Cancer Stories: The Art of Oncology

Listen to JCO's Art of Oncology article, "The Quiet Work of Clarity" by Dr. Henry Bair, who is an ophthalmology resident physician at Wills Eye Hospital. The article is followed by an interview with Bair and host Dr. Mikkael Sekeres. Dr. Bair explores how vision care can honor end-of-life goals and helps a patient with failing sight write to his children.
TRANSCRIPT
Narrator: The Quiet Work of Clarity, Henry, Bair, MD 
Mikkael Sekeres: Welcome back to JCO's Cancer Stories: The Art of Oncology. This ASCO podcast features intimate narratives and perspectives from authors exploring their experiences in oncology. I'm your host, Mikkael Sekeres. I'm professor of medicine and Chief of the Division of Hematology at the Sylvester Comprehensive Cancer Center, University of Miami.
What a pleasure it is to have joining us today Dr. Henry Bair, an ophthalmology resident physician at Wills Eye Hospital, to discuss his Journal of Clinical Oncology Art of Oncology article, "Quiet Work of Clarity".
At the time of this recording, our guest has no disclosures.
Dr. Bair and I have agreed to call each other by first names.
Henry, thank you for contributing to the Journal of Clinical Oncology and for joining us to discuss your article.
Henry Bair: Thank you very much for having me.
Mikkael Sekeres: I love starting off by getting a little bit of background about our guests. I know a little bit about you, but I'm not sure all of our listeners do. Can you tell us about yourself and how you reached this stage of your training?
Henry Bair: Sure thing. Happy to start there. I was born and raised in Taiwan. I came to the United States when I was 18 for college. I was at Rice University. I was drawn to it because the Texas Medical Center was right over there, but the university had a small liberal arts feel and the university did not box me into any specific discipline. I went there and we didn't have to declare anything and we could take any class from any school over there. And I actually fell in love with medieval studies of all things. I just came upon it in one of the survey courses and I went deeper and deeper and deeper and eventually wrote my thesis on medieval Irish manuscripts.
That was really interesting. At the same time I was doing some clinical work and I realized that medicine might be a way to combine my interest in storytelling and the humanities with making a tangible difference in people's lives. Then I was in medical school at Stanford University, which was, in a similar way, I found a place that really let me explore what it meant to be a physician because the medical school let me take classes from all across the university: so the law school, the school of humanities, school of engineering, the business school. I got a chance to do a little bit of a lot of different things to try to figure out what I actually wanted to do with life. And I spent a lot of time actually doing a little bit of palliative care, a little bit of oncology, some medical education, some medical humanities.
I had a lot of time thinking about, "Okay, what kind of specialty do I want to do?" I found myself really enjoying procedural specialties, but also really liking the kinds of patient interactions and conversations I had in palliative care and oncology, and eventually found ophthalmology, interestingly. I often have to remind myself or explain myself how those two connect. And to me, the way they connect is that ophthalmology lets me do very fascinating, intellectually challenging things in terms of working with my hands, very rewarding surgical procedural work. But at the same time, the conversations that I get to have with patients about seeing well, I saw so many parallels between that and living well. To me it was so much about quality of life. And that's how I knew that ophthalmology was the right move for me. And so now I'm an ophthalmology resident.
Mikkael Sekeres: Fascinating. When I was an undergrad, the person who had the most influence on me was an English professor who was also a medievalist. There must be something about the personality and pouring over these old texts and trying to read things in Middle English that appeals to some character trait in those of us who eventually become physicians. I also remember when I was in medical school, we could also take classes throughout the university. So I wound up taking some writing classes with undergrads and with graduate students. It adds to this holistic education that we bring to medicine because it's not all about the science, is it?
Henry Bair: Yeah, it's also different ways of thinking and seeing the world and just hearing people's different stories. It's the people I've met in a lot of those different settings outside of medical school that I think really enhanced my formative years in medical education.
Mikkael Sekeres: You certainly bring it all together in this essay, which was just lovely. And I wonder if we could dive into some of the aspects of this essay. I'm dying to know, when you went to see this man, the main character of your essay, did you have any idea what the consult would be about?
Henry Bair: No. So when we're in the hospital and as the ophthalmology resident on consult, we get notifications. These pop up whenever a primary team puts in a consult and it's usually fairly vague. It's usually no more than "blurry vision, please evaluate," "eye pain, please evaluate." As an ophthalmologist, getting a consult for blurry vision is kind of like a cardiologist getting consulted for chest pain. You're like, "Okay, but it could be something, it could be nothing, it could be something terrifying, it could be dry eyes, or it could be end-stage glaucoma, or it could be, who knows?" You really genuinely never know what you're getting yourself into until you actually go in there and talk to the patient, which can be frustrating, but also kind of an interesting experience.
Mikkael Sekeres: I worry I'm guilty of submitting some of those consults to ophthalmology.
Henry Bair: I didn't realize this fully until I started working on the ophthalmology side. I think non-ophthalmologists get so little exposure and training in ophthalmology. Of course, when I think about it, I didn't get any ophthalmology in medical school. So it's understandable.
Mikkael Sekeres: In your essay, you write, and I'm going to quote you to you, "I am still learning what we can treat and what we can only tend. My training has taught me well how to assess visual acuity, intraocular pressures, and retinal nerve fiber layer thickness, but standing at his bedside, the index that mattered was none of these, but whether we could help him read for one more day." "What we can treat and what we can only tend." That's such a beautiful line. Is that something that only comes with years of experience, determining what we can treat and what we can only tend, or is it a dawning sense as we get to know our patients when we are trying to stop the inevitable from happening?
Henry Bair: That is an interesting question because I think of it more almost as a fundamental shift in mindset. And I'm coming from someone who I think had the benefit of having had mentors, having had clinical experiences in palliative care in medical school. As I mentioned earlier, I was drawn to a lot of those patient conversations. So I think in some ways, starting in residency, I had long been primed to think about tending to a patient's concerns. And yet, even having been primed, even having the benefit of all those experiences and those conversations with amazing clinicians and with patients, maybe it's subject matter specific. I mean, ophthalmology tends to be a specialty, in my experience, my limited experience, ophthalmology tends to be one of those specialties that focuses so much on fixing things and treating things and reversing things. And in fact, that's one of the beautiful things of ophthalmology: how often you can reverse things or completely stop the progression of disease.
And so I think in some ways, I am having to relearn what it means to see something not always as, "Okay, what's a problem here? What is the fix? How do I reverse this?" and go back and reach back to those experiences, those conversations I had with patients about trying to figure out, "Okay, the things that we can't fix, what can we still do?" To most people who have come across palliative care, this sentiment is by no means novel, the sentiment that there is always something we can do. You often hear about people talking about, "Oh, there's nothing more we can do." And I sort of try to bring that approach into the clinical encounters that I have. It's very reflexive to think that, "Okay, a person has lost vision from end-stage glaucoma or they have a blind painful eye. Well, there's nothing more we can do. You know, we've done all the conventional surgeries, we've done all the therapies, the medications," but I always have to pull myself back and say, "But there's always something we can do here."
Mikkael Sekeres: It's so interesting how you frame that. We're problem solvers. We're trained to solve problems. A patient presents with X, a problem, we have to be clever enough to figure out how to solve it. I wonder if what you're saying indirectly is sometimes we're identifying the wrong problem.
Henry Bair: I think so, yeah.
Mikkael Sekeres: There may be a problem that we can't solve. Someone is actively dying from cancer. We can't solve the problem of curing them of their cancer. But there are other problems that we can potentially solve, and maybe that's where we have to be clever in identifying the problem.
Henry Bair: I think so. And it's also what's in our textbooks and what's not. So we spend hundreds of hours in lecture and we pour over so many textbooks, and I do question banks now for board exams preparation. It's all on the textbook presentations, the textbook solutions. The problems are, you know, the retinal artery occlusions, it's about the really bad diabetic retinopathy. And then the answers to those things would be a stroke workup, would be some kind of injection into the eye. But like the problem that I encountered in this story that I talked about was this patient trying to write letters to his kids. That's not going to show up on any exam. We don't have lectures about talking about those things.
Mikkael Sekeres: So, as I think you know, I wrote an essay in 2010 for Art of Oncology and for a book that I wrote about a woman who inspired me to go into oncology. She was a woman in her 40s who was a pediatric attending who had advanced ovarian cancer. The story I wrote about her was how she spent her final night on this earth in the intensive care unit writing cards for her children, too. It's fascinating how history repeats itself in how we care for people who have cancer. You have a really a beautiful way of saying this. You talk about, "an ordinary father sharing ordinary advice for an ordinary day. Illness had made that ordinariness remarkable. Our work that day was to protect the ordinary." Can you talk a little bit, I mean given the woman I wrote about and the man you wrote about, about this need to communicate with your family after you're gone?
Henry Bair: To me, one of the biggest lessons I've learned working in healthcare is that what defines most of our lives, what defines the most meaningful, the most purposeful, the most rewarding aspects of our lives is our relationships. You can explore this from myriad perspectives. You can explore this from like a psychosocial perspective and look at all those studies showing that people who have better social connections and better ties with their families live longer lives and actually healthier lives, have decreased rates of mental health problems. Or we can just approach this from like a more humanistic perspective and explore it and think and listen in on the conversations people have with people around them, that patients have, the conversations patients have during the most difficult times of their lives. They don't talk about their work, they don't talk about their accomplishments, they talk about their relationships with their kids, with their spouses, with their parents.
In my experience when people are at critical junctures of big life changes, whether it's people about to go into major surgery, people grappling with the idea of losing their vision or losing their lives, any sort of big pivotal change, they want to talk to their families and explore gratitude and regret and all these things. These are the themes that come up over and over and over again. In some ways it does not surprise me at all, this need to communicate with the family at the end of life. In some ways that's how you live on, that's how we feel, that's how patients feel their lives are defined by is that lasting relationship, that lasting impact at the end, or even transcending the end.
Mikkael Sekeres: This is going beyond the end, isn't it?
Henry Bair: Yeah.
Mikkael Sekeres: These are letters and notes being written to children to be handed to them after death. And I think one of the reasons, in my case, the woman I encountered when I was in training who inspired me to go into oncology, I've been thinking about her for 25 years off and on. Both the incredible spirit to be able to do that on your last night on this earth, but also the flip side to it: there are potential downsides to doing this, aren't there? That, you know, I think about it from the perspective of her kids who at the time were 8 and 10 years old in my case. And I wonder what it was like for them to open up that birthday card when they were 17 or 18. And I wonder if you've kind of wondered the same about your patient and his children.
Henry Bair: Yeah, I think when we think about these letter-writing projects, legacy-type projects, I hear about in hospitals around the country, there are teams that try to implement legacy-type things: whether it's doing video messages, whether it's stitching together short documentary film for patients who are in hospice. I feel like I see these things popping up a lot. You raise a very important point, and I actually didn't think about this until I was writing the essay. It's not an unambiguous good because it's the impact is variable, and it's really hard to predict that. How did you grapple with that in your essay? How did you make sense of it all at the end?
Mikkael Sekeres: I don't think I did. I don't think I still have, which is why I think I still reflect back 25 years later on this episode and thinking about her children and how they're now, maybe they're still continuing to receive these cards from her and whether that's something they really appreciate and are like, "Boy, this is great, I get a little piece of mom still even now," or do they look at her unsteady hand as she's writing these cards and say, "That's not the mom I want to remember."
Henry Bair: Yeah, that's a really good point. In the essay, I talk about that moment when the patient recognizes these are very imperfect letters, imperfectly written. We talked a little bit about that. And the patient makes a point, very wisely. I had suggested, "Oh, what if you want me to correct things?" And he's like, "No, no, no, the mistakes are part of it. It's part of the message. The message is that this was me at a difficult time in my life. I cannot control my hands the way that I used to, but that's still part of me. That makes it more genuine and authentic, mistakes and all built in." He wanted his children to see him for who he fully was in that moment.
Mikkael Sekeres: And that was such a poignant part of your essay and probably the one that jumped out at me the most. Like as a dad, you want your kids to see you for who you are, right? You're not a superhero. In this case, this is somebody who was going to succumb to his illness, who did, but he was their dad and wanted them to remember him for all of who he was at that moment.
Before I let you go, Henry, because I feel like we could probably talk for hours about this, before we started this podcast, I noticed you had better podcast equipment than I do, and sure enough, you copped to the fact that you do host your own podcast. You want to tell us a little bit about that? Because it touches on so many themes we touched on here in Cancer Stories.
Henry Bair: Yeah, well thanks for asking me about that. Yeah, don't mind if I plug a little bit. Yes, so in medical school, this was 2021, around 2022, we were emerging from the COVID pandemic, and one of the things I was seeing around me as a medical student were physicians and nurses leaving the profession in droves. Like, there were so many reports and surveys coming out of the AMA discussing how more than half of all physicians are burned out, a third of physicians can't find meaning in their work anymore. And that was really scary. As a clinical trainee, what was I getting myself into? These weren't just some clinicians somewhere. These were often times- I was hearing these kinds of conversations about losing sight of why they even come in in the first place to work. I was hearing these conversations from professors that I thought were well-accomplished. These were people who had gone to the right residencies, the right fellowships. They had the right publications. These are people who I aspired to be, I suppose, and they were talking about leaving clinical practice.
A wonderful mentor of mine who is an oncologist, still an oncologist at Stanford, we started talking about these things. And I asked him, "You seem to love your job." He was a GI oncologist dealing with very, very sick patients day in and day out. I've seen him in clinic. And I asked him, "What's your secret? What keeps you coming back over and over and over again?" And so that led to a conversation. And then we realized, "Wait a second, there are people, a third of physicians losing meaning in their work meant that two thirds of physicians have meaning in their work. Okay, let's talk about that." So we started exploring, we started just asking clinicians who have found true purpose in their work. And then we asked them to share their stories. And that's how the podcast was born. It's called The Doctor's Art, and at this point, we've expanded and we interview nurses and patients and caregivers. We interview philosophers and filmmakers, journalists. We interview ethicists and religious leaders, really anyone who might have some insight about what living well means either from the clinician perspective or from the patient perspective. And guess what? Everyone is going to be either a caregiver or a care recipient at some point in their lives. It's still ongoing and it's ended up being something where we explore very universal themes.
Mikkael Sekeres: Well, it sounds great, Henry, and it sounds like a perfect complement to what we're doing here in Cancer Stories.
It has been such a pleasure to have Dr. Henry Bair, who is an ophthalmology resident at Wills Eye Hospital, to discuss his essay, "The Quiet Work of Clarity". Henry, thank you so much for submitting your article to the Journal of Clinical Oncology and for joining us today.
Henry Bair: Thank you very much, Mikail, for letting me share my insights and my story. It was a wonderful opportunity.
Mikkael Sekeres: If you've enjoyed this episode, consider sharing it with a friend or colleague, or leave us a review. Your feedback and support helps us continue to have these important conversations. If you're looking for more episodes and content, follow our show on Apple, Spotify, or wherever you listen, and explore more from ASCO at asco.org/podcasts.
Until next time, this has been Mikkael Sekeres for Cancer Stories.
The purpose of this podcast is to educate and to inform. This is not a substitute for professional medical care and is not intended for use in the diagnosis or treatment of individual conditions.
 
Guests on this podcast express their own opinions, experience, and conclusions. Guest statements on the podcast do not express the opinions of ASCO. The mention of any product, service, organization, activity, or therapy should not be construed as an ASCO endorsement.
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Guest Bio:
Dr Henry Bair is a ophthalmology resident physician at Wills Eye Hospital and podcast host of The Doctor's Art.

Listen to JCO's Art of Oncology article, "Final Silence" by Dr. Ju Won Kim, who is an Assistant Professor at Korea University College of Medicine, Medical Oncology. The article is followed by an interview with Kim and host Dr. Mikkael Sekeres. Dr Kim explores the burden of silence when caring for dying patients.
TRANSCRIPT
Narrator: Final Silence, by Ju Won Kim 
Dr. Mikkael Sekeres: Welcome back to JCO's Cancer Stories: The Art of Oncology. This ASCO podcast features intimate narratives and perspectives from authors exploring their experiences in oncology. I'm your host, Mikkael Sekeres. I am a Professor of Medicine and Chief of the Division of Hematology at the Sylvester Comprehensive Cancer Center, University of Miami.
We are so thrilled to have joining us today, Dr. Ju Won Kim. She is Assistant Professor at Korea University College of Medicine, and she is here to discuss her Journal of Clinical Oncology article, "Final Silence."
Ju Won, thank you for contributing to the Journal of Clinical Oncology and for joining us today to discuss your article.
Dr. Ju Won Kim: Hello, Mikkael. It's really nice to be here. Thanks so much for inviting me.
Dr. Mikkael Sekeres: It's so nice to have you here today also. Thank you for also taking time so late in the evening because our time difference is so huge.
Dr. Ju Won Kim: Yeah, it's not that late. It's 9 o'clock in Seoul. 9:00 PM.
Dr. Mikkael Sekeres: I wonder if I could start by asking you if you can tell us about yourself. Could you walk us through your career so far?
Dr. Ju Won Kim: Yes. I am Ju Won Kim from Korea University in Seoul. I was born and also raised here and never really left from Seoul. I did my residency in internal medicine and fellowship in oncology at the same hospital, and now I'm an assistant professor there. So you could say I've spent my whole life on the same campus, just moving from one side of the hallway to another.
Dr. Mikkael Sekeres: That's a beautiful way of describing it. Is that common in Korea for somebody to remain at the same institution for training and then to continue through your career?
Dr. Ju Won Kim: It used to be common about a decade ago, but nowadays it is not that common. Most of my colleagues are from another campus or another hospital.
Dr. Mikkael Sekeres: Well, I'm so curious, what is a typical week like for you? How many days do you spend seeing patients and how much time do you spend doing research or writing or have other responsibilities?
Dr. Ju Won Kim: Usually, I spend four times for my outpatient clinic, but in Korea, there are so many cancer patients and so little number of medical oncologists. I usually treat so many patients in one clinic, like maybe 20 to 30 in one time.
Dr. Mikkael Sekeres: Wow.
Dr. Ju Won Kim: Yeah, that's a burden. Most of the time I spend treating my patients, and rest of them I use to spend for my research with my lab students, and maybe with my colleagues, and I have to write something like documents or some kind of medical articles. That is about 10 or 20% of my working time, I think.
Dr. Mikkael Sekeres: Okay, okay. That makes sense. So, and do you specialize within oncology, or do you see any person who has cancer?
Dr. Ju Won Kim: I'm a medical oncologist, and I used to treat breast cancer or biliary pancreatic cancer or some kind of liver cancer or rare cancer, maybe, also.
Dr. Mikkael Sekeres: Okay, okay. It's such a long trip. Are you able to make it to the ASCO Annual Meeting in Chicago?
Dr. Ju Won Kim: Actually, I've been Chicago for ASCO meeting just one time in this year. Actually, I gave birth to my son in March, and I was in the long vacation for my birth, and the last part of my birth vacation, I went to Chicago to participate in ASCO. It was a really good time.
Dr. Mikkael Sekeres: Oh, fantastic. That's great.
How about your own story as a writer? How long have you been writing narrative pieces and when did you start?
Dr. Ju Won Kim: Actually, I've always thought of myself more as a reader than a writer. Reading was my comfort zone from childhood. Then I started a small book club with friends about 10 years ago, and we began writing short reflections after each meeting. That's how writing slowly became part of my routine. When reading feels heavy, I write. When writing feels tiring, I read. It's a rhythm that keeps me balanced. At first, it was only academic writing like medical articles, but a few years ago, I challenged myself to post one short reflection a month on my Instagram, usually a quote from a book and a few sentences on why it mattered to me. It was my life about writing.
Dr. Mikkael Sekeres: That is really remarkable. So, did you take any formal writing classes at university?
Dr. Ju Won Kim: Not really. It was just a hobby of my own.
Dr. Mikkael Sekeres: It always impresses me when people come into writing organically like this, where they just discover it and start and don't have formal teaching because your writing is very, very good.
Dr. Ju Won Kim: Oh, thank you.
Dr. Mikkael Sekeres: And how do you find the time to read and write when you have a busy career, academic career, and you have a child?
Dr. Ju Won Kim: It was my old routine that I used to read it before going to bed, from my bedside with a small light, I used to read some novels and get to sleep easily. But after I started to work as a medical oncologist, it was a very busy job as you know. I used to sleep more and not have time for reading. I try to read more when I get some free time.
Dr. Mikkael Sekeres: I love how you talk about alternating reading and writing and how when one gets too heavy, you go to the other, and then you switch back. One of the most common pieces of advice I've heard from writers is to read more.
Dr. Ju Won Kim: Yeah.
Dr. Mikkael Sekeres: You can see how other people put thoughts together and the cadence of their writing, and also it inspires your mind to develop new ideas for writing.
Dr. Ju Won Kim: Actually, the new idea also comes from the book, I think, when I came into a new book and the idea bangs up with me, so I started to write and that's an easy way to have some idea about writing.
Dr. Mikkael Sekeres: I'm always impressed by people who are facile with languages and bilingual or trilingual. I think I'm unfortunately a hopeless monoglot.
Dr. Ju Won Kim: Maybe you can try Korean.
Dr. Mikkael Sekeres: I'd be embarrassed to even attempt it. When you read, do you read in Korean or do you read in English or other languages?
Dr. Ju Won Kim: Definitely in Korean.
Dr. Mikkael Sekeres: Okay, okay. And when do you find the space to write? Do you need to be alone at home in a special room or at a special desk, or do you write at work, or do you just find any time to write?
Dr. Ju Won Kim: I usually don't have much time on my own because I have my baby now and some family gathers frequently. So, I always write every free time I'm trying to, any short free time in my work maybe.
Dr. Mikkael Sekeres: If you feel comfortable doing so - this is a very heavy piece, and a lot of us have dealt with deaths of our own patients, of course, we see this unfortunately commonly in oncology, but many of us, myself included, have also dealt with patients or their family members who've committed suicide - can you tell us what prompted you to write this piece?
Dr. Ju Won Kim: As an oncologist treating biliary and pancreatic cancers, I've witnessed many deaths, as you know. Most fade with time because I treat so many patients, but just one family stayed with me, I think. It was early in my career, just months after I started this specialty, and even 5 years later, I still think about them, the family I wrote about in the "Final Silence." The story eventually became the piece I wrote.
Dr. Mikkael Sekeres: And what is it about them that caused you to think about them so much even years later?
Dr. Ju Won Kim: I'm not sure. That's the only experience I came into someone's suicide so closely in my life, I think, and also it happened in my very early career. That's the impact.
Dr. Mikkael Sekeres: It is amazing how certain patients stick with us even years or decades later, particularly when they're tied to an emotional response to illness, and that can be our patients' emotional response or our own.
Can you talk some about Korean culture and how cancer is viewed? Is it discussed openly?
Dr. Ju Won Kim: In Korea, death is still a quiet topic. Cancer equals death in many people's minds, and death equals grief. Even today, some families ask doctors not to tell their patients about the diagnosis, but Korea is aging so fast, so I see more older patients now, but culturally, we are still learning how to talk about dying openly. That's the big problem as a medical oncologist, especially treating biliary and pancreatic cancers.
Dr. Mikkael Sekeres: I can just imagine. When you first meet a patient and their family is in the room, do you tell them that they have cancer, or do you need to check in with the family and with the patient how much they know about their diagnosis first?
Dr. Ju Won Kim: Actually, I usually try to tell them there is a cancer, which can never be treated perfectly, because I used to treat patients with stage four, which is incurable, but I'm not sure is it okay to tell them that your life is about 3 months or 6 months or 1 year. It is not that okay for the Korean patients, especially the first time when they meet me in the clinic. I try to tell them about the truth just a few times later.
Dr. Mikkael Sekeres: I think that's common. I think we do that in the United States also. We may not mention a number to patients during that very first meeting because when you're talking to somebody and once you mention that number, often people will shut down. They won't hear anything else that you say. And you need to build up a relationship and some trust with somebody and also get the sense how much they want to know about their cancer and their prognosis before entering that conversation.
I've certainly had instances when I'm in a room with a patient, and that patient's spouse or children, and someone else in the room will say, "How long does Dad have to live?" And I've turned to my patient, "Dad", and said, "Is this a number that you want to know?" And the patient has said, "No, I don't."
Dr. Ju Won Kim: Yeah, that happens.
Dr. Mikkael Sekeres: So sometimes we have to be careful and check in and remind ourselves in the high emotions around a cancer diagnosis that our first responsibility is always to our patient and what they want to know about their diagnosis and their prognosis.
Dr. Ju Won Kim: Do you have any opposite cases where patients really want to know the numbers?
Dr. Mikkael Sekeres: Yeah, I do. And, you know, you can almost predict who that's going to be depending on what they did during their lives.
Dr. Ju Won Kim: Yes.
Dr. Mikkael Sekeres: So I have patients who are engineers or who have a math-based career like they're accountants and they'll come in and they write every number down and they want to know the number about their prognosis. I have other patients who are English professors and they want descriptively to know what the prognosis is but maybe don't want a number. So...
Dr. Ju Won Kim: I think most Koreans want the number, the specific number. Yeah.
Dr. Mikkael Sekeres: I'm curious, is cancer in a father or a son dealt with differently than cancer in a mother or a daughter?
Dr. Ju Won Kim: I don't think there's much difference between sons and daughters, or maybe moms and dad, because every child is very precious in Korea now, but between husband and wives, I think the dynamic stands out. People often say when a husband gets cancer, the wife becomes his main caregiver, but when the wife gets cancer, sometimes the husband disappears. I've heard that from my colleagues, though not often in my own clinic. Now, what I do see is many middle-aged women who have been diagnosed with breast cancer, women coming to treatment alone, strong and very independent.
Dr. Mikkael Sekeres: Interesting. So I was going to follow up by asking if you've seen that in your own clinic. Have you seen- is it more likely that your female patients who have a cancer diagnosis come to clinic alone but the male patients come with their spouse and with family support?
Dr. Ju Won Kim: Yeah, it is not just because of their sex, but most of the breast cancer patients who are female are in good condition, but biliary pancreatic cancer male patients have very poor condition, so...
Dr. Mikkael Sekeres: Ah...
Dr. Ju Won Kim: Maybe, I think that's the problem.
Dr. Mikkael Sekeres: Interesting.
The part of your essay in which you describe the attempted suicide of your patient's daughter is absolutely chilling. How did that affect you? Have you ever had a patient attempt suicide before?
Dr. Ju Won Kim: Yes, the event I wrote in my essay was extremely shocking for me, but it's the only experience I have. It wasn't my patient, but I've heard a few cases where someone in the hospital tried to take their own life. I haven't had that happen directly, but I've seen patients fall into deep depression or break down in tears. In those moments, I always suggest psychiatry nowadays. That used to be taboo in here, but the stigma is fading, and many patients actually feel better afterwards. I also check in with close family members because their mental state affects the patients, too. It's something I hope never to experience again.
Dr. Mikkael Sekeres: It's so unsettling when that happens, and as I mentioned, I've had a patient who took his own life, and you go back and back and back to it to wonder if there's something you could have done to intervene quicker or to get that psychosocial support in place to help that patient so that you avoid it in the future. And, you know, you protect your patients and yourself.
Dr. Ju Won Kim: Yeah, I try to.
Dr. Mikkael Sekeres: Speaking of protecting, you write, and I'm going to quote you to you, "I told myself I was protecting her, that to burden her in her final hours with such unthinkable news would be cruel. But a deeper truth is that I was protecting myself. I didn't know how to say it. I didn't know how to bear the weight of her devastation on top of my own shock and helplessness, so I avoided it." Do we owe it to ourselves sometimes to protect ourselves from the pain we sometimes impart to our patients?
Dr. Ju Won Kim: That reflection came from realizing how doctors sometimes say we are protecting patients from pain, but really, we are protecting ourselves, I think. It's human. We can't hold every piece of suffering we see. Setting emotional boundaries isn't weakness. It's survival. What matters is recognizing when it's self-protection and being honest about it later.
Dr. Mikkael Sekeres: Well, I think something that really helps with that is being able to talk to our colleagues about times when this happens and recognize we're in a shared experience and that we have the support of our colleagues, and they recognize how hard it is to be the bearer of bad news to other people and to bring pain to them sometimes.
Dr. Ju Won Kim: That really works.
Dr. Mikkael Sekeres: Dr. Ju Won Kim, it has been such a pleasure having you on this show. Dr. Kim has written just a fabulous essay called "Final Silence" for JCO Art of Oncology. Thank you so much for sharing your article with us and for joining us today.
Dr. Ju Won Kim: Yeah, thank you so much for the conversation. It was a pleasure talking with you.
Dr. Mikkael Sekeres: If you've enjoyed this episode, consider sharing it with a friend or a colleague or leave us a review. Your feedback and support helps us continue to have these important conversations. If you're looking for more episodes and context, follow our show on Apple, Spotify, or wherever you listen and explore more from ASCO at asco.org/podcasts.
Until next time, this has been Mikkael Sekeres for Cancer Stories.
The purpose of this podcast is to educate and to inform. This is not a substitute for professional medical care and is not intended for use in the diagnosis or treatment of individual conditions.
Guests on this podcast express their own opinions, experience, and conclusions. Guest statements on the podcast do not express the opinions of ASCO. The mention of any product, service, organization, activity, or therapy should not be construed as an ASCO endorsement.
Show Notes:
Like, share and subscribe so you never miss an episode and leave a rating or review.


Guest Bio:
Dr Ju Won Kim is an Assistant Professor at Korea University College of Medicine, Medical Oncology.

Listen to JCO's Art of Oncology article, "Smell," by Dr. Alice Cusick, who is a Hematology Section Chief at Veterans Affairs Ann Arbor Health System and Assistant Professor at the University of Michigan Division of Hematology and Oncology. The article is followed by an interview with Cusick and host Dr. Mikkael Sekeres. Dr Cusick shares a connection to a cancer patient manifested as a scent.
TRANSCRIPT
Narrator: Smell, by Alice Cusick, MD 
Dr. Mikkael Sekeres: Welcome back to JCO's Cancer Stories: The Art of Oncology. This ASCO podcast features intimate narratives and perspectives from authors exploring their experiences in oncology. I'm your host, Mikkael Sekeres. I'm Professor of Medicine and Chief of the Division of Hematology at the Sylvester Comprehensive Cancer Center, University of Miami.
Joining us today is Alice Cusick, Hematology Section Chief at the Veterans Affairs Ann Arbor Healthcare System and Assistant Professor at the University of Michigan, Division of Hematology and Oncology, to discuss her Journal of Clinical Oncology article, "Smell."
Alice, thank you for contributing to Journal of Clinical Oncology and for joining us to discuss your article.
Dr. Alice Cusick: Thank you so much for having me, Mikkael. I appreciate it.
Dr. Mikkael Sekeres: It's really a pleasure, and as usual, Alice and I discussed this beforehand and agreed to call each other by first names.
I always love to hear your story first. Can you tell us about yourself? Where are you from, and walk us through your career, if you could.
Dr. Alice Cusick: I'm a Midwesterner. I grew up in Iowa and Illinois and went to a small college in Illinois, played basketball, Division lll, and was an English Literature major. I took one science class and was going to be an English professor. And then my father's a physician. My senior year, I realized I don't think I could spend all my time in a library. I didn't feel like I was helping anyone. And so I talked to my dad, and he said, "Yeah, I think you could be a doctor." So I thought I would help people by being a physician. So I moved to Iowa City and spent two years working in a lab and doing science classes and took the MCAT, which was the first year they had the essay on there, and I rocked that. That was my highest score.
I got into the University of Iowa and then went on to residency and fellowship at the University of Wisconsin, just in hematology. I didn't do solid tumors. And then went on, spent a couple years there, worked in Pennsylvania in more of a group practice, and then came back to academics at the University of Michigan about 10 years ago. And then five years ago, I became the Hematology Section Chief at the VA in Ann Arbor. So I work there full time now.
Dr. Mikkael Sekeres: I love that story. I served on the admissions committee at Cleveland Clinic and Case Western when I was also a Midwesterner for 18 years. And I always wondered if instead of searching for science majors, we should be searching for English majors because I think there's a core element of medicine that is actually storytelling.
Dr. Alice Cusick: Oh, very much so. My father was a country doctor for many, many years in rural Iowa in the fifties and sixties. So he did house calls, and he talked about how you really got to know people by going to their house. And I'll never forget the first time that I did a full history and physical, I think I was maybe a second-year medical student, and I was telling him, "Oh, I'm so excited. I'm going to do my first history and physical." And he said, "Alice, don't talk to them about medicine right away or about their problems right away. Talk to them about something else. Get to know them because you know about sports, talk about sports." I said, "Dad, that's called establishing rapport." You know, that's what they had taught us. But it was intuitive to him. I'll never forget that he just said their story is important and how they live and where they live and who they live with is so important. It really helps you figure out their medical issues as well. And I've always tried to carry that through.
Dr. Mikkael Sekeres: It's funny what we glean from our parents. My dad was a journalist for the Providence Journal-Bulletin. He was a reporter for a couple of decades, and I almost feel like some of what I'm doing is acting as a reporter. It's my job to get the story and get the story right and solicit enough details from a patient that I really have a sense that I'm with them on the journey of their illness, so I can understand it completely.
Dr. Alice Cusick: Oh, very much so. And that's one of the things I really harp about with the fellows because sometimes I remember more of the social history than I do sometimes the medical history when I'm seeing a patient. I remind them, you need to know who they live with and how they live. It helps you take care of them.
Dr. Mikkael Sekeres: Well, and that must be particularly germane with your patient population. When I was a medical student, my first rotation on internal medicine was at the Philadelphia VA, and it's actually what convinced me to specialize within internal medicine. What is it like caring for veterans?
Dr. Alice Cusick: This is the best job I've ever had in my life. And I think because it speaks to my sense of duty that I got from my parents, particularly from my father, and I really feel I got back to my original focus, which is helping people. So that sense of duty and serving those who served, which is our core mission, this job is the most rewarding I've ever had because you really feel like you're helping people.
Dr. Mikkael Sekeres: How much do you learn about your patients' military history when you first interact with them?
Dr. Alice Cusick: It can come up in conversation. It sort of depends on what the context is and how much you ask and how much of that is incorporated into what's going on with their medical history. It comes up a lot in terms of, particularly cancer, because a lot of cancers that veterans develop can be related to their military exposures. So it can come up certainly in that context.
Dr. Mikkael Sekeres: You write about how your patient and his wife brought in photographs of his younger self. Can you describe some of those photos?
Dr. Alice Cusick: So a lot of it was about the sports he was doing at the time. He was kind of almost like a bodybuilder and doing like martial arts. So there were some pictures of him in his shirt and shorts, showing how healthy he was. He was much younger, but it was such a contrast to how he was at that time as he was nearing death. But it really rounded out my understanding of him because, as we all know, when we meet people, we see them when they're at that particular age, and we may not have that context of what they were 20, 30 years ago. But that still informs how they think about themselves. I mean, I still think of myself as an athlete even though I'm much older. So that's important to understand how the patient thinks about himself or herself.
Dr. Mikkael Sekeres: You know, it's funny you mentioned those two photographs. I- immediately flashed into my mind, I had a patient who also was a martial arts expert, and I remember he was in his early seventies and hospitalized, but he made sure to put up that photo of him when he was in his prime, in his martial arts outfit in a pose. And I've had another patient who was a boxer, and all he wanted to talk about whenever he saw me was his first experience boxing in Madison Square Garden and what that moment felt like of climbing into the ring, squeezing in between the ropes, and facing off in front of what must have been some massive crowd.
Dr. Alice Cusick: Yeah.
Dr. Mikkael Sekeres: Why do you think it was important to them to bring in those photos to show you?
Dr. Alice Cusick: I think it was to help me understand what he had been. I think it was important for him, and because we had a relationship, it wasn't just transactional in terms of his medical problems. It was really conversations every day about what he was doing and how his life was going. And I think he really wanted me to understand what he had been. And so I felt really honored because I think that was important. It told me that his relationship with me was very important to him. I found that very, very humbling.
Dr. Mikkael Sekeres: Yeah, I find it fascinating the details that patients offer to us about themselves as opposed to the ones that we solicit. I think it speaks to also the closeness of the relationship we have with patients when they want to share that aspect of them. They want to show you who they were before they were ill. And it's not a point of bragging. It's not flexing for them. I think it's really to remind themselves and us of the vitality of the person who's sitting in front of us or lying in front of us in the hospital johnny or sitting on an exam table.
Dr. Alice Cusick: Oh, very much so. And I've experienced that even with my own parents as they got older and were in the medical system. I remember vividly, my father had had a stroke, and the people taking care of him didn't understand what he had been. They didn't understand that his voice was very different. We kept asking, you know, "His voice is different." They had no concept of him beforehand. So that also really hit home to me how important it is to understand patients in the whole context of their lives.
Dr. Mikkael Sekeres: And as a family member, do you think it's equally important to share that story of who somebody was before they were ill as a reminder to yourself and to the people taking care of a relative?
Dr. Alice Cusick: Oh, very much so. I think it's very helpful because it also makes you feel like you're supporting the loved one as well by, if they can't speak for themselves, particularly when they're very ill, to help people understand, it may help the physicians or any provider understand their illness better, especially if there's a diagnostic dilemma, thinking about going home, what are they going to need at home, those sorts of things. I think it's always important to try to provide that context.
Dr. Mikkael Sekeres: Patients will often talk about their deaths or transitions to hospice as an abstract future. Do you think they rely on us to make the decision about a concrete transition to hospice, or do you think they know it's time and are looking for us to verbalize it for their family and friends?
Dr. Alice Cusick: I think it depends on how much groundwork you've done beforehand. So when you talk about end of life with people well before that transition it's almost mandatory, I think it's very important. It makes the transition much smoother because then they understand what hospice is, and they can prepare themselves. When they're not prepared, I think it's much more of a very clear transition. So it's almost like you're shutting one door, disease treatment, and moving on to, "I'm just going home to die," versus when you're laying the groundwork and you make sure that it's about how you live. I always try to emphasize, it's how you want to spend your time. It's how you want to live. Hospice is helping people live the best they can for as long as they can. And if you haven't prepared people, I think then they think much more you're closing the door and you're just sending me home to die.
Dr. Mikkael Sekeres: It's tricky though, isn't it? Because as an oncologist or hematologist-oncologist, in our case, people look to us for that hope that there's still something to do and there's still life ahead of them. But at a certain point, we all realize that we need to transition our focus. But once we say that out loud, do you ever feel like it almost shuts a door for our patients?
Dr. Alice Cusick: Again, it depends on the situation, and it depends on the support they have. It's different when you're dealing with somebody who's out in an outpatient world who has good family support and you've developed a relationship versus the patient who's taken a very sudden turn for the worse, and maybe is in the hospital, and things are more chaotic, and maybe they've been on very active treatment beforehand, but suddenly things have changed. So in my mind, it depends on the context that you're dealing with and what the relationship you have prior to. Maybe you're covering for your colleague, and you don't have a relationship with that particular family or that particular patient, but yet you have to talk to them. Somebody gets transferred from another hospital and you have a very brief relationship.
And so I think the relationship kind of dictates sometimes how patients feel. But as long as you can help people understand the process of end of life as best as you can, I think that sometimes helps the transition. Some people are going to be angry no matter what. And that's totally understandable, angry about their family member dying, angry about what's happening to them if they're the patient. I think that's always part of the process, but it's hard to make things smooth all of the time. We do the best we can.
Dr. Mikkael Sekeres: I was going to ask, has anyone ever been shocked when you start to talk about palliative care or hospice and never really did see it coming?
Dr. Alice Cusick: Oh, of course. I think, especially if you've been doing this for a while, you sometimes see the future. You know what's, well, I mean, not exactly, but you have a good sense of what's going to happen. And there can be times when you start talking about end of life and palliative care or hospice and people are shocked, particularly family members, family members who may not be there all the time, who may not have seen their loved one frequently and haven't just understood what the disease course has been. And that certainly can be shocking. And again, totally understandable, but it's my responsibility to try to smooth that over and help people understand what's going on and make it a conversation.
Dr. Mikkael Sekeres: It's a nice description of what we do. We make it a conversation.
When talking about what you smelled that day when you saw your patient, you write, "Did I suddenly have a gift? Could I float through the hospital wards and smell the future? Or maybe I could only smell inevitability." It's a beautiful sentence. "Could I only smell inevitability?" What do you think it was that led you to know that his time had come? And I wonder, was it a distinct odor or what I refer to as a Malcolm Gladwell "blink" moment, you know, in which your 25 years of experience allowed you to synthesize a hundred different sensory and cognitive inputs in a split second to realize this was the time?
Dr. Alice Cusick: I think I knew it was time because I had been seeing him so frequently and I knew him very well. The smell was very real to me. My husband and I disagree because I've talked to my husband about this. He thinks it was a real smell and that I did smell something. I think it was more that amalgamation of my experience and, as I said in the piece, a scent took the place of a thought.
Dr. Mikkael Sekeres: Huh.
Dr. Alice Cusick: But it bothered me so much, and that's when I talk about, "Did I have a gift?" You know, there are people who can smell diseases. There's a report of a woman who could smell Parkinson's disease. I thought, "Have I suddenly developed some sort of gift?" But in my mind, I thought, "You know, it was inevitability." I mean, it was inevitable that this gentleman was going to die of this disease. So that was my thought. I don't think I had a gift. I think it was smelling the inevitability that I understood through experience and knowing this patient so well.
Dr. Mikkael Sekeres: Why do you think that smell haunted you so much afterwards? I mean, you really think about it and really dwell on it. I think in a way that any one of us would.
Dr. Alice Cusick: I think because I thought there was something wrong with me. As I said in the piece, I thought it made my experience of that patient, my memory of that visit in particular and the whole relationship with him, I was thinking more about myself instead of thinking about him and his experience and his family's experience. And you know, you always grieve for patients, and it was interfering with my normal process. And so it really bothered me. In the end, it was more, "What was wrong with me?" This was weird, and it just sort of played with my usual understanding of how these things were supposed to go. And that's what really bothered me.
Dr. Mikkael Sekeres: It is true. We really feel acutely our patients' loss, and it's so much more, I don't know if "acute" is the right word, or so much more meaningful when it's someone we've gotten to know over years, isn't it?
Dr. Alice Cusick: Oh, very much so. You grieve for them, you miss them. At the same time, you also, you know, especially with this patient, his death was how he wanted it. So helping someone with the, quote unquote, "good death", the death surrounded by family, the death where there is no suffering or as minimal suffering as possible, you do find that helps with the grief, I think, instead of thinking, "Oh, what did I do wrong? What did I miss?" You can make it somewhat helpful in processing the grief.
Dr. Mikkael Sekeres: It's perhaps one of the more exquisite aspects of the art of medicine is helping people with that transition in their final days and sharing in the emotions of that.
It has been such a pleasure to have Alice Cusick, who is Hematology Section Chief at Veterans Affairs Ann Arbor Health System and Assistant Professor at the University of Michigan, Division of Hematology and Oncology to discuss "Smell." Alice, thank you so much for submitting your article and for joining us today.
Dr. Alice Cusick: Oh, thank you so much. I really appreciate it.
Dr. Mikkael Sekeres: If you've enjoyed this episode, consider sharing it with a friend or colleague or leave us a review. Your feedback and support helps us continue to have these important conversations. If you're looking for more episodes and context, follow our show on Apple, Spotify, or wherever you listen and explore more from ASCO at asco.org/podcasts.
Until next time, this has been Mikkael Sekeres for Cancer Stories.
The purpose of this podcast is to educate and to inform. This is not a substitute for professional medical care and is not intended for use in the diagnosis or treatment of individual conditions.
Guests on this podcast express their own opinions, experience, and conclusions. Guest statements on the podcast do not express the opinions of ASCO. The mention of any product, service, organization, activity, or therapy should not be construed as an ASCO endorsement.
Show Notes:
Like, share and subscribe so you never miss an episode and leave a rating or review.


Guest Bio:
Dr Alice Cusick is Hematology Section Chief at Veterans Affairs Ann Arbor Health System and Assistant Professor at the University of Michigan Division of Hematology and Oncology.

Listen to JCO's Art of Oncology article, "Are You Bereaved?" by Dr. Trisha Paul, who is an Assistant Professor in Pediatric Hematology/ Oncology and Palliative Care at University of Rochester Medical Center. The article is followed by an interview with Paul and host Dr. Mikkael Sekeres. Dr Paul reflects on a grieving father's question about her own bereavement.
TRANSCRIPT
Narrator: Are You Bereaved?, by Trisha Paul, MD, MFA 
Dr. Mikkael Sekeres: Welcome back to JCO's Cancer Stories: The Art of Oncology. This ASCO podcast features intimate narratives and perspectives from authors exploring their experience in oncology. I'm your host, Mikkael Sekeres. I'm Professor of Medicine and Chief of the Division of Hematology at the Sylvester Comprehensive Cancer Center, University of Miami. Joining us today is Trisha Paul, an Assistant Professor in Pediatric Hematology Oncology and Palliative Care at University of Rochester Medical Center to discuss her Journal of Clinical Oncology article, "Are You Bereaved?"
At the time of this recording, our guest has no disclosures.
Trisha, thank you so much for contributing this terrific essay to the Journal of Clinical Oncology and for joining us to discuss your article.
Dr. Trisha Paul: Thank you so much for having me today, Dr. Sekeres.
Dr. Mikkael Sekeres: So we agreed for everyone listening to call each other by first names, and then Dr. Paul just called me Dr. Sekeres.
Dr. Trisha Paul: Still adjusting to being an attending.
Dr. Mikkael Sekeres: That is fantastic.
Dr. Trisha Paul: Thank you so much for having me, Mikkael.
Dr. Mikkael Sekeres: That was great. Well, you already gave us a little bit of a hint. Can we start off by my asking you if you can tell us about yourself - where are you from - and walk us through your career thus far?
Dr. Trisha Paul: Sure. I'm originally from Ann Arbor, Michigan, born and raised there, and I completed my undergraduate medical school education at the University of Michigan. I proceeded to do a general pediatrics residency at the University of Minnesota and then went to St. Jude Children's Research Hospital for a combined fellowship in pediatric hematology oncology and hospice and palliative medicine.
What brought me into this area of medicine was early experiences as a high school student volunteering at a children's hospital in my hometown. And that's where I found myself in a playroom, spending time with children with cancer and their families. And these experiences of being with patients and families and getting to know them outside of their illnesses was really what brought me to wanting to be not only a pediatric oncologist, but also a palliative care physician who could care for patients holistically.
Dr. Mikkael Sekeres: Wow. So you were introduced to this field at a preternaturally young age.
Dr. Trisha Paul: Yes, it's been more than a decade that I've been aspiring to be a pediatric oncologist and a palliative care physician, and I feel fortunate to be there now.
Dr. Mikkael Sekeres: That's fantastic. And I should say, given your University of Michigan pedigree, 'Go Blue'.
Dr. Trisha Paul: Thank you. Go Blue!
Dr. Mikkael Sekeres: Although, at the time of this recording, Miami is undefeated in football, so, you know, go us.
In your essay, I really love how you draw us as readers into your story. You signed up to volunteer at a writing workshop for bereaved parents of children who died from cancer. Can you set the scene for us? Where did this take place? How many people attended? And why did you sign up for the workshop in the first place? I can imagine this would be an incredibly moving experience.
Dr. Trisha Paul: Yes. Day of Remembrance is an annual event hosted at St. Jude Children's Research Hospital. Many hospitals have similar events where we honor patients who have passed away and we invite their families back to campus to honor these patients. And I started my fellowship in 2021, and so we were still coming out of the pandemic. This workshop that I attended was the first time that I was having an opportunity to attend the annual Day of Remembrance. And at the time, I had completed my palliative care training, and I was wrapping up my pediatric oncology fellowship.
The annual Day of Remembrance this year was hosted at a convention center on the banks of the Mississippi River, nearby and next to St. Jude Children's Research Hospital. And it was a large convention center that kind of spans the horizon. And it's one of those spaces where you go for medical conferences typically, and it was interesting to walk into this convention center space and all these conference rooms and instead see poster boards that are sharing the stories and the lives of all these children and adolescents who had died over the past several years.
One reason I think the timing of this event occurred for me was that I realized that I also knew several patients and families who might be in attendance at this event. I was several years into my fellowship at the time. And so I think the other reason I chose to volunteer at this event was I had spent a lot of time with patients and families whose child was approaching the end of their life, and I had kind of gotten to be with parents and siblings in that period of time. But what often happens for me as a palliative care physician and as an oncologist is the relationship is different after the child dies. And so for many of the patients I cared for as a palliative care physician, or as an oncologist, I wouldn't necessarily see these parents after the death of a child. There are some times where I've been able to see them at a memorial service, but otherwise we spend all this time with families leading up to a child's death. And often there's kind of this black box around them and their lives afterwards.
And so I found myself really wanting to better understand the experiences of families after a child's death, which is what led me to participate and volunteer in the annual Day of Remembrance event. I did not want to just attend, I wanted to be able to do something concrete and actionable with these families to learn more about their grief. And for me, as a writer, volunteering at the writing workshop with bereaved parents seemed like a perfect way for me to be able to spend time with them.
Dr. Mikkael Sekeres: Many of us as oncologists place boundaries between our interactions with patients, confining them to the workplace, but many do not. That you attended this workshop tells me that you may fall into the latter category. Was this a deliberate decision or something that evolved over time? And do you ever worry that erosion of such boundaries could contribute to burnout, or is it actually the opposite, that it reminds us of why we do what we do?
Dr. Trisha Paul: Yeah, I think this is a great question that I have been asking myself for years and that I anticipate spending the rest of my career wondering about and rediscovering for myself each time I have a patient and a family before me that I am exploring what I want those boundaries to look like or what I want those relationships to look like. I think that for me, my thinking about this has evolved even throughout the course of my training. And I think I've better understood that these are decisions that are made on a very personal level as well as decisions that have to be reassessed with each patient and with each family that we get to care for during this time. And so I think I'm always asking myself about, beyond being an oncologist and beyond being a person's palliative care physician, how do I want to care for them as another person?
Dr. Mikkael Sekeres: Really nicely said. Did you recognize any of the parents at the writing workshop you attended or at the larger conference when you were there?
Dr. Trisha Paul: I did.
Dr. Mikkael Sekeres: And what was that like, seeing them out of context?
Dr. Trisha Paul: In this specific situation, I think it was a little bit jarring in the sense that it was kind of this surprise, that especially these are patients I had cared for in the past several years, and so there was a little bit of a moment to recognize and place them in where we had seen each other before. And then there was this fleeting wonder about whether they also recognized me. Some of these are patients that I might have met while on service as a palliative care physician for a brief visit or an initial consultation. And so for some of those families that I knew, there was less longevity to the ways in which I had known them. And it was curious to wonder if they remembered me and then to wonder about that memory.
Dr. Mikkael Sekeres: Did any of them? Did any of them come up to you and say, "Oh, Dr. Paul, it's good to see you again," or, "Do you remember me?"
Dr. Trisha Paul: No, I did not have that happen.
Dr. Mikkael Sekeres: I think jarring is a really interesting word to use. A lot of our interactions are so contextual, and I find it difficult when I run into a patient or a family member and I'm outside of work and have to remind myself of, not so much who they are, but where they are in their treatment course. And sometimes you forget because it's out of the context of our clinic rooms.
Dr. Trisha Paul: Mm hmm. I think that's exactly right.
Dr. Mikkael Sekeres: The author and grieving father who led the workshop in your essay writes in your copy of his book that he thanks you for your work. The way you describe that and isolate that phrase in your essay is to the reader, I will use your word again, jarring. Why was that so jarring to you?
Dr. Trisha Paul: It definitely felt jarring when I read those words in my book. There is something about the word work and kind of the connotations of work that separate it from a humanity of caring. It feels a little bit like an obligation or a task or a livelihood.
Dr. Mikkael Sekeres: You think of what we do as a calling?
Dr. Trisha Paul: I don't think the phrase of it being a calling resonates with me personally that much. But it is more than just a thing I do. I think that's the problem with work. I think it's undermining why a lot of us choose to do this. Which I think for many people, kind of this idea of a calling is how they think of it. I think the calling implies there's a lot more choice than I actually feel. Ever since some of the first patients and families that I met within this space, I understood that these are the people I wanted to spend the rest of my life caring for. And I guess that kind of sounds like a calling. But...
Dr. Mikkael Sekeres: I was not going to say it, but it sounds like a calling. You know that word, and I love how you reflect on semantics in this essay. The notion of a calling sounds so highfalutin and almost religious and as if we're being spoken to. But I don't know. I think you could define it as something that just feels right to you and something that you should be doing and that you fall into and you do not have as much deliberate choice in going into this field, but everything just feels right about it.
Dr. Trisha Paul: I think that's exactly it. So I think it's just that you do not really question- for people who choose to do this work and to be with these patients and families, a lot of us from the time we arrive at the realization that this is what we want to do, we don't find ourselves really questioning it in a concrete sense because we understand it. It makes sense to us.
Dr. Mikkael Sekeres: I think that's a great summary of that. It just makes sense to us.
Dr. Trisha Paul: I think it's a mysterious idea to so many other people who don't do this work. And that's part of why it's interesting to a lot of people who just respond and say, "Oh, I can't imagine how you do this."
Dr. Mikkael Sekeres: Well, it just feels as if we're contributing something so substantive to humanity by focusing on hematology, oncology, and particularly palliative care. I don't know about you, I do not know if you have children. I have certainly tried to impart to my children to do something meaningful, to do something that makes other people's lives better with whatever career they choose, because it's so meaningful not just to ourselves, but to other people.
Dr. Trisha Paul: Mm hmm.
Dr. Mikkael Sekeres: We are talking about semantics. In your essay, you reflect on the notion of bereavement. Should we, as medical caregivers, cop to being bereaved, or are we misappropriating a word that really wholly belongs to close family members and friends of a person with cancer?
Dr. Trisha Paul: Yes. And I think that this essay was me kind of struggling to wrap my mind around what this question means and kind of what my own reactions to this idea of what it would look like and feel like to call ourselves bereaved. And I don't have an answer to this question. I think it's a question that everyone in this work should consider and think about and what it means for them as an individual.
Dr. Mikkael Sekeres: Are there patients you have lost whom you think about even one, two, three years later on a regular basis?
Dr. Trisha Paul: Yes, I would definitely say so. I am early in my career, but I anticipate that that is kind of an essential way in which I do this work. It's part of my own practice, and it's dependent on each patient, but I find ways that I keep their legacy alive in my life.
Dr. Mikkael Sekeres: Yeah. I thought a lot about your essay since I first read it, and I think it's okay to say that we grieve the loss of our patients. I think that is a form of bereavement.
Dr. Trisha Paul: I think so too. I think that it was interesting to realize my own hesitation about specifically calling ourselves bereaved when we do, as clinicians, talk about grief and secondary grief and something about using the language of grief and grieving feels more appropriate and within our purview as clinicians. But something about specifically identifying as bereaved felt like a different step.
Dr. Mikkael Sekeres: It's closer, isn't it? I don't know, it feels like more of a personal relationship rather than a professional relationship to be bereaved.
Dr. Trisha Paul: And I think that that's simultaneously terrifying and empowering as a way of acknowledging what the loss of a patient can do to us and also honoring the affection we have for people we care for.
Dr. Mikkael Sekeres: I hope it's okay that we end on that phrase that you just said: It's both terrifying and empowering to admit to being bereaved and to feel that closeness to one of our patients.
It has been such a pleasure to have Trisha Paul, who is an Assistant Professor in Pediatric Hematology, Oncology, and Palliative Care at the University of Rochester Medical Center to discuss her essay, "Are You Bereaved?"
Trisha, thank you so much for submitting your article and for joining us today for this enlightening conversation.
Dr. Trisha Paul: Thank you so much.
Dr. Mikkael Sekeres: If you have enjoyed this episode, consider sharing it with a friend or colleague or leave us a review. Your feedback and support helps us continue to have these important conversations. If you are looking for more episodes and context, follow our show on Apple, Spotify, or wherever you listen, and explore more from ASCO at asco.org/podcasts.
Until next time, this has been Mikkael Sekeres for Cancer Stories.
The purpose of this podcast is to educate and to inform. This is not a substitute for professional medical care and is not intended for use in the diagnosis or treatment of individual conditions.
Guests on this podcast express their own opinions, experience, and conclusions. Guest statements on the podcast do not express the opinions of ASCO. The mention of any product, service, organization, activity, or therapy should not be construed as an ASCO endorsement.
Show notes:
Like, share and subscribe so you never miss an episode and leave a rating or review.


Guest Bio:
Dr Trisha Paul is an Assistant Professor in Pediatric Hematology/ Oncology and Palliative Care at University of Rochester Medical Center.

Listen to JCO's Art of Oncology article, "The Man at the Bow" by Dr. Alexis Drutchas, who is a palliative care physician at Dana Farber Cancer Institute. The article is followed by an interview with Drutchas and host Dr. Mikkael Sekeres. Dr. Drutchas shares the deep connection she had with a patient, a former barge captain, who often sailed the same route that her family's shipping container did when they moved overseas many times while she was growing up. She reflects on the nature of loss and dignity, and how oncologists might hold patients' humanity with more tenderness and care, especially at the end of life.
TRANSCRIPT
Narrator: The Man at the Bow, by Alexis Drutchas, MD 
It was the kind of day that almost seemed made up—a clear, cerulean sky with sunlight bouncing off the gold dome of the State House. The contrast between this view and the drab hospital walls as I walked into my patient's room was jarring. My patient, whom I will call Suresh, sat in a recliner by the window. His lymphoma had relapsed, and palliative care was consulted to help with symptom management. The first thing I remember is that despite the havoc cancer had wreaked—sunken temples and a hospital gown slipping off his chest—Suresh had a warm, peaceful quality about him.
Our conversation began with a discussion about his pain. Suresh told me how his bones ached and how his fatigue left him feeling hollow—a fraction of his former self. The way this drastic change in his physicality affected his sense of identity was palpable. There was loss, even if it was unspoken. After establishing a plan to help with his symptoms, I pivoted and asked Suresh how he used to spend his days. His face immediately lit up. He had been a barge captain—a dangerous and thrilling profession that took him across international waters to transport goods.
Suresh's eyes glistened as he described his joy at sea. I was completely enraptured. He shared stories about mornings when he stood alone on the bow, feeling the salted breeze as the barge moved through Atlantic waves. He spoke of calm nights on the deck, looking at the stars through stunning darkness. He traveled all over the globe and witnessed Earth's topography from a perspective most of us will never see. The freedom Suresh exuded was profound. He loved these voyages so much that one summer, despite the hazards, he brought his wife and son to experience the journey with him.
Having spent many years of my childhood living in Japan and Hong Kong, my family's entire home—every bed, sheet, towel, and kitchen utensil—was packed up and crossed the Atlantic on cargo ships four times. Maybe Suresh had captained one, I thought. Every winter, we hosted US Navy sailors docked in Hong Kong for the holidays. I have such fond memories of everyone going around the table and sharing stories of their adventures—who saw or ate what and where.
I loved those times: the wild abandon of travel, the freedom of being somewhere new, and the way identity can shift and expand as experiences grow. When Suresh shared stories of the ocean, I was back there too, holding the multitude of my identity alongside him.
I asked Suresh to tell me more about his voyages: what was it like to be out in severe weather, to ride over enormous swells? Did he ever get seasick, and did his crew always get along? But Suresh did not want to swim into these perilous stories with me. Although he worked a difficult and physically taxing job, this is not what he wanted to focus on. Instead, he always came back to the beauty and vitality he felt at sea—what it was like to stare out at the vastness of the open ocean. He often closed his eyes and motioned with his hands as he spoke as if he was not confined to these hospital walls. Instead, he was swaying on the water feeling the lightness of physical freedom, and the way a body can move with such ease that it is barely perceptible, like water flowing over sand. The resonances of Suresh's stories contained both the power and challenges laden in this work.
Although I sat at his bedside, healthy, my body too contained memories of freedom that in all likelihood will one day dissipate with age or illness. The question of how I will be seen, compared to how I hoped to be seen, lingered in my mind. Years ago, before going to medical school, I moved to Vail, Colorado. I worked four different jobs just to make ends meet, but making it work meant that on my days off, I was only a chairlift ride away from Vail's backcountry. I have a picture of this vigor in my mind—my snowboard carving into fresh powder, the utter silence of the wilderness at that altitude, and the way it felt to graze the powdery snow against my glove. My face was windburned, and my body was sore, but my heart had never felt so buoyant.
While talking with Suresh, I could so vividly picture him as the robust man he once was, standing tall on the bow of his ship. I could feel the freedom and joy he described—it echoed in my own body. In that moment, the full weight of what Suresh had lost hit me as forcefully as a cresting wave—not just the physical decline, but the profound shift in his identity. What is more, we all live, myself included, so precariously at this threshold. In this work, it is impossible not to wonder: what will it be like when it is me? Will I be seen as someone who has lived a full life, who explored and adventured, or will my personhood be whittled down to my illness? How can I hold these questions and not be swallowed by them?
"I know who you are now is not the person you've been," I said to Suresh. With that, he reached out for my hand and started to cry.
We looked at each other with a new understanding. I saw Suresh—not just as a frail patient but as someone who lived a full life. As someone strong enough to cross the Atlantic for decades. In that moment, I was reminded of the Polish poet, Wislawa Szymborska's words, "As far as you've come, can't be undone." This, I believe, is what it means to honor the dignity of our patients, to reflect back the person they are despite or alongside their illness…all of their parts that can't be undone. Sometimes, this occurs because we see our own personhood reflected in theirs and theirs in ours. Sometimes, to protect ourselves, we shield ourselves from this echo. Other times, this resonance becomes the most beautiful and meaningful part of our work.
It has been years now since I took care of Suresh. When the weather is nice, my wife and I like to take our young son to the harbor in South Boston to watch the planes take off and the barges leave the shore, loaded with colorful metal containers. We usually pack a picnic and sit in the trunk as enormous planes fly overhead and tugboats work to bring large ships out to the open water. Once, as a container ship was leaving the port, we waved so furiously at those working on board that they all started to wave back, and the captain honked the ships booming horn. Every single time we are there, I think of Suresh, and I picture him sailing out on thewaves—as free as he will ever be.
Mikkael Sekeres: Welcome back to JCO's Cancer Stories: The Art of Oncology. This ASCO podcast features intimate narratives and perspectives from authors exploring their experiences in oncology. I'm your host, Mikkael Sekeres. I'm Professor of Medicine and Chief of the Division of Hematology at the Sylvester Comprehensive Cancer Center, University of Miami.
What a treat we have today. We're joined by Dr. Alexis Drutchas, a Palliative Care Physician and the Director of the Core Communication Program at the Dana-Farber Cancer Institute, and Assistant Professor of Medicine at Harvard Medical School to discuss her article, "The Man at the Bow."
Alexis, thank you so much for contributing to Journal of Clinical Oncology and for joining us to discuss your article.
Dr. Alexis Drutchas: Thank you. I'm thrilled and excited to be here.
Mikkael Sekeres: I wonder if we can start by asking you about yourself. Where are you from, and can you walk us a bit through your career?
Dr. Alexis Drutchas: The easiest way to say it would be that I'm from the Detroit area. My dad worked in automotive car parts and so we moved around a lot when I was growing up. I was born in Michigan, then we moved to Japan, then back to Michigan, then to Hong Kong, then back to Michigan. Then I spent my undergrad years in Wisconsin and moved out to Colorado to teach snowboarding before medical school, and then ended up back in Michigan for that, and then on the east coast at Brown for my family medicine training, and then in Boston for work and training. So, I definitely have a more global experience in my background, but also very Midwestern at heart as well.
In terms of my professional career trajectory, I trained in family medicine because I really loved taking care of the whole person. I love taking care of kids and adults, and I loved OB, and at the time I felt like it was impossible to choose which one I wanted to pursue the most, and so family medicine was a great fit. And at the core of that, there's just so much advocacy and social justice work, especially in the community health centers where many family medicine residents train.
During that time, I got very interested in LGBTQ healthcare and founded the Rhode Island Trans Health Conference, which led me to work as a PCP at Fenway Health in Boston after that. And so I worked there for many years. And then through a course of being a hospitalist at BI during that work, I worked with many patients with serious illness, making decisions about discontinuing dialysis, about pursuing hospice care in the setting of ILD. I also had a significant amount of family illness and started to recognize this underlying interest I had always had in palliative care, but I think was a bit scared to pursue. But those really kind of tipped me over to say I really wanted to access a different level of communication skills and be able to really go into depth with patients in a way I just didn't feel like I had the language for. And so I applied to the Harvard Palliative Care Fellowship and luckily and with so much gratitude got in years ago, and so trained in palliative care and stayed at MGH after that. So my Dana-Farber position is newer for me and I'm very excited about it.
Mikkael Sekeres: Sounds like you've had an amazing career already and you're just getting started on it. I grew up in tiny little Rhode Island and, you know, we would joke you have to pack an overnight bag if you travel more than 45 minutes. So, our boundaries were much tighter than yours. What was it like growing up where you're going from the Midwest to Asia, back to the Midwest, you wind up settling on the east coast? You must have an incredible worldly view on how people live and how they view their health.
Dr. Alexis Drutchas: I think you just named much of the sides of it. I think I realize now, in looking back, that in many ways it was living two lives, because at the time it was rare from where we lived in the Detroit area in terms of the other kids around us to move overseas. And so it really did feel like that part of me and my family that during the summers we would have home leave tickets and my parents would often turn them in to just travel since we didn't really have a home base to come back to. And so it did give me an incredible global perspective and a sense of all the ways in which people develop community, access healthcare, and live.
And then coming back to the Midwest, not to say that it's not cosmopolitan or diverse in its own way, but it was very different, especially in the 80s and 90s to come back to the Midwest. So it did feel like I carried these two lenses in the world, and it's been incredibly meaningful over time to meet other friends and adults and patients who have lived these other lives as well. I think for me those are some of my most connecting friendships and experiences with patients for people who have had a similar experience in living with sort of a duality in their everyday lives with that.
Mikkael Sekeres: You know, you write about the main character of your essay, Suresh, who's a barge captain, and you mention in the essay that your family crossed the Atlantic on cargo ships four times when you were growing up. What was that experience like? How much of it do you remember?
Dr. Alexis Drutchas: Our house, like our things, crossed the Atlantic four times on barge ships such as his. We didn't, I mean we crossed on airplanes.
Mikkael Sekeres: Oh, okay, okay.
Dr. Alexis Drutchas: We flew over many times, but every single thing we owned got packed up into containers on large trucks in our house and were brought over to ports to be sent over. So, I'm not sure how they do it now, but at the time that's sort of how we moved, and we would often go live in a hotel or a furnished apartment for the month's wait of all of our house to get there, which felt also like a surreal experience in that, you know, you're in a totally different country and then have these creature comforts of your bedroom back in Metro Detroit. And I remember thinking a lot about who was crossing over with all of that stuff and where was it going, and who else was moving, and that was pretty incredible. And when I met Suresh, just thinking about the fact that at some point our home could have been on his ship was a really fun connection in my mind to make, just given where he always traveled in his work.
Mikkael Sekeres: It's really neat. I remember when we moved from the east coast also to the Midwest, I was in Cleveland for 18 years. The very first thing we did was mark which of the boxes had the kids' toys in it, because that of course was the first one we let them close it up and then we let them open it as soon as we arrived. Did your family do something like that as well so that you can, you know, immediately feel an attachment to your stuff when they arrived?
Dr. Alexis Drutchas: Yeah, I remember what felt most important to our mom was our bedrooms. I don't remember the toys. I remember sort of our comforters and our pillowcases and things like that, yeah, being opened and it feeling really settling to think, "Okay, you know, we're in a completely different place and country away from most everything we know, but our bedroom is the same." That always felt like a really important point that she made to make home feel like home again in a new place.
Mikkael Sekeres: Yeah, yeah. One of the sentences you wrote in your essay really caught my eye. You wrote about when you were younger and say, "I loved those times, the wild abandon of travel, the freedom of being somewhere new, the way identity can shift and expand as experiences grow." It's a lovely sentiment. Do you think those are emotions that we experience only as children, or can they continue through adulthood? And if they can, how do we make that happen, that sense of excitement and experience?
Dr. Alexis Drutchas: I think that's such a good question and one I honestly think about a lot. I think that we can access those all the time. There's something about the newness of travel and moving, you know, I have a 3-year-old right now, and so I think many parents would connect to that sense that there is wonderment around being with someone experiencing something for the first time. Even watching my son, Oliver, see a plane take off for the first time felt joyous in a completely new way, that even makes me smile a lot now.
But I think what is such a great connection here is when something is new, our eyes are so open to it. You know, we're constantly witnessing and observing and are excited about that. And I think the connection that I've realized is important for me in my work and also in just life in general to hold on to that wonderment is that idea of sort of witnessing or having a writer's eye, many would call it, in that you're keeping your eye open for the small beautiful things. Often with travel, you might be eating ramen. It might not be the first time you're eating it, but you're eating it for the first time in Tokyo, and it's the first time you've had this particular ingredient on it, and then you remember that. But there's something that we're attuned to in those moments, like the difference or the taste, that makes it special and we hold on to it. And I think about that a lot as a writer, but also in patient care and having my son with my wife, it's what are the special small moments to hold on to and allowing them to be new and beautiful, even if they're not as large as moving across the country or flying to Rome or whichever. I think there are ways that that excitement can still be alive if we attune ourselves to some of the more beautiful small moments around us.
Mikkael Sekeres: And how do we do that as doctors? We're trained to go into a room and there's almost a formula for how we approach patients. But how do you open your mind in that way to that sense of wonderment and discovery with the person you're sitting across from, and it doesn't necessarily have to be medical? One of the true treats of what we do is we get to meet people from all backgrounds and all walks of life, and we have the opportunity to explore their lives as part of our interaction.
Dr. Alexis Drutchas: Yeah, I think that is such a great question. And I would love to hear your thoughts on this too. I think for me in that sentence that you mentioned, sitting at that table with sort of people in the Navy from all over the world, I was that person to them in the room, too. There was some identity there that I brought to the table that was different than just being a kid in school or something like that.
To answer your question, I wonder if so much of the challenge is actually allowing ourselves to bring ourselves into the room, because so much of the formula is, you know, we have these white coats on, we have learners, we want to do it right, we want to give excellent care. There's there's so many sort of guards I think that we put up to make sure that we're asking the right questions, we don't want to miss anything, we don't want to say the wrong thing, and all of that is true. And at the same time, I find that when I actually allow myself into the room, that is when it is the most special. And that doesn't mean that there's complete countertransference or it's so permeable that it's not in service of the patient. It just means that I think when we allow bits of our own selves to come in, it really does allow for new connections to form, and then we are able to learn about our patients more, too.
With every patient, I think often we're called in for goals of care or symptom management, and of course I prioritize that, but when I can, I usually just try to ask a more open-ended question, like, "Tell me about life before you came to the hospital or before you were diagnosed. What do you love to do? What did you do for work?" Or if it's someone's family member who is ill, I'll ask the kids or family in the room, "Like, what kind of mom was she? You know, what special memory you had?" Just, I get really curious when there's time to really understand the person. And I know that that's not at all new language. Of course, we're always trying to understand the person, but I just often think understanding them is couched within their illness. And I'm often very curious about how we can just get to know them as people, and how humanizing ourselves to them helps humanize them to us, and that back and forth I think is like really lovely and wonderful and allows things to come up that were totally unexpected, and those are usually the special moments that you come home with and want to tell your family about or want to process and think about. What about you? How do you think about that question?
Mikkael Sekeres: Well, it's interesting you ask. I like to do projects around the house. I hate to say this out loud because of course one day I'll do something terrible and everyone will remember this podcast, but I fancy myself an amateur electrician and plumber and carpenter and do these sorts of projects. So I go into interactions with patients wanting to learn about their lives and how they live their lives to see what I can pick up on as well, how I can take something out of that interaction and actually use it practically. My father-in-law has this phrase he always says to me when a worker comes to your house, he goes, he says to me, "Remember to steal with your eyes." Right? Watch what they do, learn how they fix something so you can fix it yourself and you don't have to call them next time. So, for me it's kind of fun to hear how people have lived their lives both within their professions, and when I practiced medicine in Cleveland, there were a lot of farmers and factory workers I saw. So I learned a lot about how things are made. But also about how they interact with their families, and I've learned a lot from people I've seen who were just terrific dads and terrific moms or siblings or spouses. And I've tried to take those nuggets away from those interactions. But I think you can only do it if you open yourself up and also allow yourself to see that person's humanity. And I wonder if I can quote you to you again from your essay. There's another part that I just loved, and it's about how you write about how a person's identity changes when they become a patient. You write, "And in that moment the full weight of what he had lost hit me as forcefully as a cresting wave. Not just the physical decline, but the profound shift in identity. What is more, we all live, me included, so precariously at this threshold. In this work, it's impossible not to wonder, what will it be like when it's me? Will I be seen as someone who's lived many lives, or whittled down only to someone who's sick?" Can you talk a little bit more about that? Have you been a patient whose identity has changed without asking you to reveal too much? Or what about your identity as a doctor? Is that something we have to undo a little bit when we walk in the room with the stethoscope or wearing a white coat?
Dr. Alexis Drutchas: That was really powerful to hear you read that back to me. So, thank you. Yeah, I think my answer here can't be separated from the illness I faced with my family. And I think this unanimously filters into the way in which I see every patient because I really do think about the patient's dignity and the way medicine generally, not always, really does strip them of that and makes them the patient. Even the way we write about "the patient said this," "the patient said that," "the patient refused." So I generally very much try to have a one-liner like, "Suresh is a X-year-old man who's a barge captain from X, Y, and Z and is a loving father with a," you know, "period. He comes to the hospital with X, Y, and Z." So I always try to do that and humanize patients. I always try to write their name rather than just "patient." I can't separate that out from my experience with my family.
My sister six years ago now went into sudden heart failure after having a spontaneous coronary artery dissection, and so immediately within minutes she was in the cath lab at 35 years old, coding three times and came out sort of with an Impella and intubated, and very much, you know, all of a sudden went from my sister who had just been traveling in Mexico to a patient in the CCU. And I remember desperately wanting her team to see who she was, like see the person that we loved, that was fighting for her life, see how much her life meant to us. And that's not to say that they weren't giving her great care, but there was something so important to me in wanting them to see how much we wanted her to live, you know, and who she was. It felt like there's some important core to me there. We brought pictures in, we talked about what she was living for. It felt really important.
And I can't separate that out from the way in which I see patients now or I feel in my own way in a certain way what it is to lose yourself, to lose the ability to be a Captain of the ship, to lose the ability to do electric work around the house. So much of our identity is wrapped up in our professions and our craft. And I think for me that has really become forefront in the work of palliative care and in and in the teaching I do and in the writing I do is how to really bring them forefront and not feel like in doing that we're losing our ability to remain objective or solid in our own professional identities as clinicians and physicians.
Mikkael Sekeres: Well, I think that's a beautiful place to end here. I can only imagine what an outstanding physician and caregiver you are also based on your writing and how you speak about it. You just genuinely come across as caring about your patients and your family and the people you have interactions with and getting to know them as people.
It has been again such a treat to have Dr. Alexis Drutchas here. She is Director of the Core Communication Program at Dana-Farber Cancer Institute and Assistant Professor of Medicine at Harvard Medical School to discuss her article, "The Man at the Bow."
Alexis, thank you so much for joining us.
Dr. Alexis Drutchas: Thank you. This has been a real joy.
Mikkael Sekeres: If you've enjoyed this episode, consider sharing it with a friend or colleague, or leave us a review. Your feedback and support helps us continue to save these important conversations. If you're looking for more episodes and context, follow our show on Apple, Spotify, or wherever you listen, and explore more from ASCO at ASCO.org/podcasts. Until next time, this has been Mikkael Sekeres for the ASCO podcast Cancer Stories: The Art of Oncology.
The purpose of this podcast is to educate and to inform. This is not a substitute for professional medical care and is not intended for use in the diagnosis or treatment of individual conditions.
Guests on this podcast express their own opinions, experience, and conclusions. Guest statements on the podcast do not express the opinions of ASCO. The mention of any product, service, organization, activity, or therapy should not be construed as an ASCO endorsement.
Show notes:
Like, share and subscribe so you never miss an episode and leave a rating or review.

Guest Bio:
Dr. Alexis Drutchas is a palliative care physician at Dana Farber Cancer Institute.