Roger Plothow

EDITOR'S NOTE: This is first part of a three-part series about one man's experience with cancer. The series continues Dec. 13 and Dec. 20.

By all rights, the doctors shouldn't have found my cancer when they did.

My family doctor, Rocco Cifrese, whose hunch triggered the ultrasound that found the growth in my throat, calls it "dumb luck."

Dr. Dan Hinckley, the ear, nose and throat specialist who surgically removed my cancerous thyroid, calls it "divine intervention."

Steve Fischbach / Post Register A fading scar on Roger Plothow's neck is the most visible reminder of his recent encounter with cancer. Finding the growth in its early stages was a result of "dumb luck," hypochondria and good doctoring.

Either way, I take some of the credit. Either out of longstanding hypochondria or a sincere belief in the value of early warning, I faithfully have a full annual physical. Except for five years in the mid-'90s when I lived elsewhere, Dr. Cifrese has done my annual check-ups since 1990.

Over the years, Dr. Cifrese (most of his patients call him "Rocco" or "Dr. Rocco"), has helped me bring down my cholesterol and control blood pressure that was creeping up. Routine stuff for most general practitioners.

This year, I was expecting a good result. I'd dropped 18 pounds over the summer, with plans to lose another 15 or so. I'd been playing a lot of tennis, and my resting heart rate was below 50. For a middle-aged fat guy, I was in great shape.

Toward the end of my exam in August, Rocco looked at me and said, "Your Adam's apple is a little off center." He felt around my throat and couldn't feel anything abnormal, but decided to order an ultrasound just to be safe.

The ultrasound found a small, solitary nodule in my thyroid, about 1 centimeter (less than half an inch) in diameter. About 95 percent of the time, these are benign. Still, a biopsy was ordered.

I went on vacation and had the biopsy upon my return. It consisted of inserting a small needle through the throat and directly into the nodule to extract some cells for a look under a microscope. The nodule was calcified (usually a sign that it's benign), so it took a few pokes before the doctor was able to get a good sample. It was a little unpleasant. OK, I squirmed on the exam table.

Rocco was on vacation, so I called Dr. James Willis, a dermatologist who has treated me in the past for basil cell carcinoma (a mild and usually nonlife-threatening form of skin cancer). I asked him to call the hospital for the results of my test.

He called back about 30 minutes later. After some brief chit chat, he gave me the news -- the nodule was papillary carcinoma of the thyroid, a relatively mild and slow-growing cancer more often contracted by women than men. For the first of several times I would hear this over the next several days, Dr. Willis said, "If you have to have cancer, this is the one to get."

"How worried should I be?" I asked him.

"Don't even lose any sleep over it," was his sincere reply.

Right.

I called my wife, Kathleen, and rather dramatically announced, "I have cancer." That's probably one of the things I would do differently.

Here's the thing: I had no symptoms, and probably wouldn't have for many months or even years. Even knowing the nodule was there, doctors could not feel it in my neck, it was so small. The pathology report after surgery would determine that my cancer was Stage 1 -- very early. And, it had nothing to do with my crooked Adam's apple.

Rocco had played a hunch and hit the jackpot. He calls that dumb luck. I call it damn good doctoring. Here's to you, Dr. Rocco.