated with a course of adjuvant radiation therapy. After seeking judicious second expert opinion in the University of Pennsylvania medical center in Philadelphia, she declined more “adjuvant” chemotherapy.  I hate the word adjuvant.

It proved to be a good choice. So far, she’s doing well.

I know the weight of losing a loved one.

Late 2004 my wife, Pirhia was diagnosed with metastatic colon cancer. She had surgery. She handled it with everything she could muster.  She was seen by the best clinical oncologists in three medical centers in Chicago (Rush, Northwestern as well).  She was given chemotherapy; and experimental adjuvant radiation therapy delivered via intra-arterial boluses of glass microspheres carrying radiation.  Despite the very best efforts of modern medicine, she passed in 2005.

The trying cancer experiences in our family have taught me a large truth of life:

Our health is our only great wealth. It is the foundation for everything else we do.

 

In June 2026 I consulted an astute dermatologist for a simple mole (we call it “garden variety”) on my back.

She looked at me and said, “I must take biopsies from your face.”

My face.  

“Sure”, I said.

Three biopsies were sent for pathology reading.
All three carried the diagnosis of cancer.

Damn this curse of Karkinos.

Now I have been given a new diagnosis of - melanoma.

And two other, basal cell carcinomas on other body sites.

Next, I underwent an ‘excision’ of the melanoma on my scalp. Excision is a professional word for ’cut and remove’ a tissue.  Of the other two ‘basaliomas’ - one was removed surgically and the other was treated by topical chemotherapy.  

Two months of the precious summer, I carried patches of Band-Aids – stickers - on my face. Not a pretty sight. I stayed home most of summer.

I abhor now sunbeams and wear a western style hat.

The melanoma was removed completely by a skilled surgeon.  That’s another win for me. But hey, I now got 50-60% chance for a extra more skin cancer diagnosis in the coming six years.

Get this, skin cancer is the most common cancer diagnosis in America. One in five Americans develops skin cancer by age 70.  (I’m 85 years). Over 230,000 Americans are diagnosed annually with melanoma. 

Of these 112,000 are invasive melanomas. Invasive melanoma is nasty.  It’s a melanoma that spreads to distant organs and has about 36% of five years survival.  

I consider myself to be fortunate having a melanoma still ‘in-situ’; meaning its localized. 

I don’t give here medical advice. This information is available to all freely over the internet.
Now then, if you have read the blog that far down - to this sentence - do yourself a favor.  You got a mole that isn’t looking good to you – have it checked out by a skilled dermatologist. Don’t wait.

 

Below is a photo shot I took in 2014 while on Isabela Island, Galapagos.

The red crab is named after the Caribbean dancer Sally Lightfoot.

 

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Tags: #cancer #SallyLightfoot #americancancersociety #chemotherapy #radiationtherapty