The difficult conversation
Every Sunday, Dr. Lewis feels the weight of the week ahead. He and his wife, a pediatrician, call it the “Sunday scaries.”
It’s when Dr. Lewis begins thinking about the delicate conversations to come, rehearsing how he’s going to share the news that a person has advanced cancer or that a cancer, once in remission, has returned.
“Before the pandemic, I had 36 people come to a visit where I delivered some very heavy news and it became a Greek chorus of sobbing,” he recalls.
For every oncologist, delivering bad news is an integral part of the job. But after spending months, sometimes years, with a patient and the family, Dr. Lewis knows how to take the temperature of the room – who will likely prefer a more blunt style and who might need a gentler touch.
“The longer you know a patient and family, the better you can gauge the best approach,” Dr. Lewis said. “And for some, you know it’ll be complete devastation no matter what.”
When Jennifer Lycette, MD, prepares for a difficult conversation, she’ll run down all the possible ways it could go. Sometimes her brain will get stuck in a loop, cycling through the different trajectories on repeat.
“For years, I didn’t know how to cope with that,” said Dr. Lycette, medical director at Providence Oncology and Hematology Care Clinic in Seaside, Ore. “I wasn’t taught the tools to cope with that in my medical training. It took midcareer professional coaching that I sought out on my own to learn to remind myself that no matter what the person says, I have the experience and skill set to handle what comes next and to simply be present in the moment with the patient.”
The question that now sits with Dr. Lycette hours after a visit is what she could have done better. She knows from experience how important it is to choose her words carefully.
Early in her career, Dr. Lycette had a patient with stage IV cancer who wanted to know more about the death process. Because most people ask about pain, she assured him that he likely wouldn’t experience too much pain with his type of cancer.
“It will probably be like falling asleep,” said Dr. Lycette, hoping she was offering comfort. “When I saw him next, he told me he hadn’t slept.”
He was afraid that if he did, he wouldn’t wake up.
In that moment, Dr. Lycette realized the power that her words carry and the importance of trying to understand the inner lives of her patients.
Life outside the clinic
Sometimes an oncologist’s late-night ruminations have little to do with cancer itself.
Manali Patel, MD, finds herself worrying if her patients will have enough to eat and whether she will be able to help.
“I was up at 3 a.m. one morning, thinking about how we’re going to fund a project for patients from low-income households who we discovered were experiencing severe food insecurity – what grants we need, what foundations we can work with,” said Dr. Patel, a medical oncologist at Stanford Hospital and Clinics and the VA Palo Alto Health Care System in California.
The past few years of the pandemic have added a new layer of worry for Dr. Patel.
“I don’t want my patients to die from a preventable virus when they’ve already been through so much suffering,” Dr. Patel said.
This thought feeds worries about how her actions outside the clinic could unintentionally harm her patients. Should she go to a big medical conference? A family gathering? The grocery store?
“There are some places you can’t avoid, but these decisions have caused a lot of strife for me,” she said. “The health and safety of our patients – that’s in our wheelhouse – but so many of the policies are outside of our control.”
