Cancer. When the doctor becomes the patient.
As a pediatrician mom, I have always believed that above all, being a real person was at the core of my relationships with parents and their children. Regardless of the “fancy titles” and degrees that may appear to differentiate me, underneath it all, I am still just a person. When I meet with families in my office, I believe in the importance of meeting people where they are that day – whether it be the highest of highs, the lowest of lows, or anywhere in between. I believe in the value of celebrating my patients’ (and their parents’) moments of pride and also understanding their struggles – and also in sharing mine. There are days when I may walk in their same shoes, share their same anxieties, experience similar losses, and excite in similar joys.
That being said, I do acknowledge that I have worked very hard for my achievements. I find that all of my titles – mom, wife, sister, daughter, friend, doctor, entrepreneur – are truly special and give me a unique perspective on the interconnectedness of each. I believe in connecting with moms and families, as a mom, but also as their child’s doctor with an advanced knowledge base that allows for different levels of insight into their child. This is a role and responsibility I have never taken lightly.
In the spirit of embracing my “realness”, it is with great heartache that I now have a new title to add to my list: Patient. And specifically, Cancer Patient. As a doctor, this is never a title I ever imagined I’d own. As a mom, it is the one I dreaded most. Yet, here I am; a new reality, a new path in life, a new type of real.
It has been a few weeks since my diagnosis. I have experienced all of the emotions. Disbelief, sadness, rage, grief, loss, confusion, and many more I can’t even name. There have been so many appointments, complex treatment discussions, options to consider, hard conversations, and even frankly painful procedures. As I now settle in for the long and rocky road toward a hopeful recovery, I have taken a moment to reflect on how I do this next part. Should I turn inwards and experience this privately or use this new life challenge as an opportunity to reach out and connect with others – other moms and families who might be experiencing a similar path of the most unwanted and unwelcome type of “real”?
I do not take my position as a doctor lightly. I know that my experience is unique, and in many ways privileged, in that I am starting from a different place than most. I know how to navigate the healthcare system. I can pull the “doctor card” to get things done in an accelerated manner. I know the lingo to make people listen. My baseline knowledge about all things cancer is much higher than the average patient. This all can help me to parse through the challenges of speaking to doctors, truly understanding these conversations, and being able to apply my education to weigh the options presented. Unfortunately, this is also a curse. There is an often unspoken pain in knowing too much. Pain in having seen first-hand the raw, bitter truth of the worst outcomes associated with disease. Pain in knowing the limitations of medicine, knowing its grey areas. The fact that doctors like to talk about a “cure” but don’t like to talk about the burden of lifelong side effects to achieve it. The fact that even now, in the 21st century, we still know what feels like so little—for example, the research supporting the treatment plan for my specific cancer was just published less than a year ago. Yes, there is profound difficulty in never really being able to just “be the patient” and let others take the burden of making decisions. Pain in not having the luxury to embrace the adage, “ignorance is bliss.”
No one asks for cancer. It is perhaps one of the most dreaded medical diagnoses. It feels so haphazard, so unfair, so cruel. It effortlessly begs the question, “why me?” I certainly ask myself that daily. As a doctor and one who has always been so very strict with nutrition, exercise, sleep – all of the things that one does to stay healthy – I feel so cheated. I have poured endless hours of my life into following all of the evidence-based recommendations I have learned and share with my patients and yet, despite having literally zero risk factors, I am the one with the diagnosis. I can’t help but wonder: What did I do wrong? My husband often looks longingly at me says, “You are healthiest sick person I’ve ever known”. And note, he, too, is a doctor.
As I close the loop on my inquiry about how I do this next part, I land on knowing that the best answer is simply to continue to be real. In many ways, I feel I owe that to myself. While I may see the world, and my diagnosis, through the lens of my doctor brain – a brain that has been well-trained to gracefully handle the hardest parts of humanity and life – I am not obligated to pretend that this does not hurt my soul just as much. So together we will experience this unwanted path as real people – as a pediatrician, a mom, a wife, a sister, a daughter, a friend, an entrepreneur, a woman – in a world that feels very cruel. I am with you and will share my journey with you. Together we figure out how to hold our families together. Together we learn how to tell our children. Together we seek out knowledge on prevention. Together we find resilience. Together we hold each other up. Together we can be stronger.
Here’s to fighting the good fight.
Dr. Keili
