He walked next door to a darkened room where the white CT scan machine loomed like a spaceship. The equipment, which the technician said was purchased when the new hospital building opened in 2008, was a "vast improvement" over the old county hospital facility next door and better than what Lilienstein had been examined with at Norris Cancer Center, he said.
He lay down on the machine as the technician retreated to a nearby room full of computer monitors. Moments later, the screens flashed images of Lilienstein from breast bone to groin. He got up walked over to examine the images.
"If I do have disease, it's not grossly evident," he said.
He pointed to the space where his spleen used to be, the surgical clips left over from his last operation, the missing chunk of his liver, scar tissue and white spots that might be the beginnings of tumors.
A radiologist reviewed the scan and attempted to connect to the computer system at Norris. She wanted to compare the scan to Lilienstein's last one in February. But the computers failed to connect, a frequent problem, she said. She promised to call him once she found his records.
Lilienstein walked back outside, headed for clinic consultations. He noticed there was still a line at the metal detector.
Suddenly, his cellphone rang. It was the radiologist. She had walked over to Norris and checked his records. His CT scan was unchanged.
"Great news," Lilienstein said as he typed text messages to his parents and his girlfriend. "It's a great day."
molly.hennessy-fiske@latimes.com
