...is a hard place to be in medicine. The diagnosis of cancer is difficult to understand but it is the one I currently discuss with patients everyday. For most patients, it is routine for me. I see their personal concerns, the change in family expressions, the in-fighting that begins almost immediately, and mostly, the fear. Most days and most patients, I brush this aside as routine, ordinary, and expected. Breaking it down into nuts and bolts, numbers, odds, risks, treatments options (if there are any) and possibilities, I see their challenge and lack of concentration and force them to move on. I see them reorienting their life's expect ions and I force them to see that this is normal - for me. While cancer suddenly defines their existence, it is a diagnosis with laid out treatment modalities to me. And so, I push their shock - and their reality and humanness - into the lobby, where the family can deal with it amongst themselves.
Once or twice a day, the compassion that brought me into this field surfaces and I relax. I stop worrying about the tasks ahead of me that day and I connect with my patients. Crazy stories of traveling salesman, the glory years, those deployments with the navy, and bragging about their children and grandchildren. Patients come to life and I empathizes with their struggle and future obstacles. I become their cheerleader. These moments are great. These patients get better care - not scientifically, but emotionally. I feel like I've made an impact, only to find myself an hour behind, squeezed for time and rushing through "the next cancer."
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