April 14, 2008

The Assertive Cancer Patient: Keeps the Doctor From Going MIA

This is a chapter from the book I'm working on, called 'The Assertive Cancer Patient: A Troublemaker’s Guide to Getting the Best Cancer Treatment Possible.' I hope to have the book done by the end of 2008, but who knows? This blog takes up most of my time. Jeanne


I call them “MIA doctors”—doctors who go missing in action when their patients are dying.

Cancer patients do not expect the doctor who has cared for them throughout their illness to turn and walk away once they are terminally ill. But that is what happens more often than not. The doctor hands them off to hospice for palliative care or sends them home to die, and that’s it: These dying patients never see or hear from their doctors again. Often, during their last appointment oncologists don’t even say goodbye or acknowledge that they will not be seeing the patient again.

Before I get into the reasons for this, how things are starting to change, and what you can do, a couple of stories:

When my friend Surain af Sandeberg was dying of cancer in the spring of 2002, her husband Robert told me how distressed he was that they had not heard from Surain’s doctor since her last appointment.

Surain had metastatic breast cancer. Late in 2001 her doctor discovered that the cancer had spread to her brain, and she had radiation therapy to the head. Then cancer was found in her upper spine, and in January 2002 Surain’s doctor told her that it was unlikely further treatment would work.

Surain went home to the houseboat on Seattle’s Lake Union where she had lived with Robert since 1994, and a group of friends helped Robert care for her during the remaining months of her life. But during this time, and even at the time of Surain’s death in March, her doctor never once contacted her or her husband. She never called; she never sent a note.

“It’s is definitely true that [the doctor] disappeared completely after she told us that Surain had one to two months left to live,” says Rain Robert af Sandeberg (who has since added his wife’s nickname to his name). “Surain and I were surprised by that—I might say a bit upset.

“Surain liked her doctor very much. She was a famous doctor, yet she seemed to give preference to Surain’s case and gave her quick appointments when it was possible in her busy schedule.”

I was one of the people who helped care for Surain at the end of her life, and I was shocked when Robert told me Surain’s doctor had gone MIA. At that time I had no idea that this was standard practice for most oncologists. Once they feel they can do nothing more for the patient medically, they hand them off to hospice, to a social worker or pastor, or just send them home to die.

Since then, I have heard a number of similar stories, and each time I hear one, my outrage grows. These dying patients are not asking for a lot: a phone call, a chance to say goodbye and thank you, some acknowledgement of the relationship they have had with their doctor.

The family doctor goes MIA
A woman I know told me a similar story, but in this case it was the family doctor who went MIA when her mother-in-law was diagnosed with metastatic cancer at age 82.

“This was the most difficult thing for us as a family—feeling that her family doctor of 25 years farmed her off to an oncologist, and then as soon as he handed her off we never heard from him again,” she says.

Several years after her mother-in-law’s death, these memories are still painful. She had accompanied her mother-in-law to a number of doctor’s appointments over the years, and saw what she thought was a warm, caring relationship. But once her mother-in-law was diagnosed with cancer, she says, “It was as if the relationship they had was phony; it didn’t exist.”

And when her mother-in-law died, she says, “We had expectations—it would have been just common courtesy—for the doctor to make a phone call when she died or send a little note. But nothing. A gaping vacuum. It was hard for us.”

Her husband adds, ”There was no good-bye, no card, no appearance at her bedside or funeral.”

These stories are difficult to read, I realize, but read on, because it gets better.

One thing that makes these experiences so painful for cancer patients and their families and friends is that they were unexpected. If you know that your doctor might behave this way at the end of your life, there are some things you can do to change the script. These including choosing a doctor early on who you know won’t go MIA on you at the end.

Why doctors go MIA
Doctors are taught in medical school to keep an emotional distance from their patients to protect themselves from burnout. And oncologists are taught to hand their patients off when there is nothing more that they can do for them medically—no more drugs to try, no clinical trials left that might prolong their lives for a little while—and turn their attention to patients they can help.

What they don’t seem to realize is that we patients experience our relationships with our doctors as so much more than a “medical” relationship.

In addition, many oncologists experience the death of a patient as a personal failure, when, as one woman points out, “It’s not all about them.” Also, several doctors have told me that giving bad news, telling a patient that he or she is terminal, for example, is one of the of the most stressful things they do. And to top that off, the vast majority of oncologists were never taught how to talk with their patients—so they avoid having these difficult end-of-life conversations, and the patients are left confused and sad and feeling abandoned.

“We are expecting that physicians have a level of emotional maturity and a level of comfort with all aspects of life, including death, and most of us are not OK with it,” says Karen Gorrin, a therapist who works with cancer patients.

“It’s not what our culture has taught us,” Gorrin says. “We don’t grow up with this and we aren’t taught this in schools.” She adds that in her training as a therapist she was also taught to distance herself from her clients, but she has broken ranks and doesn’t do things that way any more.

“In my training one of our mentors was really clear: ‘You don’t go to funerals; the way you do this is you do your work as a professional and you keep a distance,’” she says. “But I found that this didn’t work for me. I had a relationship and I needed closure and I needed to see through the relationship. That works for me.”

Change is coming
Dr. Anthony Back, a medical oncologist at the Seattle Cancer Care Alliance in Seattle, Washington, is doing research on doctor-patient communication and training doctors to have what he calls “difficult conversations” with their patients. He says, contrary to the conventional wisdom, doctors benefit from being able to have these conversations with patients and are less likely to burn out.

Dr. Back is one of a handful of voices in the wilderness at this point, but his work offers hope that the next generation of oncologists will be able to talk openly with their cancer patients throughout their diagnosis and treatment and at the end of life. (A side note here: Some oncologists have figured this out, despite what they were or were not taught in medical school, and do a wonderful job of having difficult conversations with their patients. My own doctor is one of them.) Dr. Back’s work may well mean that the next generation of oncologists will be able to say goodbye to dying patients and not go MIA on them.

Dr. Back and several co-authors published an article, “On Saying Goodbye,” in the April 2005 issue of the Annals of Internal Medicine that has attracted a lot of attention. Dr. Back says the article was needed because, “There was kind of a gap in the medical literature about how to close a relationship with someone who is dying. … There is something about modern medicine—our huge job is to keep people alive as long as possible. It’s not as much about honoring and respecting the life. There hasn’t been a lot of talk about that.”

Dr. Back helps train young doctors, including medical students, residents, and fellows, and he says they don’t see their mentors having these conversations with patients who are at the end of their lives. “There is not a lot of role modeling about it,” he says. “They are learning by trial and error.”

In the journal article, Dr. Back and his co-authors walk doctors through seven steps in the process of saying goodbye to a dying patient. These include choosing an appropriate time and place, giving the patient a chance to respond, and my favorite, “Number Six: Articulate an ongoing commitment to the patient’s care, to make it clear she is not being abandoned.”

It is clear that this is needed. After the article came out, Dr. Back says he received one phone call and four e-mails from people saying that their veterinarian did a better job when a pet died. He says, “I got phone calls and e-mails from people who said something like, ‘When my dad died I didn’t hear anything from the doctor. But when my cat died I got a handwritten note the next week and a call.’ One woman said the vet made a donation to PAWS [the Progressive Animal Welfare Society] in honor of her pet rabbit. The contrast is a little creepy.”

What you can do
1. Know what you want

The first thing you can do, to help keep your doctor from going MIA, is to think about what you want from your doctor at the end of your life. I am not terminally ill, but I have an advanced cancer that cannot be cured, so I’ve spent some time thinking about these issues.

I want my doctor (by which I mean my medical oncologist) to tell me, clearly, when all of my treatment options have been exhausted and I am dying. At that time, I want the opportunity to thank him for all that he has done for me, and I want the opportunity to say goodbye.

And I want my doctor to stay in touch with me during the time I have left. This doesn’t need to be a personal visit, a phone call or two is fine.

My doctor will also be invited to my funeral. Whether he attends or not is of course up to him, but he will be invited.

2. Choose a good time for you
If possible, you will want to carefully choose the time to have this conversation. For example, I did all my end-of-life planning, including rewriting my will and making plans for my funeral during a period when I was in remission and feeling physically and emotionally strong. Don’t kid yourself that this will be an easy conversation, for either you or your doctor. Choose a good time.

3. Give your doctor some warning
Once you’ve prepared yourself to have this conversation with your doctor, give your doctor a verbal warning that you are going to bring up a tough subject. “It’s a little tough for some doctors to hear this out of the blue,” says Dr. Back. “You might say something like, ‘I’ve been doing some thinking and planning and there are a couple of things I want to request.’”

4. Be specific about what you want
You may want to go into this meeting prepared with a written list of the things you want to talk about to make sure you don’t forget anything. Then just tell your doctor what your concerns are, whether it is making sure you have a chance to say goodbye, or wanting reassurance that you will still have contact with your doctor at the end of life. Dr. Back says he encourages cancer patients to raise these issues. “I think most doctors would appreciate this kind of invitation,” he says. “It could be uncomfortable, but just hang in there.”

5. Enlist help to get what you want
You, or a family member, can enlist the help of your doctor’s nurse, suggests Dr. Back. “Family members could call the doctor’s office at the end of life,” he says. “It is totally fine to say to the nurse: ‘It would mean a lot to us to have a call from the doctor. We just want to talk a little bit.’ Most doctors would respond to that. It is a respectful request about something you need.”

6. Be prepared for the possibility of an MIA doctor
You’ve told your doctor what you want, but that doesn’t guarantee that the doctor will be responsive. You need to be prepared for that possibility. Some doctors, for all the reasons mentioned above or for personal reasons of their own, may not be able to maintain contact with you at the end of your life. That’s sad.

If this does happen to you, don’t put too much energy into trying to change the doctor. Acknowledge to yourself that it’s not what you want, and find someone else who will be comfortable being present for you in the last weeks and months of your life. This could be a pastor, a therapist, or a close friend.

See also:

Discovering the power of goodbye


@ Jeanne Sather 2008.

March 15, 2008

Rerun: The Assertive Cancer Patient: Feels Surprisingly Happy

I originally posted this in August of 2006, one of the first posts to this blog. As I reread it, I realize how true it has been for me.

There are a number of clichés in the English language that link the words “healthy” and “happy.” We say, “As long as my children are healthy and happy …” Or, “As long as I have my health …” The underlying assumption is that you can’t be very happy if you have a serious illness.

Well, that has not been my experience. The years I have been living with cancer have certainly included some of the worse moments in my life, but they have also included some of the best. I don’t think I would have experienced life during the past few years with the same degree of intensity and joy if I had not been diagnosed with cancer. I am not alone in this. A number of cancer patients and cancer survivors have told me the same thing.

Recent research, published in February 2005 in The Journal of Experimental Psychology, confirms our experience. The study found that healthy people are not necessarily happier than seriously ill ones. In addition, the healthy participants in the study greatly overestimated how unhappy sick individuals would be, while the sick ones overestimated how happy the healthy ones were.

This doesn’t mean that you won’t have bad days, of course you will, but you will probably have more good days than bad.

I'll write more about some of the things that make me happy and help me cope with my cancer.

@ Jeanne Sather, 2006-2008.

March 14, 2008

Rerun: The Assertive Cancer Patient: Is Not a Superhero

I wrote this post back in October of 2006, in the early days of my blog.

I think that I cope with my cancer quite well. I weather the ups and downs of treatment, I face the fears that surround each round of new tests, I even deal pretty well with the recurrences, when my cancer pops up yet again.

And through it all I have a mostly happy life—mothering my two sons, writing, gardening, caring for a menagerie of pets, and spending time with a group of supportive friends.

But I am not a superhero.

I can’t tell you how many times someone has said to me, “I don’t know how you do it. I certainly couldn’t.”

I know that these comments are meant to be compliments, but they are annoying, partly because they set up the expectation that I will always be brave and strong. They are also annoying because I don’t think anyone knows how they will react until they are actually facing a life-threatening illness. And finally, I don’t feel that I have a choice but to act as I do.

So does that make me a hero? I don’t think so.

Well, of course, I DO have a choice. I could give up. I could be fatalistic about my cancer and just sit back and let it kill me. But those are not choices for me. And after the first shock of your diagnosis has worn off, I think you will find that you won’t have a choice either. You will stick out your chin and deal with your cancer as best you can.

I think that the people surrounding a person living with cancer often need that person to be a superhero. They don't want to see you frightened, or sad, or depressed. I try to deal with these expectations as best I can, even if it means that I no longer see some people, the most extreme way of dealing with them.

I also suggest that if you are getting these "superhero" comments that you try to take a break from being a hero, just once in awhile.

@ Jeanne Sather 2006

January 24, 2008

There's Obnoxious, and There's Assertive

CNN has an article Are you an obnoxious patient? that at first glance would get my dander up--doctors firing patients for being assertive.

But on closer reading, I agree with most of what the author has to say.

HOWEVER, one thing I would add: What seems assertive to one person may be obnoxious to another.

So choose a doctor who you are comfortable discussing your care with, who has time for you, and who doesn't dismiss your concerns. Even if you do bring in a stack of printouts off the Web ...

Full disclosure: Have I ever been "fired" by a doctor? The answer is yes, but I would have fired her if she hadn't fired me first.

Choosing the right doctor isn't about blame--although that doctor made a number of mistakes in my care, including writing the wrong orders for my chemo--It's about choosing the right doctor for you.

We aren't being treated for hangnails here--cancer is serious business.

@ Jeanne Sather 2008.

December 10, 2007

The Assertive Cancer Patient: Gets Assertive

Last week, my radiation oncologist, Dr. Eulau, refused to give me an antibiotic for my bronchitis/upper respiratory infection/whatever it is that is making me spit up green globs of slime and feel like shit.

Dr. E said that I would have to have this infection for THREE WHOLE WEEKS, before he would give me an antibiotic.

Well, sorry, Dr. E, but you're wrong on this one.

I've now had this lovely infection for going on two weeks, and it's worse, not better.

I also am battling the infection on top of anemia (caused by radiation and chemo), constant pain (broken bones and bone mets), and a host of other problems that I ranted about yesterday. (Read yesterday's rant.)

So today, when I see him after my radiation therapy treatment, I'm going to ask again for antibiotics.

If he tells me no, I'll tell him he's wrong. And then I'll start calling my other three or four or five doctors. I'm sure ONE of them will be smart enough to give me an antibiotic.

It's another pendulum swing in medical care. That's all it is. If you live long enough, you'll live through several of them.

@ Jeanne Sather 2007.

October 01, 2007

While I Have Your Attention: Looking for a Book Deal

While I have all this media attention, for 15 minutes, anyway, I want to put the word out that I am looking for a book publisher.

The book is an in-your-face handbook on surviving with cancer, a companion to this blog, "The Assertive Cancer Patient: Living with cancer—and an attitude." Heavy on attitude and humor, but also full of useful strategies for negotiating the cancer world, which is a world like no other.

The Assertive Cancer Patient Handbook

Chapters include:

How to Marry a Canadian
The ad that started it all:
CancerMatch.com?

The rest of the posts:
Dating

How to Avoid Medical Mistakes (the hottest topic on my blog, most weeks)
Medical Mistakes

How to Keep From Going Insane in October, Whether You Have Breast Cancer or Not
Boycott October

How to Handle Medical Billing and Health Insurance Woes, Complete With Sample Letters That Get Results
Medical Billing/Insurance Woes

A Sample Letter:
15 Phone Calls

How to Spot a Quack (And How to Resist Those "Treatment" Offers That Sound Too Good to Be True)
Quacks

And more. About 10 chapters, I imagine.

If you are an interested publisher, please e-mail me and I will give you my agent's contact information.

Jeanne

June 04, 2007

Who, or What, Is an Assertive Cancer Patient?

These are questions I kick around every day of my life with cancer, especially since I began writing this blog back in September of 2006 and officially identified myself as “The Assertive Cancer Patient.”

Of course, I think I was an assertive cancer patient before the birth of the blog, but that was my coming out of the closet, so to speak.

I think there are at least three good reasons to be an assertive cancer patient:

• You will get better care. 

• You will probably live longer. 

• You will feel better about yourself and your illness.

Here are some more characteristics of an assertive cancer patient:

The Assertive Cancer Patient: Is Not a Superhero

The Assertive Cancer Patient: Feels Surprisingly Happy

The Assertive Cancer Patient: Chooses the Right Doctor

The Assertive Cancer Patient: Gets a Second Opinion

The Assertive Cancer Patient: Is Not Necessarily a ‘Good Patient’

The Assertive Cancer Patient: Knows About Workplace Rights

The Assertive Cancer Patient: Redefines the Disease

More to come, including The Downside of Being an Assertive Cancer Patient.

Are you an assertive cancer patient? I love a good story: jeanne.sather@gmail.com

@ Jeanne Sather 2007.

April 20, 2007

The Assertive Cancer Patient: Redefines the Disease

The minute you were told that you had cancer, your first thought most likely was, “I am going to die.” I don’t know anyone with cancer who didn’t respond this way.

Then, once you have survived your first bout with cancer, you live with the fear that your cancer will return. You count off the months and days to the five-year cancer-free mark, when, for most cancers, you are considered cured. And you probably assume, as I did, that if your cancer metastasizes, it certainly will kill you soon.

If you are reading this blog and you have had one bout with cancer, my hope and prayer for you is that your cancer will never return and you will continue to be healthy.

But, for many of us, it is time to redefine cancer.

In the old days, when cancer treatments were cruder, the disease was either cured with the first round of treatment or it killed you, rather quickly.

Now, however, the ranks of people living with cancer are growing. (Elizabeth Edwards, welcome.) Most of us have metastatic disease, which means the cancer has spread from its original site. We are the “new survivors” in the cancer patient/cancer survivor paradigm—alive, possibly for many years, but not cured. Most of us will never be cured, and we need to learn to live with that.

For us, it is time to redefine cancer as a chronic illness that can be managed. This is a very different way of looking at cancer. Most of us will have periods of treatment followed by periods of remission, and fairly good quality of life throughout.

@ Jeanne Sather 2007.

April 01, 2007

The Best of The Assertive Cancer Patient

To celebrate the eight-month anniversary of my blog, I decided to put together a roundup of “the best of The Assertive Cancer Patient.”

These are the stories that pop up whenever I check my stats—stories that people are finding through Google searches or through links from other blogs. And one or two are here because they are the ones that I’m most proud of.

Breast Cancer Barbie

Cancer Movies

Don’t Write Me Off

Jeanne’s Diary

Jeanne’s Soapboxes

Medical Mistakes

Stories I haven’t gotten to yet, include: More on Medical Mistakes, The Truth About Charity Care, Coping, and What THIS Cancer Patient Wants. Coming soon to a blog near you ... Jeanne

March 28, 2007

How to Get What You Need, Part 2

I've been in cancer treatment for a long time, and when my long-time oncologist moved to Arizona and I had to look around for a new doctor, one of the most important issues for me was that I would have the same nurse every time I went in for treatment. (Except when she's out sick or on vacation, of course.)

This helps me feel safe in the treatment center, and also helps prevent mistakes.

Once I chose a new doctor, I had to change cancer centers, but my new doctor told me I could choose a regular nurse to give me my treatment. But it turned out not to be that easy. The treatment center balked at my request.

After discussing this problem with my doctor a couple of times, I experienced the Afternoon From Hell at the treatment center.

Here is the e-mail I sent my doctor afterward:

The first problem:
Zometa.

The nurse told me I was scheduled to get zometa. I told her I had gotten it the last time I was in, and asked her to check the chart and also call your office to confirm that I was supposed to get it every six weeks, not every three.

She checked the chart, and I had gotten zometa three weeks before. In fact, I had gotten it twice in a row, which is probably why I had the severe bone pain a few weeks ago that I told you about.

She called your office, and I overheard the conversation, but all she did was tell whomever answered that I said I wasn't supposed to get zometa that day. She did not ask them to check with you, and I don't believe they did.

So my first question is: How often AM I supposed to receive zometa? Dr. L had me getting it every six weeks, and I assumed that we were continuing with that schedule.

Second problem:
My nurse. We've talked about why I need to have the same nurse each time I go in for treatment, and I believe that you requested that Moire handle my treatment. Moire was there, but the treatment center did not assign me to her.

I can understand that the treatment center feels it makes their job more difficult to honor requests like this, but I would appreciate it if you would speak to them directly and explain that you want me to have the same nurse every time I come in, unless that nurse is not working that day.

This is a medical necessity for me. My anxiety is going through the roof when I am in for treatment. When I have the same nurse, and we have a chance to develop a relationship, then I feel safe and can relax during treatment.

Third problem:
The treatment center was extremely busy, and the nurses were run off their feet and harried. Every chair was taken, and I waited a long time before going back for treatment and then an extremely long time in the chair.

Please suggest a time that would be less busy. Again, this kind of situation makes me very anxious, and it leads to mistakes. Would early Thursday morning be a better time for me to come in? I am perfectly willing to do that.

The time thing: Last time, the person who scheduled me said she could only get me in to see you at 12:40 and in the treatment center at 3, which meant a long wait in between. She did suggest that I go to the treatment center early, in the hopes that they could get me back earlier if I was there.

So I sat and waited in the waiting room at the treatment center for almost two hours after checking in, and did not go back until 3. Then, the pharmacy somehow lost my orders and did not mix up my drugs, so I sat in the chair for another hour before we actually started the drugs.

I am still not sure that the nurses did the double-check on both of my drugs, I believe they only did the first one, the Herceptin.

Then, when my nurse started the second drug, Avastin, which runs for half an hour, she mistakenly did not switch the pump over from the saline, so I sat and received saline for half an hour. She didn't realize her mistake until the pump beeped, so I had to sit there for another half an hour to get the Avastin. She felt really badly, and I wasn't mad at her--it was a result of how busy everyone was.

Total wasted time: 3 1/2 hours.

I was completely wrung out by the end of the day.

SUMMARY:
--Please confirm my treatment schedule for zometa, and put it in my chart.
--Please discuss my needs with the treatment center. I don't care so much which nurse I get, although I really like Moire, but I need the same nurse every time.
--Please suggest a calmer time for me to come in for treatment and have my next couple of treatment appointments made at that time. Early Thursday would work best for me of the three days you are there, but I am also willing to come in Friday afternoons.

I will call you a bit later to discuss all of this, but I thought it was easier to put it in writing since there is a lot of info here. '

Thanks. I really like having you as my doctor, but I cannot deal with the situation in the treatment center. It is out of control.

Jeanne

My doctor--who I really like--discussed my concerns with the person who is in charge of the treatment center, and then we talked about it.

I then had a very cordial phone conversation with the head of the treatment center, and she offered to have my care handled by a team of two or three nurses. I repeated my request for having one nurse assigned to me, unless that nurse was not working on the day I went in. She agreed.

I also decided to go in first thing in the morning, when things will not be so harried, and to take my iPod with me to drown out other people's conversations. This was an issue I didn't bring up with my doctor, but overhearing other people's stressed and anxious conversations increases my own anxiety. So I need the buffer of the iPod.

And on the question of making sure the double-check is done on my drugs, I am taking the advice of my friend Jill, who also has metastatic breast cancer, and I will ask to see the IV bags before they are hung and will check the drug names and doses myself.

So we'll see how things go tomorrow, when I am in for treatment again, at 8 a.m. It will be an adjustment, as I usually sleep till 9 these days, but worth it if I can go in when things are calm and the nurses are not run off their feet.

Read more:

Medical Mistakes—They Will Happen

Chemotherapy Errors


@ Jeanne Sather 2007.

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