Finding cancer is the worst. It never goes well. I remember one week in the hospital, I admitted 4 patients with new cancer diagnoses. There was the 80 year old with metastatic colon cancer with bowel obstruction. There was the family man with multiple myeloma. There was the young father with AIDS associated lymphoma. There was the college coed with AML. Everyone had a tragic story. Everyone had a bad hand to play.
Last month, I found four cancers. Three of my patients thanked me, and I can't figure out why. Why are you thanking me? You have terminal pancreatic cancer. Why are you appreciative of my effort? You have metastatic breast cancer. This is not the time to thank me. This is not the time to be grateful. You should blame me. Why didn't I see this coming? Why didn't I stop this from happening? Don't thank me. Don't. You have every right to be wallow in self-pity. You have earned the right to be furious. Don't be grateful.
I realized that I really have no understanding of what it means to have cancer. I cannot understand why people are thanking me, as if there is anything to be thankful for. I am Job's messenger crying out 'All that you have and all that you love is lost, and I alone have escaped to tell you!'
And I watch as my patients rend their garments and worship, 'Naked I came from my mother's womb, and naked shall I return. The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away. Blessed be the name of the Lord.' And much as I imagine Job's servant, I am dumbfounded.
