Cancer Stories: The Art of Oncology
Cancer Stories: The Art of Oncology

Cancer Stories: The Art of Oncology

American Society of Clinical Oncology (ASCO)

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Embark on an intimate journey with heartfelt narratives, poignant reflections, and thoughtful dialogues, hosted by Dr. Mikkael Sekeres. The award-winning podcast JCO Cancer Stories: The Art of Oncology podcast unveils the hidden emotions, resilient strength and intense experiences faced by those providing medical support, caring for, and living with cancer.

Recent Episodes

Questions for the Oncologist
APR 26, 2022
Questions for the Oncologist
"Questions for the Oncologist," by Barry Meisenberg: an oncologist struggles to answer a patient's "Why me?" question. Transcript Narrator: Questions for the Oncologist by Barry R. Meisenberg, MD (10.1200/JCO.22.00158) Go ahead, ask me anything. Decades of meeting beseeching eyes has prepared me. Ask me anything except that one thing. That one thing that neither colleagues nor study has helped me comprehend. Ask me instead about prognosis; I will be honest, but gentle. Ask me about side effects; I will use a small spoon so as not to overfill your vessel. Unfold your notebook. Ask me anything: "-how many cases like mine have you seen before? -what is the nectar of the bone marrow? -what (and how) should I tell the children? -is it wise to lay in the sun? -is it safe to have sex? -should I get the vaccine? -what's next if this doesn't work? -what if it were your wife?" Go ahead, ask me anything. But please, don't ask me that one thing. Don't ask, "why me?" You wouldn't like the answer. I don't. I could fill your notebook with a tale of random errors in the genes. Tiny rivulets of mutation that flow into a tumultuous river. But, I don't think of them as errors. Rather, they are Nature's engine of biodiversity. Individuals suffer, so that species survive. "Bad luck" is a second-rate explanation, I know. So please, don't ask me that one thing. Search for a better answer within, as I have. Unsuccessfully, so far. Dr. Lidia Schapira: Welcome to JCOs Cancer Stories: The Art of Oncology brought to you by the ASCO Podcast Network, a collection of nine programs covering a range of educational and scientific content and offering enriching insight into the world of cancer care. You can find all of the shows including this one at podcast.asco.org. I'm your host, Lidia Schapira. And with me today is Dr. Barry Meisenberg, Chair of Medicine and Director of Academic Affairs at Luminous Health. We'll be discussing his Art of Oncology article: Questions for the Oncologist. Our guest has no disclosures. Barry, welcome to our podcast. Dr. Barry Meisenberg: Good morning. Thank you very much. Dr. Lidia Schapira: It's a pleasure to have you. And before we start to talk about your poem, and the reason for your wanting to share this with a broad readership, mostly of Clinical Oncologists, let me start by asking if you are a poet and if you often write to reflect on your experiences as a physician, or for other reasons? Dr. Barry Meisenberg: Well, I will never give myself that label of poet. I have written several, what I would call reflections on what it is to be an oncologist, which this section of the JCO covers so well. Sometimes I've submitted work and said it was a poem and the editor said, 'No, this is a vignette.' Another time I thought it was a narrative and someone said, 'We liked your poem.' So, increasingly, I've entered this area reflecting a career's worth of introspective thoughts about what it is we do. Dr. Lidia Schapira: So let me ask you, given your very particular vantage and your experience, why do you think it's important for us to write and read reflections? What does narrative give us as physicians, as cancer doctors? Dr. Barry Meisenberg: Well, I think it gives us the other parts of our brain and the other parts of our personality as humans. The most humanistic of all the sciences is medicine. We can't neglect that. Mostly for our own health. But also, I think it makes us better physicians when we think about what we're doing. You know I think it was a physician author, who said that we walk around in the midst of stories. Every one of our patients has a story, sometimes multiple stories, and if we miss that, and don't really capture that, then we're just sort of functionaries. Dr. Lidia Schapira: Such an important thought. There's definitely plot. There are characters. There's the scenery. There's all of this very rich life and human content and I couldn't agree with you more. So, before I ask about this particular essay, what are you reading now or what have you read in the last year that you would recommend to your colleagues? Dr. Barry Meisenberg: Well, it's interesting you say that because, recording here in April of 2022, I've talked to many of my neighbors about their pandemic hobbies, both medical and nonmedical, and they're, you know, learning to bake, reteaching the piano, and working on developing their rhomboids. I've been doing a deep dive into the history of other pandemics. I may be little obsessive, but I've been reading about pandemics throughout history, and just appreciating the fact that human nature hasn't changed very much, nor has medical behavior. So, in Defoe's book, I think it's called Journal of a Plague Year, which by the way, is not history, is a fictional journal but based on reality. We have the same sort of medical charlatanism. We have false hopes. We have people trying to beat the quarantine for their own good. At the same time, we have just public-oriented behavior as well, feeding those who couldn't be fed or who would become orphaned by the plague. The same thing is true of the 14th-century plague. It's just remarkable how little we've changed as a species, all the behaviors on display today, both good and bad, were on display then. And so, I've been reading quite a bit about pandemics. Dr. Lidia Schapira: It's so interesting. Now, with that, let's focus on your beautiful poem, the question that you can't answer after all your scientific work and after your decades of clinical experience, "Why me?". Tell us a little bit about what inspired this poem that I found so moving, and I'm not a great reader of poetry. But this one message was so clear that I think most of our readers will understand the sentiment. What inspired you to write it? Dr. Barry Meisenberg: Well, I woke up with this one. Sometimes that happens, you wake up with a poem that is nearly fully formed, or a narrative is nearly fully formed in your mind. Although I did get some excellent suggestions from my reviewers that I do appreciate. And I realized only after it was on paper, that seven years ago, I wrote a piece for a different oncology journal about this issue of random chance. And you may remember, in 2015, there was an article, or a science magazine published an article by Thomas Heti and Bert Vogelstein about their mathematical calculations of errors in stem cell division. They didn't do any new experiments. They accumulate what was already known, and they were able to correlate that with the incidence of cancer from the cancer databases. And their conclusions were, when stem cells make random errors, there's more likely to be cancer. Now, they didn't cover every type of cancer. They covered several. And they came up with this idea that cancer is stochastic, that is a random process. Now, stochastic is not a poetic word. And so, we didn't use it in the poem, but random, and that was covered extensively in the New York Times and other media, and a big debate about what it meant. So, I wrote an essay about that, and I realized it's been on my mind all this time, and whether it's a helpful notion or a harmful notion. Helpful in that patients can understand you didn't do anything to give yourself cancer, despite all the media noise about that, but harmful, potentially harmful, in this idea that maybe my life doesn't have meaning if this is just a random process. And so, I talk to patients about this when appropriate, because many of them have thought about it. So, it's sort of been on my mind since this article I wrote in 2015. And I must say, it disturbs me that I don't have a good way of explaining that or helping patients overcome this. Dr. Lidia Schapira: So, when a person asks you why me in some way, I mean, you, first of all, you tell us that you have answers for most of the other questions, what is my prognosis? You can answer. How do I tell the children? You can answer. Is it safe to have sex? You can answer. But the "why me" question is still with you and still troubles you. What is it, in your view, that a person is really asking you? What is the question behind the question when they say 'why me?' Dr. Barry Meisenberg: Well, that is the question. And then I think what they're saying is what does my life mean? Yeah, if the answer to Dr. Vogelstein is correct, that it's stochastic, doesn't mean my life doesn't have a meaning. I hope people wouldn't draw that conclusion. So, random things happen to people, both nice people, and mean people all the time. I remember when I was in New York doing a year of research at Sloan Kettering, there was a helicopter accident, and it didn't just kill the people in the helicopter, but a piece of the blade broke off and spun out over Manhattan, killing someone who was about to walk into a retail store, totally random. It had an impact on me in how all our lives hang by a thread, or it can, and cancer is like that. Dr. Lidia Schapira: What I hear in the "why me" question is also sort of a plea for, please reassure me and keep me safe, because this happened, and you have no explanation, I have no explanation. So, it's interesting that you talk about life's meaning. I see it more as a cry for help. If I can't deal with the uncertainty and the chaos of the universe. Dr. Barry Meisenberg: That's an excellent perspective. And you may well be right, at least for many people. It's almost like a real issue of faith and religion, or more faith and religion. When I say in the piece, 'you have to look inside for that answer, why me and what your life means?' Yeah, people ask questions for a reason. Some of it is just fact downloading, the risk of mucositis, how to treat mucositis, and so on. But other, the more important questions are these. Dr. Lidia Schapira: And that's one of the beauties, I think, of poetry and why we love to publish great poems because it's almost like a bit of a Rorschach too, right? You can read into it, you can interpret, you can use a poem as a way of exploring an important topic, and bringing perhaps to the surface some of the questions that you also deal with, as a human, instead of only your skill, as an oncologist or as a physician used to counseling people. Dr. Barry Meisenberg: I think that is one of the values of poetry. I run a program here at this health system that we call the Diastole Hour because it's important for relaxation. You can't live your whole life in systole. That's the message. And we use poetry a lot, mostly written by patients about their medical experiences, sometimes written by doctors about what it means to be a doctor or be a better doctor. And then, of course, some art that covers medical topics. And the whole goal is to train that other part of our brain to make us better at the business part of being a doctor, and I think the two are related. Dr. Lidia Schapira: Do you read poetry with your fellows or with your trainees or junior faculty? How do you incorporate this kind of thinking in their professional life? How do you use it to build a community? Dr. Barry Meisenberg: Well, that's a great point. I wish we could do more. So, I read some poetry. I am not trained in it and I tend to look for poems that one doesn't need to be an expert in the classics to understand and we use them at this event I've told you about. But also, I've been known to sneak them into Grand Rounds presentations and other venues, trying to make people pause and think a little bit about it. There's some wonderful poetry about the physician experience, for sure. And I sort of collect them. Dr. Lidia Schapira: What are some of your favorite pieces? Dr. Barry Meisenberg: There's a neurologist named Ginsburg, who has written, I remember one poem, in particular, called "Line Drive". And it's about a man, presumably, based on a true story, who is explaining to someone their brain tumor anatomy during a hospital visit, and pointing at shadows, but recognizes that he doesn't actually do any touching. He doesn't enter their lives. He doesn't answer all their questions like the one we just talked about. And then he's driving home, and he stops at a little league Park and watches some boys play baseball. And one of the boys is struck by a line drive. And he's so moved, by the way, his teammates gather around him and offer support and touch him and help him that he drives back to the hospital to redo the consultation he had just finished doing, but this time with the touching. I thought that was a wonderful poem. Dr. Lidia Schapira: It's an amazing poem. Dr. Barry Meisenberg: I read that poem in Abu Dhabi, actually, to an audience, few of whom knew baseball, so I sort of had to explain it to an audience of oncology professionals. I might have missed my mark, I don't know, but I wanted them to understand certainly the importance of entering patients' lives. Dr. Lidia Schapira: Have you always felt this way about using narrative and poetry as a means of reflection, self-expression, and dialogue? Or is it something you came to later in your life as a more mature professional? Dr. Barry Meisenberg: Definitely the latter. I mean, I was fortunate in that I had good cultural capital growing up, but I didn't really incorporate it into my other life, my professional life until I'd say the last 10 years or 15. I've always been an admirer of Shakespeare, by the way, he wrote about the plague a little bit too, indirectly. And then one time I actually wrote an essay about this: I was given a poem by a patient, who was from Ireland and this is sort of like the national poet of Ireland. And it was his way of telling me, he didn't want any treatment. And the poem is about loss and lamentation that accumulates through life, and all his friends were in the graveyard. He wasn't interested in therapies that are designed to induce a response rate. He didn't want any treatment. The way he communicated that was through a poem. And I began to understand that really in a more realistic way that poem can do that. Dr. Lidia Schapira: Well, thank you so much for your insights. It's been a wonderful conversation. Is there something else you would like to tell our listeners and perhaps even a thought for future readers of the poem? Dr. Barry Meisenberg: By the way, I should say that the name of that poem I just referred to is called "Oft, in a Stilly Night". It's the first line of an Irish folk song. But I would hope people take the time to indulge. Many medical journals have sections like this, they're usually short. And I will tell you, that's the first thing I read in these medical journals. I hope people will follow that pattern. Dr. Lidia Schapira: Thank you so much, Barry. It's been a lovely conversation. Thank you for your work, and thanks to the readers. And more next episode of Art of Oncology. Until next time, thank you for listening to this JCOs Cancer Stories: The Art of Oncology Podcast. If you enjoyed what you heard today, don't forget to give us a rating or review on Apple podcasts or wherever you listen. While you're there, be sure to subscribe so you never miss an episode of JCOs Cancer Stories: The Art of Oncology Podcast. This is just one of many ASCOs podcasts. You can find all of the shows at podcast.asco.org. 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 or service organization, activity or therapy should not be construed as an ASCO endorsement.
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17 MIN
Housekeeping
JUN 25, 2020
Housekeeping
In the poem, Housekeeping, by David Harris, a patient struggles with what it means to be saved. Read by Seema Yasmin. 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. The mention of any product, service, organization, activity, or therapy should not be construed as an ASCO endorsement. Welcome to JCO's Cancer Stories, The Art of Oncology, brought to you by the ASCO Podcast Network, a collection of nine programs covering a range of educational and scientific content, and offering enriching insight into the world of cancer care. You can find all of the shows, including this one, at podcast.asco.org. Housekeeping by David Harris. I've been clearing out my closets so that my husband won't have to afterward. She wiped her eyes on her hospital gown. I imagined her at home, pulling out hangers and holding up clothes to her wasted body, choosing what to save and what to throw away. And by save, I mean leave behind for her husband afterward. Me imagining her imagining him, pulling out hangers, loosely dangling clothes, a Christmas sweater, the jeans he liked, a scarf, a blouse. Him wondering what he is supposed to do with a pink blouse. Should he throw it away or bury it in some unsorted pile, half forgotten, or save it, leaving it hanging in the closet of their bedroom? I am talking to her about CPR now. About what we can save and what we can't. And by save, I mean prolong. And she turns to me and asks what she is supposed to do with the word terminal. Afterward, after latex gloves are peeled off hands, after the bag is found and zipped around her quiet body, after all the things I said or didn't say, this is what we save. Her hospital gown, unbuttoned, washed clean, folded onto itself, with thousands of other gowns. With me today is Dr. David Harris, a palliative care physician at Cleveland Clinic. Dave, welcome to our podcast. Thank you, Lidia. I'm grateful to be here. It's great to have you. You're the author of a poem that we recently published called Housekeeping. Before we start to talk about your poem, tell me a little bit about what you enjoy reading and perhaps what's on your nightstand right now. Sure. I've been reading some nonfiction work on behavioral economics by Predictably Irrational or Thinking Fast and Slow by Daniel Kahneman. But I should also probably talk about poetry that I like reading, since the poem in JCO was published. Two of my favorite poets, and if you read my poem and you want to find more like it, would be Mary Oliver and Marie Howe. And if you're looking for a place to start with those poets, you could look for What The Living Do by Marie Howe or The Fourth Sign of the Zodiac by Mary Oliver. So training does one need to have to read and appreciate poetry? Oh, that's a great question. I think when I was in high school, I kind of got scared away from poetry because it felt like something that I really didn't understand and that you had to have a lot of training to read and appreciate. But I don't think it necessarily has to be that way. I find poetry really nice because it's short, and if you find authors that keep their poetry accessible, you can just read it and spend a moment appreciating it, and go on with your day. So I'd say you don't really need a lot of training other than just being a human being and bringing to the poem the experiences that you've had in your life. I love that. And with that, let's talk a little bit about the poem that you wrote and that I've had an opportunity to read and love it, and that is Housekeeping. There's a line here that drew me right in, and that is the line, a very simple line, me imagining her imagining him. It seemed to me that that's almost the perfect definition of empathy. Is that what you had in mind? The ability to connect and just imagine what it's like to be somebody else, to see the world through the mindset of another person? Yeah. Thank you, Lidia. That's exactly what I was going for. I mean, I think that this poem is mostly in the speaker's imagination. The inspiration for the poetry was the quote at the beginning of the poem, which was told to me by a patient. I'd been cleaning out my closets so that my husband won't have to afterward. And I think we've all had patients tell us something, and after we leave the room, we just pause and say, like, wow, I can't believe that that conversation just happened. And, you know, what a strange, and meaningful, and powerful thing that patient said to me. So that was the inspiration for the poem. And then for the rest of the poem, I was just sort of imagining different scenes or different thoughts that were inspired by that line. So in the poem, you talked about having the difficult conversation with a patient, and you state this in the present tense. I am talking to her about CPR now. And then you bring us also to the world of the very practical task of having this conversation and imagining a time when the patient is no longer present, her death. And then you have this parallel process where you describe all the tasks, the very practical housekeeping tasks, of what happens after death. The sorting of possessions and the dispatching of the body. Tell us a little bit more about how you thought about putting these two things together, and so compactly and beautifully. Oh, thank you, Lidia. Yeah. I think as I was writing the poem, I began to think more and more about those material pieces of our lives, that they're of special significance when we're thinking about end of life. And that came from the patient who was going through her closets and holding out clothes and thinking, you know, am I going to wear this before I die or can I throw this away, and thinking about how much clothing means to people. And then I thought about the hospital gowns and how much of a contrast that is, how impersonal that is compared to what people wear in their day to day lives. That sort of focus on these material possessions and these tasks that can be kind of mundane at times came out as I was writing the poem. And there is this parallel, also, about what we do as physicians when we are looking after patients who are so ill. There are some very practical things, but then there are conversations that have to do with the ultimate abstraction, which is imagining not being here. I think the title grounds us in the same way that some of these tasks, perhaps, ground us in our day to day world. I also thought that it was very interesting that you used the word afterwards twice, including leading with it in the last stanza. And I imagine that, perhaps, as you were thinking of a title, another title could have been Afterward. Yeah. So does that capture some of your process? Yeah. Afterwards was a rough draft title. You guessed it. Because I think that so much of the poem is about thinking of the future or we're thinking about what's going to happen next. I think I chose Housekeeping instead because one of the things that I really am interested in in art and in talking with patients is the importance of daily lives, or the importance of these kind of mundane tasks that we all go through. And how, for people who have cancer and are struggling to maintain quality of life, sometimes doing the laundry or cooking suddenly becomes really meaningful and important to them, or maybe even housekeeping becomes meaningful and important to them. So that title felt like there were more layers to it, which is why I chose it. You know, as I was reading this, and I read that you were imagining your patient imagining her husband's grief and her husband's reaction to her passing, I was imagining what you, as the clinician in this situation, were imagining and feeling. It was very impactful to me. And there's something about how simple the lines are and the language is that really drew me in. Tell me a little bit more about your feeling and what this kind of an encounter with a patient does to you as palliative care physician. Thank you for asking me that, Lidia. You know, this meant a lot to me. And after I left the room after having this conversation with the patient, I was struck by how profound that moment was and how meaningful having those conversations with patients is for me. And part of the purpose of writing this poem and publishing it is to share that experience. I think most of us in oncology and palliative care go into the field because we look for moments like this and we appreciate moments like this. But also, day to day life can kind of make us blind to these things with all the paperwork we have to do and all of the red tape. And when I talk to physicians who are feeling burned out, I notice that they don't really bring up moments like this anymore, and I feel like they're not noticing them the way they used to. So noticing moments like this and appreciating them helps me from being burned out, and I'm hoping that people will read this poem and sort of be able to be resensitized to those moments in their practice. That's a lovely thought. I also would add that one of the themes that we find in the submissions we receive to Art of Oncology is this very sincere desire to honor a patient. And I read that also in your line. Yeah. I mean, this patient has passed away, but they've made such an impact on me, and it feels like I need to do something to remember them. That's part of what made me write this piece as well. Well, thank you for sharing all of that with us. And I hope our readers go back and read your beautiful poem, Housekeeping, over and over. Let me finish by just asking you a little about the process of writing. You-- are you a repetitive writer? Do you have time set aside to write, or do you write when you're inspired or when it calls you? That's a great question. And I feel like people who have previously been on your podcast have said something similar. But for me, I have these moments, and it feels like there's something in me that has to come out. It feels like I already know there's a poem there, and I just have to start writing it. So usually, that's how things begin. If I'm not feeling burned out and I'm in a place where I can notice those feelings, and then I start writing. And then once I've begun writing, I notice different ideas that I want to develop in the piece. These are things that you picked up on, sort of this interest in the mundane, daily tasks of life, or another thing that I wanted to develop in this piece was the idea of saving, and what does it mean to save something. And then, you know, I just kind of keep writing and trying to figure that stuff out until it feels like the poem is done. Well, thank you so much, Dave. I loved Housekeeping, and I hope you keep writing. So this ends our podcast. Please join me again for more of about cancer stories. Until next time, thank you for listening to this JCO's Cancer Stories, The Art of Oncology Podcast. If you enjoyed what you heard today, don't forget to give us a rating or review on Apple Podcasts or wherever you listen. While you're there, be sure to subscribe so you never miss an episode. JCO's Cancer Stories, The Art of Oncology Podcast is just one of ASCO's many podcasts. You can find all of the shows at podcast.asco.org.
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14 MIN