From nurse-oncologist to patients: cancer in life turned out to be much worse than in theory

This material is based on the conversation of journalists of the publication Insider with Teresa Brown, author of Healing: When the Nurse Becomes the Patient. What follows is Teresa's story in the first person.

In 2017, my twin daughters turned 18 years old. They grew up, and I thought about what I would like to do for the rest of my life. I thought about what my future role in this world could be. It turns out that this role was to become a cancer patient. At the age of 52, I was diagnosed with stage 1 breast cancer.

I have been a nurse oncologist for 10 years. I thought I knew what cancer was. But it turns out that no matter how well you know the disease in theory and how empathetic you think you are, you can't understand the reality of a person with cancer until you're in their shoes.

This fall, my remission period will reach five years. It's a magic number that some doctors might even use the word "cured" for. Reaching this milestone made me think about how different it feels to be a cancer nurse and a cancer patient.

Fear overwhelms patients, but as a nurse, I needed distance

The level of fear of a cancer patient is unbelievable. No matter how statistically treatable his condition is, he is fighting for his life. Nothing clarifies the situation like a moment when it comes to life and death.

However, as a patient, it often seemed to me that the healthcare professionals around me did not understand how high the stakes were. For example, they were in no hurry to tell me the results of the tests, forcing me to wait until the end of the weekend. Although they could have easily called me on a Friday night and shortened the days of worry.

On the subject: More than a hundred graduates and employees of a school in New Jersey fell ill with cancer: the authorities are looking for a cause and do not believe in a coincidence

In a way, I understood them. When I was a nurse, I also needed to protect myself by putting up an inner barrier before my shift. I could not work effectively if I brought terror to my patients with my nervous appearance and worries about their lives. However, as a patient, I wanted the doctor to empathize with how scared I was.

Empathy goes a long way

Fear can lead to an overload of other emotions. When I was in the process of making a diagnosis, I had a breast ultrasound. The technician told me she saw a seal. My doctor said, "You're not leaving here today without getting a mammogram." But when I went to sign up for a mammogram, the receptionist wasn't there. I sat there shaking with sobs, tears streaming down my face.

The department where I received radiation therapy was different. I hated the TV in their waiting room, so I waited in the lobby for every meeting. They happily followed me there, never commenting on the extra work they had to do because of me. They knew that I needed to be treated carefully and kindly.

Patients have power

Having cancer means losing control, and good cancer treatment gives you power back. But the healthcare system can run at its own pace if patients don't make their voices heard.

We deserve timely access to test results. We deserve a simple explanation of concepts if we don't understand. We deserve to be treated with compassion and respect for our emotional responses.

Now many people ask me how to get the best care. I advise them to be polite, but also firm and direct. If you act out of anger or emotion, you may not be noticed. But if you calmly explain that the system or the individual is not creating an environment where you feel cared for, you may be able to get the treatment you deserve.