I am going to do something totally different over the next few days. With the help of GPT I wrote a short story, fiction, based on Karen's battle with cancer. Here we go.
- The Diagnosis
The summer of 2014 in Pasadena, Newfoundland, was unusually warm. The sky stretched endlessly, a canvas of bright blue punctuated by the occasional white cloud drifting lazily overhead. Karen's garden was at its peak, bursting with color and life—her pride and joy. Rows of vibrant flowers lined the path to the house, and the strawberry beds, carefully nurtured over the years, were heavy with ripe, red fruit. The pergola, entwined with climbing roses, provided a shaded sanctuary where Karen often sat with a cup of tea, enjoying the fruits of her labor.
But lately, even the simple pleasure of tending her garden had become difficult. Karen had always been a woman of energy and resilience, but over the past few months, she had noticed a persistent fatigue that sapped her strength. The ache in her abdomen had grown more pronounced, and her legs, once so strong and capable, now felt leaden, as if each step required an enormous effort. She had tried to brush it off, attributing it to age or perhaps the demands of maintaining her beloved garden, but deep down, she knew something was wrong.
Bradley had noticed too. He wasn’t one to worry easily, but as the weeks passed, his concern grew. One evening, as they sat together on the porch, the golden light of the setting sun casting long shadows across the lawn, he gently broached the subject.
"Karen, you haven't been yourself lately," Bradley said, his voice tinged with worry. He looked at her with those deep, kind eyes that had always made her feel safe. "You’re tired all the time, and I’ve seen you wince when you think I’m not looking. I think it’s time we saw a doctor."
Karen sighed, her gaze drifting to the garden that had brought her so much joy. "I know, Bradley," she admitted softly, a hint of reluctance in her voice. "I’ve been putting it off, but you’re right. Something isn’t right. I’ll make an appointment tomorrow."
The next day, Karen kept her word. She called Dr. Sullivan, her family physician in Corner Brook, a town about twenty minutes away. Dr. Sullivan had been their doctor for years—a gentle, attentive man with a calming presence. He had seen her through colds, the flu, and the usual aches and pains that come with age, but this was different. When Karen described her symptoms over the phone, his voice, usually so steady, took on a tone of concern.
"We need to get you in for some tests, Karen," Dr. Sullivan said, his calm demeanor not quite masking the urgency in his voice. "I’d like you to come in for a full examination and a CT scan as soon as possible."
The appointment was scheduled for the following week. Bradley insisted on coming with her, and Karen was secretly glad for his company. The drive to Corner Brook was quiet, the early morning fog still clinging to the trees along the road. Karen tried to keep her mind occupied by focusing on the familiar landmarks they passed—the small fishing boats bobbing in the harbor, the colorful houses that lined the coast—but her thoughts kept returning to the dull ache in her abdomen and the fatigue that seemed to grow worse by the day.
When they arrived at the clinic, Dr. Sullivan greeted them with his usual warm smile, but Karen noticed the slight furrow in his brow as he led them into his office. After the initial examination, he sent Karen for a CT scan, and they were asked to wait in the small, sterile waiting room. The minutes ticked by slowly, each one adding to the knot of anxiety in Karen’s stomach.
Finally, Dr. Sullivan called them back into his office. He gestured for them to sit down, his expression serious as he looked over the scan results.
"Karen," he began, his voice gentle but firm, "the CT scan has revealed a mass in your colon. It’s quite large, and we need to address it immediately."
Karen felt the world tilt around her. A mass. The word echoed in her mind, heavy and foreboding. She glanced at Bradley, whose hand was suddenly gripping hers tightly, his knuckles white.
"What does that mean?" Bradley asked, his voice steady but laced with concern.
Dr. Sullivan leaned forward, his eyes meeting Karen’s. "It means you have colon cancer. Based on the size of the mass and the other symptoms you’ve described, it’s likely stage 3. The cancer has spread beyond the lining of your colon and into nearby lymph nodes, but we haven’t found any evidence that it’s spread to distant organs."
The room seemed to close in around Karen. Cancer. She had heard the word so many times in her life, but it had always been something that happened to other people—something distant and abstract. Now, it was her reality.
"What happens next?" Karen managed to ask, her voice trembling.
"The first step is surgery," Dr. Sullivan explained. "We’ll need to remove the tumor along with a portion of your colon—about 13 inches. The procedure is called a partial colectomy. We’ll also remove nearby lymph nodes to determine the extent of the cancer’s spread. After the surgery, you’ll need to undergo chemotherapy to target any remaining cancer cells and reduce the risk of recurrence."
Karen nodded slowly, trying to absorb the flood of information. Surgery. Chemotherapy. It all seemed so overwhelming. "What are the chances?" she asked quietly.
Dr. Sullivan paused, choosing his words carefully. "Stage 3 colon cancer is serious, but it’s still treatable. The five-year survival rate is around 53% with surgery and chemotherapy. Every case is unique, but we’re going to do everything we can to fight this."
Bradley squeezed her hand, his grip firm and reassuring. "We’re going to fight this, Karen," he said, his voice filled with determination. "We’re going to do whatever it takes."
The drive home was silent, both of them lost in their thoughts. When they arrived back at the house, Karen went straight to the garden, needing the comfort of the familiar sights and smells. She knelt by the strawberry beds, the rich earth cool beneath her hands, and let the tears she had been holding back finally fall.
Later that evening, as they sat together on the porch, Bradley broke the silence. "We need to tell the boys."
Karen nodded, wiping her eyes. "I know. They need to know what’s happening."
They decided to call Justin and Greg together, knowing that this news would be hard for them to hear. Justin was the first to pick up, his voice cheerful as he greeted them. But the tone quickly changed as Karen began to explain.
"Mom, are you okay?" Justin asked, his voice tight with worry.
"I’m going to be, Justin," Karen replied, trying to keep her voice steady. "But I have cancer. Stage 3 colon cancer. I’m going to need surgery and chemotherapy."
There was a long pause on the other end of the line. When Justin spoke again, his voice was thick with emotion. "Mom, we’re going to get through this. Whatever you need, I’m here. We’re all here."
Greg’s reaction was much the same. He had always been the quieter of the two, more reserved, but Karen could hear the fear in his voice as he tried to process the news.
"Mom, I’m coming home," Greg said. "Sheena and I will drive down tomorrow."
Karen felt a rush of gratitude for her sons and their unwavering support. "You don’t have to do that, Greg," she said, though she knew he would come regardless.
"We’re family," Greg replied simply. "We’ll get through this together."
The next few days passed in a blur of preparations and emotions. Karen and Bradley made arrangements for the surgery, scheduled for the following week in St. John’s. They also began to share the news with close friends and extended family, each conversation a painful reminder of the battle that lay ahead.
On the day of the surgery, the hospital in St. John’s was bustling with activity. Karen was admitted early in the morning, the cool air of the hospital a sharp contrast to the warmth she had left behind in Pasadena. Bradley stayed by her side through the preoperative preparations, holding her hand as the nurses inserted an IV and began to explain what would happen next.
"You’ll be under general anesthesia for the surgery," the nurse said, her voice calm and reassuring. "The surgeon will remove the tumor and a portion of your colon. The procedure will take several hours, and you’ll be in recovery for a while afterward. Your pain will be managed with medication, and we’ll monitor you closely."
Karen nodded, trying to keep her anxiety at bay. "Will it hurt?" she asked, her voice small.
"There will be some discomfort," the nurse admitted, "but we’ll make sure you’re as comfortable as possible."
Before she knew it, Karen was being wheeled into the operating room. The bright lights overhead were blinding, and the smell of antiseptic filled the air. She felt a rush of fear as the anesthesia began to take effect, her last conscious thought a prayer for strength.
When Karen awoke, the first thing she became aware of was the pain. It was a deep, throbbing ache in her abdomen, spreading outward in waves. Her mouth was dry, and her throat felt raw. She tried to move, but even the slightest shift sent a sharp pain through her body.
"Karen, you’re awake," came Bradley’s voice, soft and filled with relief.
She turned her head slowly, seeing him sitting beside her bed, his eyes red-rimmed and tired but full of love. "Bradley," she whispered, her voice hoarse. "It hurts."
"I know," he said gently, reaching out to take
her hand. "The doctor said the surgery went well. They removed the tumor and the affected part of your colon. You’re going to be okay, Karen. Just rest."
Karen closed her eyes, focusing on the warmth of Bradley’s hand and the sound of his voice. The pain was overwhelming, but so was the sense of relief. The surgery was over, the first battle fought and won.
But she knew that this was just the beginning. The road ahead would be long and difficult, filled with more pain, more treatments, and more uncertainty. But as she drifted back to sleep, she clung to the knowledge that she wasn’t facing it alone. She had Bradley, Justin, Greg, and their families by her side. And for them, she would keep fighting.
Posted using The BBH Project
