Remission; A Cause for Celebration

By Larry Puls @larrypulsauthor

Remission from Cancer, Celebration

Remission. A coveted word. The sought-after goal. A destination that encapsulates both hope and light in the midst of a precarious future.

Over my career, I have witnessed numerous reactions to that word, to that idea. And in all those observations, one thing I have undoubtedly learned was that achieving remission could incite unpredictable responses.

Walking into the room, I had finished studying the chart and her CT scans. I was hopeful that her chemotherapy was now relegated to the past. Remission, which is what I was hoping for, had at one time seemed almost untenable. But now I had a hunch it might happen. Call it the oncologist's sixth sense. We had likely achieved what initially seemed impossible. The patient sitting before me was probably wondering where our conversation would go. In some ways, I wondered too.

Supporting Women with Ovarian Cancer; A South Carolina Foundation

by Larry Puls  @larrypulsauthor

Ovarian Cancer, Patient Support

Today I am going to do something a little different. Normally, this blog is dedicated to telling medical stories (usually about cancer) from both the physician’s vantage point and from the patients’. Hopefully, the tales will be heart felt, often informative, and at times may deal with some complicated subjects (that is life's journey). My sagas will always be sprinkled with a dash of emotion and may even require some kleenex. I will commonly bring to light the personal side of cancer, from the individual stories I have been allowed to watch. But today, I will take a slight detour and pause from my normal conversation in order to relate to you a story about a most inspiring collection of individuals. These people have done a beautiful work, bringing increasing awareness to an often-ignored malignant process, ovarian cancer. This story is being told by me today to bring more “voice to the silence”. 

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.

Fear of Elevators; A Funny Story of Cervical Cancer

By Larry Puls  @larrypulsauthor

Cervical Cancer; Embarrassing Moment

A long day on my feet. Numerous surgeries, but all of it a blessing. What else is there to do before I leave this place? I wondered, scratching my head. Two dictations, a set of charts to sign on my desk, a final talk with a family, those tasks remain. Living the dream. My desires turn toward home.

I dictate the final surgery while it remains fresh on my mind. The charts, they could wait until morning. Home just got that much closer. I make it up to the waiting room to chat with the last family of the day. So many questions, but not enough answers until I have pathology reports back. Done. Just change clothes, find the car, and I am off to that other half of my life, the family part. Leaving the final meeting, I find myself next to the public elevator, the one the hospital employees are not supposed to take. A good day. Maybe I made a difference. I hope so anyway. Realizing that no one else is around, the forbidden elevators entice me like like forbidden fruit, and they’re just five feet away. Who is going to know? I give in. I hit the down button.

Denial and the Enormous Ovarian Mass; A Story of Surviving Ovarian Cancer

By Larry Puls @Larrypulsauthor

Ovarian Cancer Surgery

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.

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.

Death and Dying of the Cancer Patient from a Doctor's Perspective

By Larry Puls @Larrypulsauthor

Death and Dying

I stand at the door—afraid. Take a deep breath. Just another room. One I have been in a thousand times before. Inside a bed, a bathroom, an IV pole—a friend. And while I stand there, inside my head resides angst over the unrevealed information. Still frozen in the hallway, I cannot reach out and touch the door handle. It seems so foreboding and ominous, so far away. When I finally attempt the move, a choking feeling ascends in my throat, weakening me—even for a minute. I am paralyzed. You have to go in.