OCR Text |
Show CHRYSALIS pA G E 16 a malignant brain tumor is being prepared for surgery. They have shaved her head and anesthetized her. She is very young. Sleeping, she looks like a beautiful pink baby with her bald head. She wears a wedding ring, and I wonder if she has babies of her own? They wheel her away. I think there is not much hope. I spoke to her sister yesterday. The girl had surgery a couple of months ago, and they were not able to remove the entire tumor. They removed a substantial part of it, but new growth rapidly filled up the cavity. This operation may restore her normal functions again for another month, but she will die in any event. The tumor will expand again to press against her skull, and when it happens, her death will be swift. At six A.M. a young anesthesiologist comes in and gives me a shot, a sedative. "How's it going?" he asks brightly. "As soon as you leave," I tell him, "I'm going out the window and never come back." He laughs. He thinks I am kidding. Patients like to believe their doctors are infallible. A tall doctor I have never seen stops by my bed. I spin in slow circles, bed and all. "Mrs. Harper," he says in his most reassuring voice, "I am Doctor Cutler. I will be assisting Doctor Sontag with your surgery." He reviews my chart and begins a meticulous inspection |