Informative was clearly not sufficient to help Sara
Monopoli or the many other seriously ill patients I’d had.
Aroundthetimeofmyfather’svisitswithBenzel,Iwas
asked to see a seventy-two-year-old woman with
metastaticovariancancerwhohadcometomyhospital’s
emergency room because of vomiting. Her name was
JewelDouglass,andlookingthroughhermedicalrecords,
Isawthatshe’dbeenintreatmentfortwoyears.Herfirst
sign of the cancer had been a feeling of abdominal
bloating.Shesawhergynecologist,whofound,withthe
aidofan ultrasound,amassinherpelvisthesizeofa
child’sfist. Inthe operating room, itproved to be an
ovarian cancer, and it had spread throughout her
abdomen. Soft, fungating tumor deposits studded her
uterus, her bladder, her colon, and the lining of her
abdomen.Thesurgeonremovedbothofherovaries,the
wholeofheruterus,halfofhercolon,andathirdofher
bladder.Sheunderwentthreemonths ofchemotherapy.
Withthiskindoftreatment,mostovariancancerpatients
atherstagesurvive twoyears anda thirdsurvivefive
years. About 20 percent ofpatients areactuallycured.
She hoped to be among these few.
She reportedly tolerated the chemotherapy well.She’d
lostherhairbutotherwiseexperiencedonlymildfatigue.
Atninemonths,notumorcouldbeseenonherCTscans
atall.Atoneyear,however,ascanshowedafewpebbles
oftumorhadgrownback.Shefeltnothing—they were
just millimeters in size—but there they were. Her
oncologiststartedadifferentchemotherapyregimen.This
time Douglass had more painful side effects—mouth
sores,aburn-likerashacrossherbody—butwithsalves