By Larry Puls @Larrypulsauthor
Midday, Friday afternoon, a long week. There’s a call on the
line. A referral. One that my memory will not let go of—even after two decades.
Transport will have her here in two hours.
 |
| Ovarian Cancer Surgery |
I walk into her room—now five o’clock. A glance defines a
thousand words. Her shoulders yield information—skin over bone, a starving
patient? I look back at the chart. She is over three hundred pounds. Really? I turn again to this woman. Those shoulders, those emaciated shoulders, say malnourished. My
eyes move lower. There under the covers is something that I cannot adequately describe.
A mass. A growth. Big, beyond comprehension. My eyes rudely
continue their stare. Shock and awe. The power of denial lived out in
front of me. How long has that been
there? I can only imagine.
