I never expected to outlive my breast cancer surgeon. But almost a year to the day after we first met, Dr. Jeanne Petrek died in the most random, ironic of accidents, hit by an ambulance as she crossed a busy New York street on her way to work at the Memorial Sloan-Kettering Cancer Center.
When I first met Dr. Petrek in April of 2004, my life had gone from that of a happy, 36-year-old newlywed to a terrified breast cancer patient in less than a week. The previous month, my husband and I had been talking about starting a family; now, we wondered if I'd live to see my 40th birthday.
Stage I, II, IIIA, and operable IIIC breast cancer often requires a multimodality approach to treatment. Irrespective of the eventual procedure selected, the diagnostic biopsy and surgical procedure that will be used as primary treatment should be performed as two separate procedures. In many cases, the diagnosis of breast carcinoma is made by core needle biopsy. After the presence of a malignancy is confirmed, treatment options should be discussed...
All our news had gone from bad to worse -- until we met Dr. Petrek. Despite her international reputation -- she was a leading researcher and the director of the breast surgery program at Memorial Sloan-Kettering in New York -- she made us feel as if I were her only patient. As she outlined a plan of presurgical chemotherapy, followed by a lumpectomy and radiation, we felt ourselves absorbing her calm confidence that I could beat this.
Over the next year, I grew to recognize Dr. Petrek's cell phone number on my caller ID, as she returned calls well into the evening when I was worried about an MRI result or upcoming surgery. She rejoiced with me when the chemotherapy wiped out the tumor, calling the results "remarkable." And just a month ago, she happily signed the health form required for us to begin an adoption, writing in the margin, "She will make a WONDERFUL mother!!!"
After her sudden death, I was bereft -- and so were thousands of other women Dr. Petrek had treated. Within hours of hearing the news, emails and message board posts began flying: How could this be possible? We'd lost one of our greatest advocates, a doctor who'd fought not only to save our lives but to advance research that made our lives better after cancer. What would we ever do without her?
Losing a doctor is difficult for anyone. We all struggle to cope when the family doctor retires or your pediatrician moves to another state. But it's all the more devastating when your doctor dies, particularly if they've helped you face a life-threatening or chronic illness. "I have had a wonderful internist for many years. If she died or even retired tomorrow, I would be heartbroken," says Mary Jane Massie, MD, an attending psychiatrist at Sloan-Kettering, who has talked with many of Dr. Petrek's current and former patients since her death. "But she didn't treat me for cancer or multiple sclerosis. That's a very important relationship."
"It's a really personal loss, especially because of what we psychologists call transference -- the belief system we put on the doctor about what they can do for us," agrees Susan Brace, RN, PhD, a psychologist in Los Angeles, who frequently counsels people with serious and chronic illnesses. "It's almost like losing a family member. And if we have a long relationship with the doctor, it's even harder, because of how well they know us and our condition. Starting from scratch is an awful thought."