Ewing S Sarcoma

The thermostat is set at 70, but the beige-colored rooms in the isolation ward at Children's Hospital of Orange County feel cold. Stainless steel heart monitors and oxygen tanks sit near the beds. There is a constant drone from the hidden machinery that filters germs. A mother in one room rocks her baby until he sleeps. In another room, clowns are drawn on construction paper taped to the walls. Shrieks from a toddler crying for his mother reverberate down the hall.

Holly Keuthan sits in the back of the family van, fidgeting and occasionally pulling on a mask that covers her nose and mouth to protect her from germs. Compared to the medical emergencies that necessitated past trips, this ride is almost leisurely. Holly's mother, Karen, heads south on the Santa Ana Freeway, leaving behind the low, white buildings of the Children's Hospital of Orange County, where Holly has spent the last six weeks battling cancer.

The thermostat is set at 70, but the beige rooms in the isolation ward at Children's Hospital of Orange County feel cold. Stainless-steel heart monitors and oxygen tanks sit near the beds. There is a constant drone from the hidden machinery that filters germs. A mother in one room rocks her baby until he sleeps. In another room, clowns are drawn on construction paper taped to the walls. Shrieks from a toddler crying for his mother reverberate down the hall.

The thermostat is set at 70, but the beige rooms in the isolation ward at Children's Hospital of Orange County feel cold. Stainless-steel heart monitors and oxygen tanks sit near the beds. There is a constant drone from the hidden machinery that filters germs. A mother in one room rocks her baby until he sleeps. In another room, clowns are drawn on construction paper taped to the walls. Shrieks from a toddler crying for his mother reverberate down the hall.

Holly Keuthan was 5 years old when she was found to have Ewing's sarcoma, a virulent cancer that spread from her leg to her lungs. Times Staff Writer Lily Eng and Staff Photographer Lucy Atkins were with Holly and her Dana Point family through much of the ordeal: the treatments, the emergencies, the life-or-death decisions.

Holly Keuthan sits in the back of the family van, fidgeting and occasionally pulling on a mask that covers her nose and mouth to protect her from germs. Compared to the medical emergencies that necessitated past trips, this ride is almost leisurely. Holly's mother, Karen, heads south on the Santa Ana Freeway, leaving behind the low, white buildings of the Children's Hospital of Orange County, where Holly has spent the last six weeks battling cancer.

Jan Keuthan maneuvers the family van through the sparse Sunday evening traffic, barreling through red lights and past slower cars. In the back seat, his 5-year-old daughter, Holly, a blood infection raging through her body, lies on her mother's lap. Her temperature is 103 and climbing. In the 30 minutes it takes to get from Dana Point to Children's Hospital of Orange County in Orange, Karen Keuthan can do little more than cradle the shivering, vomiting child in her arms.

Holly Keuthan sits in the back of the family van, fidgeting and occasionally pulling on a mask that covers her nose and mouth to protect her from germs. Compared to the medical emergencies that necessitated past trips, this ride is almost leisurely. Holly's mother, Karen, heads south on the Santa Ana Freeway, leaving behind the low, white buildings of the Children's Hospital of Orange County, where Holly has spent the last six weeks battling cancer.

Jan Keuthan maneuvers the family van through the sparse Sunday evening traffic, barreling through red lights and past slower cars. In the back seat, his 5-year-old daughter, Holly, a blood infection raging through her body, lies on her mother's lap. Her temperature is 103 and climbing. In the 30 minutes it takes to get from Dana Point to Children's Hospital of Orange County in Orange, Karen Keuthan can do little more than cradle the shivering, vomiting child in her arms.

Holly Keuthan sits in the back of the family van, fidgeting and occasionally pulling on a mask that covers her nose and mouth to protect her from germs. Compared to the medical emergencies that necessitated past trips, this ride is almost leisurely. Holly's mother, Karen, heads south on the Santa Ana Freeway, leaving behind the low, white buildings of the Children's Hospital of Orange County, where Holly has spent the last six weeks battling cancer.

The thermostat is set at 70, but the beige-colored rooms in the isolation ward at Children's Hospital of Orange County feel cold. Stainless steel heart monitors and oxygen tanks sit near the beds. There is a constant drone from the hidden machinery that filters germs. A mother in one room rocks her baby until he sleeps. In another room, clowns are drawn on construction paper taped to the walls. Shrieks from a toddler crying for his mother reverberate down the hall.

Holly Keuthan was 5 years old when she was found to have Ewing's sarcoma, a virulent cancer that spread from her leg to her lungs. Times Staff Writer Lily Eng and Staff Photographer Lucy Atkins were with Holly and her Dana Point family through much of the ordeal: the treatments, the emergencies, the life-or-death decisions.