When Cancer is Incurable

Patients and families face difficult decisions when the prognosis is poor, but communication and an action plan may help. 

KATY HUMAN
PUBLISHED: MARCH 13, 2013
Talk about this article with other patients, caregivers, and advocates in the Brain Cancer CURE discussion group.
For Dann Siems, the headaches began in early summer 2009, fishing season in northern Minnesota’s lake country. At first, aspirin worked. But during a trip later that summer to Lake of the Woods, nothing could cut the pain.

On a Monday in August, his family doctor saw the brain tumor in a scan. The next day, the doctor gave him the news. Before the end of the week, doctors in Fargo, N.D., performed a craniotomy to debulk the tumor and identify it. His diagnosis: high-grade glioblastoma, an aggressive malignancy. His prognosis: poor.

“Your life is just going along fine, and then suddenly everything is turned upside down, in just a few hours,” says Lenore Siems, who helped her husband deal with non-Hodgkin lymphoma five years before.

There’s no “typical” way that patients or families react to a diagnosis of incurable cancer, says Margaret Bevans, a clinical nurse scientist at the National Institutes of Health (NIH) Clinical Center in Bethesda, Md. “You need to give yourself space, time and the permission to be anything: sad, angry, frustrated, weepy.”

After absorbing the initial shock of diagnosis, reactions often differ greatly. Some patients decide to treat the cancer as aggressively as possible, hoping to extend survival or improve their quality of life. Others seek quality of life in other ways, declining treatments that are not likely to be curative to avoid side effects that may be uncomfortable or dangerous. Experts urge patients to respect their own needs and desires as they plan for the next weeks, months or years. “It’s not right or wrong to make any particular choice,” Bevans says. “It’s about being informed and making [those choices] personal.”

“Dann was very clear on what he wanted,” Siems says. “He wanted to try everything. But at the same time, he was realistic—more realistic than I was.”

An environmental biologist who was 51 at the time of his diagnosis, Dann Siems started talking with his wife about finances. “He didn’t want to put us in a hole with medical expenses because he knew it was highly likely that I was going to be a widow,” Siems says. In part, that’s why the couple began investigating clinical trials, she adds. “And part of it was Dann being a researcher. It was his legacy—to contribute some knowledge to society.”

I was always hopeful. In the back of my mind, it was always, 'Maybe this will be a cure.'

Through a colleague, the Siemses got in touch with an oncologist at the National Institutes of Health, who helped him enroll in several clinical trials and receive chemotherapy—nearly all for free.

“He was a bulldog,” Siems says of her husband. When a treatment stopped working, he’d call up experts in the field, researchers whose work he’d found online, to learn more. She says she sometimes struggled to keep up with the medical jargon. “We’d be meeting with the doctor, and they’d be in this big, animated discussion, and I would raise my hand and go, ‘Could you maybe say that in English?’”

Talk about this article with other patients, caregivers, and advocates in the Brain Cancer CURE discussion group.
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