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’Tis

Medical Director, Bethesda Field Office, AstraZeneca

Last September 11th, I found myself in Dublin at a medical meeting. CNN was on when I came to the hotel and saw the indelible image of the strikes against the World Trade Center towers. My first impression was that the leaders for the next James Bond film were becoming increasingly unbelievable—until the unbelievable was real.

After the meeting, I found myself an unwilling expatriate, unable to return home and uncertain what I might find when I did. Everything seemed in doubt.

On Friday, September 14th, not to be outdone by the rest of Europe’s minute of silence, Ireland literally closed for the day. The sense of unreality and uncertainty deepened.

And then a breakthrough. On Saturday morning I secured the last seat on a compassionate flight home leaving Shannon in 4 hours. The problem was that Shannon is 3 hours from Dublin by car, it was 8:00 a.m. on a Saturday morning, and a car had to be arranged. No one could say when there might be another commercial flight. If I failed to get to Shannon, I could always say I tried.

The driver appeared 30 minutes later. "Good morning, doctor. We should make good time on the motorways—it being Saturday morning, and all—if the Garda’s [police] still in bed."

But motorways in Ireland are few and far between. Twenty minutes from the airport, we stalled in gridlock. It was clear I would be spending the foreseeable future unforeseeably and certainly not at home. Then the driver used the phone to explain our problem to the local police, and moments later, a motorcycle appeared at the window. "Is this the American doctor, then?" "’Tis," the driver answered. "Follow me, then."

We plowed the middle of the two-lane road with the police escort, now certain of making our destination. At first I thought—only in Ireland! But then, there came other thoughts of how respect for physicians in society brings responsibilities as well. I hadn’t thought of this much before, but now I was going home because I was an American and a doctor. The responsibilities of oncologists are unique. We meet vulnerable patients and their families when they first learn of their frightening diagnosis, endure their treatment, and cope with their own uncertain futures. For the patient, cancer is a very personal form of terrorism. The oncologist is there to educate, provide hope, alleviate symptoms, and treat the disease—critical responsibilities indeed.

The practice of oncology is challenging, but sometimes frustrating and bureaucratic. While we celebrate that the field is evolving rapidly, keeping current is increasingly a challenge. But, in the best of worlds, oncology can bring the face of humanity and spirituality to science and medicine.

Is it a special time to be an oncologist? ’Tis.

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