How Long Can You Hold Your Breath? Chapter 8; Coco's Journey

by Larry Puls @larrypulsauthor

Ovarian Caner; Chances of Survival

She looked in the mirror. A reflection from the baldness. To her, an ugly reminder of a journey. A picture that told the story, five weeks from surgery, three weeks from chemotherapy, and two months from perfect health. Why me?

At least now, her pain had resolved. She could walk and eat again. But she still battled sadness. It was hard to be upbeat. The chemotherapy suite still flashed too clearly in her mind. She would be back there in two very short days. Is it already that time again? It was… And it was time to be strong, and a time to be resilient. Closing her eyes, she took a moment to pray. And then without looking back, she placed on her wig and turned to go.

Do They Really Put That in Your Belly?; Chapter 6; Coco's Journey

By Larry Puls @larrypulsauthor

Chemotherapy, Ovarian Cancer

The cavernous room was intimidating. She wanted to run away, but couldn't realistically escape. This was that place and that day she had been dreading. And her confidence was unquestionably wavering from her vivid imagination.

Coco stood there considering the day—and the room in front of her—the chemotherapy suite. She wished she was anywhere but here. Inhaling deeply, she thought, you can do this. Panning the room, she forced enough resolve to tiptoe back towards her designated spot for the day. As she trekked across the room, she wondered about what the next eight hours would hold—and about what her chemotherapy experience would be like. There was that word again—chemotherapy. What would it be like? She couldn’t recall many of the side effects that her doctor had mentioned—except one. Abdominal pain. How bad will it be?

Choriocarcinoma, Treatment of Molar Pregnancy, Cure of Cancer

By Larry Puls  @larrypulsauthor

Choriocarcinoma; Cancer from Pregnancy

Standing outside the door, I collect my thoughts. Walking into her hospital room, I see the young lady who is struggling to breathe. Oxygen is flowing to her. At her rate of decline, she will be on the ventilator soon. And this will not change unless therapy is started quickly. Time becomes a key element. Her breathing is increasingly labored. Her diet is pure oxygen. It is the relative calm before the storm.

Treatment is defined by the word aggressive. A five-drug regimen going by the acronym EMACO. Etoposide. Methotrexate. Actinomycin-D. Cytoxan. Oncovin. Each of those successive letters standing for the listed drugs. But each represents different side effects. All with the potential to eradicate those rapidly growing cells--the little parasites taking over her body. And although they will all be administered through an IV, one is also given directly into her spine. A needle into the back. A drug that will bathe the nervous system with cancer poison. We have to hit the tumor where it lives and breathes--in her brain.

A Step of Faith; Allowing the Chemotherapy to Flow

By Larry Puls @larrypulsauthor

Fear of Chemotherapy; Ovarian Cancer

I sit across from a widow. A new patient. A terrified face. Tears filling her eyes. Somehow, I think she knows where this conversation will land. I utter the first word concerning her treatment—chemotherapy. Before I even make it to the last syllable, her head drops and she shivers. A weighted tear hits her lap. Her daughter reaches over and offers a hug. The start of a journey.

I explain the dreaded C-word. But her preconceived fears about that topic cannot be erased. She tunes me out. I now witness a mind heading to default. I try to soften the blow, but my efforts fail. Paralysis owns her.