The Letter

This is the hard part of being an oncologist. Though we may seem at times tough or guarded, I assure you that we are human. When it really gets to me, I vent my feelings and frustrations through letters. Below is one of those letters, and the one of which I am most proud.

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Dear ----,

Yesterday we had a conversation that I don’t think I will ever forget. As a new oncologist, I have a degree of dread of such serious conversations that force us to admit the limitations of the treatment. I face the possibility that -- no matter how hard I work and research and collaborate and no matter how hard I pray for my patient -- the cancer is probably going to overcome their body and my patient is going to die of their cancer. The harder I work and the more fervently I hope, the more a patient works their way into my heart and the harder it becomes to let them go.

You inspire me. I know that you did everything you did for your kids – to continue to be there for them and show them that despite setbacks, life can not only go on, but thrive. Like a Soldier who is awarded the Medal of Honor, you think not of yourself, but of others. These Soldiers defy adversity, embrace their own mortality, and think not of winning medals, but of what they can do with the rest of their lives to benefit others. Without realizing it, you have inspired scores of people. Your story is the epitome of resiliency.

You have chosen to live so fully that I will never say that you lost your battle with this cancer.

When my patients first realize that they are going to die of their cancer, many of them talk about losing a battle. “I don’t want to die, because that means I’ve lost,” someone once said to me in my first year as an oncologist. Without thinking or checking myself for sensitivity, I replied, “Well, that’s not really fair is it? Everyone is going to die. I refuse to believe that everyone loses.” It has occurred to me that the real loss is when the cancer turns you into something you are not – when you give into despair and allow yourself to stop living while you are still alive. You have chosen to live so fully that I will never say that you lost your battle with this cancer.

It has occurred to me that the real loss is when the cancer turns you into something you are not – when you give into despair and allow yourself to stop living while you are still alive.

I know that if I lose you, my loss will be dwarfed in comparison to that of your family. Nonetheless, I will miss you terribly. I will never forget you. Your story will live on in my practice as an inspiration to those who cannot see a life with cancer.

Sincerely,

Dr. G