Sorry, I don't have a TIL for this post. Instead I want to write about a topic that I know a little too much about.
Today we talked about how to break bad news to patients. After a short lecture, we broke up into small groups with real patients, in my room's case a breast cancer survivor, who had been given difficult news in the past. It was weird having someone come in and speak whom I could very much have replaced, had there been a need. I also felt like I was cheating when it was our turn to ask questions.
"I feel like that period between your initial irregular test result and your actual diagnosis must have been scary and confusing..." I say like a lawyer leading my witness. "Could you describe to us how you felt?"
The afternoon after
my biopsy (a "fine"-needle aspirate of my mediastinal mass) was the most pain I've ever been in. I hurt in every way. My chest hurt where they stabbed me, my swollen sentinel lymph node still radiated pain down my arm, I was terrified that it was something even worse than it turned out to be, and I was surrounded by loving, equally-scared family who wanted nothing more than to help me, but who sat watching helplessly as I sobbed in the fetal position on my grandparents' couch. I just wanted to go home after winter break like I was supposed to, but my life had changed on that fateful Friday, three days prior.
And that was one of the big takeaways today. It doesn't take a metastatic cancer diagnosis to make for a difficult diagnosis discussion. Anything that will change someone's lifestyle or plan can be hard to handle.
We need to amputate. You will need to take this medication for the rest of your life. You won't be able to play that sport/ do your job/ get around unassisted anymore.
I got my final diagnosis by phone, because the doctor wanted, as soon as possible, to reassure me that it wasn't something worse. So, I never really experienced that "bad news" talk from the patient perspective; my cancer diagnosis was relatively
good news! I have, however been closer than most to the other side of the conversation.
After I recovered from my treatment, I volunteered with the Cancer Resource Center in the Ithaca. Among other things, I volunteered on thyroid clinic days, where 5-10 people would come in for a biopsy on potentially cancerous nodules on their thyroid. About five of every six patients would come in, be nervous for an hour or so, and leave relieved. But nearly once per clinic, someone would test positive. They were diagnosed with cancer, right there.
The doctors at this center were great; they would deliver the news and take as much time as was needed for the patient. But when they reached a comfortable stopping point, they would offer the assistance of volunteers like myself to talk with the newly diagnosed patient in a private room about the steps ahead and the resources available to them as they started this struggle.
We really never expected people to understand anything we said. Once someone says the C-word, everything else is white noise. We really were there for three reasons: to just be present for the patient as they start to digest the news (i.e. hold the Kleenex), to offer up support as someone who has been in there shoes and had come out alright, and to make sure they left with a big packet of materials that they could open up once the shock had abated.
That was another takeaway from today's discussion that I hope my classmates remember: The moment of diagnosis is so overwhelming that you need to assume the patient understands
nothing, but will probably want to know
everything once they have gone home, grieved, and begun to process the change that is about to happen in their life. Some people weep, others are stoic, none are grasping the details right then. So make sure they know, at bare minimum, when and where their next appointment is and that they have access to all the information you are telling them once they get home.
Lastly, and a point that I feel wasn't greatly stressed in our lecture today, when it's appropriate in the conversation, bring up family and friends. Some people are far less concerned about themselves than how their spouse, their children, their parents will handle the news. The patient's care should be topic #1, but a diagnosis like this is usually devastating to more than just the person in the room.
These conversations are very difficult and emotionally draining, but I've never felt more useful to a person than when I could help someone take the very first steps on the road back to normal, in the moments after they've never felt more lost. If you do it well, nothing is more rewarding.