Unexpected Isolation

Cancer, COVID-19 and her story

For Pursuit Magazine Fall 2020 Issue

It was around 10 a.m. on November 1st, 2020, when I awoke on the floor of my best friend, Savannah’s, room. While I focused my eyes and peered into the full-body, triple mirror vanity that hung on the white wall to my right, I glanced into my own eyes before noticing a curled-up figure against my side opposite of the reflection. Sitting up slightly on my elbow and brushing back my brown hair with my fingers, I looked over to the figure and rested a gentle hand onto her beautiful, long blonde locks of curled hair.
“Parto?” My voice was soft enough not to wake up Savannah who was still asleep on the bed behind the shaking girl. She was laying with her face still hidden against the pink and brown-sided blanket that covered my body.
“Hey, are you okay? What’s wrong?”
All I got in response was a quiet, muffled sentence that took me a minute to understand.
“It hurts so much,” she said.
I immediately knew what she meant, my brown eyes quickly moving to look towards her left hip. For the past couple of months, her hip had slowly been causing her more and more pain. At one point in early October that same year she had collapsed after a photoshoot while we were walking up a hill towards my car. Another friend of ours, Rayne, had to carry her the rest of the way up the hill while I ran to get the car so I could meet them at the end of the path. At the time, none of us knew what was causing the sudden immobilizing pain in Parto’s hip. There were certainly moments when we somberly joked about it being cancer, but it would not be until a week later that we would realize the irony of our joking assumptions.
On November 8, 2020, Parto Rohani was diagnosed with Osteosarcoma. Osteosarcoma is cancer found in the bone. In Parto’s case, the tumorous mass was found around her femur and left hip bone; the same hip I woke up to her crying about a week before her diagnosis.
“I kind of laughed,” Parto reflects with me as we sit together in her apartment in Mission Viejo, California, nine months later after her final chemotherapy session. “I was kind of ready… I was like, ‘Okay, I’ve done this before.’”
Parto has undergone two other forms of cancer: Retinoblastoma and Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia “ALL.” Retinoblastoma is cancer that begins in the retina and is most commonly found in children. She was born with this cancer. At nine years old, she contracted ALL, a blood and marrow cancer. This most recent time with Osteosarcoma, Parto faced an additional battle alongside cancer. She would have to fight the psychological impact of isolation.
Before the unexpected rise of coronavirus cases across the globe and the strict lockdown placed on hospitals, cancer patients were able to see multiple visitors while receiving treatment. When Parto was in the hospital during her first two times with cancer, her relatives and friends frequently visited her and stayed over long periods of time, keeping her company and boosting her morale. In the midst of a global pandemic, those visitors were no longer able to see her in person. Cancer patients are immunocompromised and therefore high-risk individuals, pressuring oncology wards to follow strict lockdown procedures. During Parto’s stay in the hospital, only one visitor was allowed to stay in the room with her at a time. Parto’s mother, Farokh “Roxy” Emani, usually stayed in the room. Her uncle also came down from New Mexico and stayed at their home during the majority of Parto’s treatment to assist Roxy as well as support Parto. Occasionally a relative or close friend would stop by and stay with Parto, but the majority of the time spent in the hospital room was just her and her mother. Roxy knows how it feels. She, too, is a survivor of cancer and at higher risk of COVID contraction.
“With COVID, it was really scary… I was terrified that if she got COVID, what was going to happen? Especially in the middle of her treatment,” Roxy said.
I was only able to visit Parto once at Providence Mission Hospital Mission Viejo before she was moved to the Children’s Hospital of Orange County in Orange, California where doctors performed a proximal femoral resection surgery and chemotherapy. While I was there, regulations were already extremely strict towards visitors and my visitation was brief.
I stood tensely in the elevator and stared at my murky reflection in the metallic elevator walls, I pictured Parto’s beautiful, long blonde hair that she had the last time I saw her; the last time before any of us knew about the tumor on her hip and femur. As I slowly stepped out of the elevator and turned the corner to come face to face with her hospital room door, I released a shaky breath before walking in with a smile on my face.
There she laid on the bed, clothed in a baby blue hospital gown while the lower half of her body was covered in the white, scratchy-looking hospital sheets. An IV connected her left arm to a machine on the side of the bed, and as my steps echoed against the tan walls and checkered tiled floor, her brown eyes flickered up from her phone screen towards me. As I quickly sat on the bed and gave her a gentle hug, Parto rested her head on my shoulder; blonde locks no longer covering her pale scalp. Her hands looked as delicate as porcelain, and her eyes were half-lidded with exhaustion, but I knew she was still the same strong woman I had grown to love dearly over these past few years of knowing her.

(Above): Parto Rohani was born with Retinoblastoma in her eye. Today, she has vision impairment in her left eye.

(Left): Rohani sits in her room in Irvine, Calif., only a few weeks after beating her third round against cancer.

After that brief visit and once Parto was officially moved to CHOC, regulations on her visitations were much more enforced. Once she began chemotherapy, I did not get to see her in person until months later. There was the occasional facetime or phone call, and of course, our group chats remained lively, but there were moments of complete isolation that severely affected Parto during her treatments. There was a period of time during her stay at the hospital when Parto was placed in complete quarantine. She remembers feeling trapped and not being able to leave her hospital room at all.
“I couldn’t even leave my own room… People would be outside my hospital room talking, but I couldn’t go out there,” she said. “By day five, I forgot where I was. When someone opened the door to the outside of the hospital I forgot what part of the hospital I was even in because I was stuck in that room for so long.”
Prior to hospital lockdowns, children’s oncology wards would often have weekly events to help boost the spirits of younger patients during their treatments. Actors dressed up as princesses and superheroes would spend time playing and singing with patients and their families, music artists would come and perform, even large corporations like Krispy Creme would host doughnut and coffee days. Kelsey Chapman, the CHOC Adolescent and Young Adult Program Coordinator for oncology patients, is the face behind all of these events. When hospitals had to go on lockdown and in-person events were placed on hold, she and her team had to begin brainstorming new ways to maintain a positive atmosphere for patients like Parto who were stuck in their hospital rooms.
Like many groups and organizations around the world, the AYA team began with small events held over zoom. However, as many people experienced during quarantine, there is a moment when zoom fatigue starts to set in. Once zoom meetings lost their significance, Kelsey began to search for new ways to keep events going for patients.
“I reached out to organizations about donating supplies and I would put together art kits and put them at valet. Patients would come and pick them up and then an art teacher would teach a class on zoom, and they all had their supplies at home.” Kelsey said. This gave patients something more tangible to do while maintaining their safety. Once stricter lockdown restrictions were lifted in early 2021, Kelsey and her team were finally able to begin hosting socially distanced in-person events again. Some of the socially distanced events Kelsey is most proud of include an outdoor movie night, a drive-thru disco, and even a graduation ceremony for patients who were still in school during their treatments.
Parto has an outgoing and extroverted personality, so attending in-person events at the hospital in the last few months of her treatment significantly helped her maintain a more positive mindset. However, when those events were not going on, Parto still had to find other ways to keep herself occupied while confined to her hospital room. “We watched so much Netflix,” Roxy chuckled, thinking back on the number of shows she and Parto binged while at the hospital. One of Parto’s favorite shows, Grey’s Anatomy, was something that she was able to watch in its entirety for the fifteenth time. It is her favorite show. “I know that’s a lot, but I had a lot of time,” Parto laughed.
Another thing that helped keep Parto’s spirits high during treatment was butterflies. In my years of knowing her, I have always seen Parto as a social butterfly. Her smile is contagious, and she has a sense of humor that leaves our group of friends laughing uncontrollably no matter where we are. Even at her lowest, Parto was able to break out of her cocoon of isolation, spread her wings and bring about laughter to anyone that walked into that hospital room.
Butterflies have always represented an important piece of symbolism for change and freedom in Parto’s life, but after she was diagnosed she found a new significance for them in her life. “They became a symbol of hope and strength…the second I was diagnosed, I started seeing them everywhere,” Parto said while fiddling with the golden butterfly ring that she often wears on the index finger of her left hand. Since the representing color of Osteosarcoma is a yellow-gold, most of her butterfly themed jewelry is that color.
Now that Parto has ended chemotherapy—her last chemotherapy treatment was on July 19, 2021—butterflies also represent a returning sense of freedom to her life. She explained her release from the hospital as a bitter-sweet ending to her third run with cancer. While Parto was excited to reunite with friends she had not seen for months, she also struggled with saying goodbye to her friends still in the hospital. Nonetheless, with her still being very involved with CHOC, Parto is still able to attend events with the patients and nurses she bonded with in the hospital while she waits to be officially declared into remission next July.
Words cannot describe the happiness I felt when I saw Parto again after her last chemo session. Even as I sat with her in her room, surrounded by the bright pink walls, her designer brand collection and Charlie Gillespie themed merchandise, it was hard to hold back tears while she told me about her time in and out of the hospital. Of course not everything is back to absolute normal in the world, but one thing that never changed during the nine month period from November of 2020 to July 2021 was Parto’s strength and radiant personality.