I'm currently on oncology, which does not seem to predispose itself to providing me with pithy little anecdotes.

I find it fascinating. The patients usually start the meeting by telling me their diagnosis, but I'm much more interested in the story of the moment. The moment when they went from being someone with an unexplained symptom that was "probably nothing" (that phrase comes up about 17 times a day) to a cancer patient.

Especially meaningful right now when it feels like every third person I know is close to someone who has just crossed that line.

The other thing I like is how absolutely normal the clinic is. Most of the patients are feeling relatively well, look well, joke around with us as we discuss how many treatments they're going to receive in what is most likely the last months of their life.

I also play a little game with myself as I watch the conversations. I try to see the hidden agenda in the patient's eyes. There always is one. They politely sit through discussions of dosing and risks of surgery and statistics and all they want to know is if it's safe for them to play with their grandchild this weekend or if they're going to be receiving a chemo treatment during their brother's bar mitzva in two months. This is almost always the "doorway question" they ask as they're on their way out of the room and their whole body just sighs once they get an answer.

It seems to be these little things that matter way more than where or why the cancer has recurred and how many infusions they're going to need and when to take their pills and what their lab results are today. Which makes sense, because those are the things that make them people, not cancer patients.

So the summary is, I dig it here.