The following essay was written by Lucy Stanovick of Pennsylvania.  Every year, Lucy raises money for BC mets research by hosting an event called "Party4life".  This year she raised $7,300, which she donated to the National Foundation for Cancer Research (NFCR) to be used by Dr. Dan Welch in his cancer suppression gene research.  You can read more about Lucy's fundraising efforts at:  
http://www.poconorecord.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=/20090619/NEWS13/906190316.

Interruptions

By Lucy Stanovick

"It's a certain combination," she says. Her hair is obviously dyed black, and she must straighten it. It rests on her white lab coat, heavy and thick, and errant strands hang negligently from the arm or back.

I try to see if her face has wrinkled--is she older than she looks? Her fingers are bony, and her hands are cool to the the touch as she strokes each breast and then thrusts her forefinger under each armpit to check the nodes.

"It's a certain combination of art and skill. There is no guarantee," she says. "Everyone responds differently."

When I ask the success rate of Tamoxifen, she clips, "You aren't listening to what I am saying. I just said there are no guarantees."

She's impatient. She knows what she is doing, and she's good at what she does. My question interrupts her rhythm of exam room to exam room. For her, it seems there isn't much to talk about--nothing interesting like surgery or radiation or trials she might recommend.

I ask, " So are you trying to cure it or address it, or is this, like, just keep my comfortable?"

She says, as if defending herself, "It's not that I don't care. When my attending told me we had a 42 year-old present with stage IV, I said, 'How sad.'"

But I hadn't asked if she cared. It didn't matter if she cared. What I was asking for was hope.