Why It’s Often So Strong

Rose Gerber was 39, mother to a third grader and a kindergartener, when the diagnosis came: Advanced HER2-positive breast cancer.

“On one of my first or second appointments, I took in a little picture of Alexander and Isabella,” Gerber said. Gerber showed her oncologist the picture and told her: “I’ll do anything. I just want to be there for them.”

That was 21 years ago. Today, her current cancer status is “no evidence of disease.”

Over the past two decades, Gerber has gotten to be there for her children. Her youngest is now a television producer and her oldest, a CPA.

In that time, Gerber has had one constant: Her oncologist, Kandhasamy Jagathambal, MD, or Dr Jaga, as she’s often called.

“I’ve seen multiple physicians over my 21 years, but my oncologist has always been the focal point, guiding me in the right direction,” Gerber told Medscape Medical News.

Over the years, Jaga guided Gerber through a range of treatment decisions, including a Herceptin clinical trial that the mom of two views as lifesaving. Jaga often took on the role of both doctor and therapist, even providing comfort in the smaller moments when Gerber would fret about her weight gain.

The oncologist-patient “bond is very, very, very special,” said Gerber, who now works as director of patient advocacy and education at the Community Oncology Alliance.

Gerber isn’t alone in calling out the depth of the oncologist-patient bond.

Over years, sometimes decades, patients and oncologists can experience a whole world together: The treatment successes, relapses, uncertainties, and tough calls. As a result, a deep therapeutic alliance often develops. And with each new hurdle or decision, that collaborative, human connection between doctor and patient continues to form new layers.

“It’s like a shared bonding experience over trauma, like strangers trapped on a subway and then we get out, and we’re now on the other side, celebrating together,” Saad Khan, MD, an associate professor of medicine (oncology) at Stanford University in Stanford, California.

Connecting Through Stress

Although studies exploring the oncologist-patient bond are limited, some research suggests that a strong therapeutic alliance between patients and oncologists not only provides a foundation for quality care but can also help improve patients’ quality of life, protect against suicidal ideation, and increase treatment adherence.

Because of how stressful and frightening a cancer diagnosis can be, creating “a trusting, uninterrupted, almost sacred environment for them” is paramount for Khan. “I have no doubt that the most important part of their treatment is that they find an oncologist in whom they have total confidence,” Khan wrote in a blog.

The stress that patients with cancer experience is well documented, but oncologists take on a lot themselves and can also experience intense stress.

“I consider my patient’s battles to be my battles,” Khan wrote.

The stress can start with the daily schedule. Oncologists often have a high volume of patients and tend to spend more time with each individual than most.

According to a 2023 survey, oncologists see about 68 patients a week, on average, but some oncologists, like Khan, have many more. Khan typically sees 20 to 30 patients a day and continues to care for many over years.

The survey also found that oncologists tend to spend a lot of time with their patients. Compared with other physicians, oncologists are two times more likely to spend at least 25 minutes with each patient.

With this kind of patient volume and time, Khan said, “you’re going to be exhausted.”

What can compound the exhaustion are the occasions oncologists need to deliver bad news — this treatment isn’t working, your cancer has come roaring back and, perhaps the hardest, we have no therapeutic options left. The end-of-life conversations, in particular, can be heartbreaking, especially when a patient is young and not ready to stop trying.

“It can be hard for doctors to discuss the end of life,” Don Dizon, MD, director of the Pelvic Malignancies Program at Lifespan Cancer Institute and director of Medical Oncology at Rhode Island Hospital in Providence, Rhode Island, wrote in a column last year. Instead, it can be tempting and is often easier to focus on the next treatment, “instilling hope that there’s more that can be done,” even if doing more will only do harm.

In the face of these challenging decisions, growing a personal connection with patients over time can help keep oncologists going.

“We’re not just chemotherapy salesmen,” Khan told Medscape Medical News. “We get to know their social support network, who’s going to be driving them [to and from appointments], where they go on vacation, their cat’s name, who their neighbors are.”

A ‘Special Relationship’

Ralph V. Boccia, MD, is often asked what he does.

The next question that often comes — “Why do I do what I do?” — is Boccia’s favorite.

“Someone needs to take these patients through their journey,” Boccia, the founder of The Center for Cancer and Blood Disorders, Bethesda, Maryland, typically responds. He also often notes that “it is a special relationship you develop with the patient and their families.”

Boccia thinks about one long-term patient who captures this bond.

Joan Pinson, 70, was diagnosed with multiple myeloma about 25 years ago, when patients’ average survival was about 4 years.

Over a quarter century, Pinson has pivoted to different treatments, amid multiple relapses and remissions. Throughout most of this cancer journey, Boccia has been her primary oncologist, performing a stem cell transplant in 2000 and steering her to six clinical trials.

Her last relapse was 2 years ago, and since then she has been doing well on oral chemotherapy.

“Every time I relapsed, by the next appointment, he’d say, ‘Here is what we are going to do,’” Pinson recalled. “I never worried, I never panicked. I knew he would take care of me.”

Over the years, Pinson and Boccia have shared many personal moments, sometimes by accident. One special moment happened early on in Pinson’s cancer journey. During an appointment, Boccia had “one ear to the phone” as his wife was about to deliver their first baby, Pinson recalled.

Later, Pinson met that child as a young man working in Boccia’s lab. She has also met Boccia’s wife, a nurse, when she filled in one day in the chemotherapy room.

Boccia now also treats Pinson’s husband who has prostate cancer, and he ruled out cancer when Pinson’s son, now in his 40s, had some worrisome symptoms.

More than two decades ago, Pinson told Boccia her goal was to see her youngest child graduate from high school. Now, six grandsons later, she has lived far beyond that goal.

“He has kept me alive,” said Pinson.

The Dying Patient

Harsha Vyas, MD, FACP, remembers the first encounter his office had with a 29-year-old woman referred with a diagnosis of stage IV breast cancer.

After just 15 minutes in the waiting room, the woman announced she was leaving. Although office staff assured the woman that she was next, the patient walked out.

Several months later, Vyas was called for an inpatient consult. It was the same woman.

Her lungs were full of fluid, and she was struggling to breathe, said Vyas, president and CEO of the Cancer Center of Middle Georgia, Dublin, and assistant professor at Augusta University, Augusta, Georgia.

The woman, a single mother, told Vyas about her three young kids at home and asked him, “Doc, do something, please help me,” he recalled.

“Absolutely,” Vyas told her. But he had to be brutally honest about her prognosis and firm that she needed to follow his instructions. “You have a breast cancer I cannot cure,” he said. “All I can do is control the disease.”

From that first day, until the day she died, she came to every appointment and followed the treatment plan Vyas laid out.

For about 2 years, she responded well to treatment. And as the time passed and the trust grew, she began to open up to him. She showed him pictures. She talked about her children and being a mother.

“I’ve got to get my kids in a better place. I’m going to be there for them,” he recalled her saying.

Vyas admired her resourcefulness. She held down a part-time job, working retail and at a local restaurant. She figured out childcare so she could get to her chemotherapy appointments every 3 weeks and manage the copays.

Several years later, when she knew she was approaching the end of her life, she asked Vyas a question that hit hard.

“Doc, I don’t want to die and my kids find me dead. What can we do about it?”

Vyas, who has three daughters, imagined how traumatic this would be for a child. She and Vyas made the shared decision to cease treatment and begin home hospice. When the end was approaching, a hospice worker took over, waiting for bodily functions to cease.

When news of a death comes, “I say a little prayer, it’s almost like a send-off for that soul. That helps me absorb the news…and let it go.”

But when the bond grows strong over time, as with his patient with breast cancer, Vyas said, “a piece of her is still with me.”

Khan had no relevant disclosures. Boccia and Vyas had no disclosures.

Doheny is a freelance journalist in Los Angeles.