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View from the backyard couch. #coronadaze #paradise@home (at Biltmore Heights, Phoenix, Arizona) https://www.instagram.com/p/B_BLIzzHeFa/?igshid=gx1acaws9l0b

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This is the face of isolation in the Weber home after 12 days. Sense the peace, trust and gratitude expressed in Ruby’s eyes. She does not know fear, uncertainty or worry. She is unaware of shortages and needs no toilet paper. She feels peace and comfort, aware that she need not be concerned about where, what and when she will eat or sleep. She no longer fears random humans or street predators that chased and tormented her in her youth as a lost puppy. She is now a Weber dog, among the most privileged and pampered individuals on the planet.

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Why do I do what I do?

Whenever I am asked what it is that I do for a living and where I work, the first reaction people give me is incredulity as to how I am able to perform as a gastroenterologist, a gross job by most people’s standards. My reply is always very easy and simple to understand. I tell them that I love photography and cameras and that, having had GI problems all my life, I can identify with my patients and therefore more easily focus in on their symptoms and diagnosis. It becomes harder, however, to explain how I have been able to have worked at a Cancer Center as a gastroenterologist for the last 10 years. Typically, people have concerns regarding physician burnout, depression and, in general, their own fears of dealing with the “C” word.

Prior to my own experience with cancer, as a caregiver for my daughter, Annie, my only dealings with cancer patients was my role as a diagnostician. I had never been involved in the treatment of cancer patients and had never seen them through their diagnosis to either a cure or end of life. This was always handled by the surgeons and the oncologists.

As with my role in gastroenterology, my own life path has given me the tools and talents to contribute to their care and to ease the path that my patients have no choice but to follow, once they have been diagnosed. They did not ask for this diagnosis nor are they prepared for the trials and tribulations that follow them through diagnosis, staging, treatment and recovery. I find that, just as it was when I was a community gastroenterologist, I am able to extend to my patients, dealing with cancer, a modicum of understanding, peace and acceptance, gleaned through my own life experience.

If I am able to bring a moment of hope, joy or laughter into a life which has been assailed by fear, pain and suffering, I have succeeded in my calling as a physician and as a human being. The reality that my patients live with, from day to day, is relentless and exhausting. There is no greater satisfaction that comes to me than after a consultation, enjoyed by everyone in the room, where the cancer diagnosis has been temporarily overlooked or forgotten. It is easy to be cognizant and constantly aware of cancer but it is difficult to forget and enjoy a bit of happiness when one is on this path.

It is true that I am in messy subspecialty and that all my patients suffer with the cancer diagnosis, but each day brings me joy and amazement at the resilience of the human spirit and the overwhelming miracle of human strength.

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I arrive at a place that I never wanted to be.

Without warning, as often happens with cancer patients and their caregivers, everything in my life “changed on a dime.” It’s appropriate then, for my 1st entry into the Phoenix Cancer Support Network monthly blog, to give a short accounting as to how I became involved with this wonderful organization.

Phoenix Cancer Support Network

Dr. Jeffrey Weber and beloved daughter, Annie

As a practicing gastroenterologist in the community, cancer screening, diagnosis and treatment was always a significant part of my day-to-day activities. Yet, even as a physician, I had very little insight into the issues and difficulties encountered by patients trying to navigate this unfamiliar and tortuous journey.

Then, 13 years ago my youngest daughter, Annie, away at college at the University of Arizona, began to complain of pain in her left leg. As there was a long history of low back problems in my family, we were concerned, but not overly alarmed, and accepted the pronouncement of the University Student Clinic that this was musculoskeletal and needed treatment with physical therapy and nonsteroidal anti-inflammatory drugs.

After this had continued for several weeks without relief, when the spring term ended, and she returned to Wisconsin, and ultimately, to summer camp counseling in North Carolina, I insisted that she first have an MRI of her low back. This was done at my hospital by a radiologist that I have known for 25 years and when the films were processed, we reviewed them together. We could see that the low back was normal but that there was “something unusual” in her left pelvic area.

From this point on, her life and those of our entire family were forever altered.

Even as a physician, familiar with medical practice, terminology and with the doctors, in a personal way, each step of the process of staging her disease, identifying its character and planning and executing a treatment plan were rife with road blocks, difficulties and missteps. Once treatment had begun, the process of juggling my work life, my daughter’s treatment, much of which was inpatient, and caring for my wife and other two children’s physical and emotional needs was extremely daunting and, at times, seemed impossible. We had no advisors, care managers or navigators to assist us. Mistake after mistake was made until we finally learned that we had to advocate for ourselves. There was no one out there to advise or lead us as we muddled, somehow, through the cancer maze.

Years later, after she had passed, we had to deal with the process of grief which has been ongoing now for the past 13 years.

I felt almost compelled to change my practice character, moving out of private gastroenterology practice in Milwaukee and joining the Cancer Treatment Centers of America in Goodyear, Arizona, devoting my career, perspiration and dedication to improving the lives of cancer patients on their own journeys.

When I was approached by my eldest daughter, Jeanette Martin, with her idea to create a nonprofit organization dedicated to easing the burden of the cancer journey, I was instantly enamored with the idea of helping relieve some of the very problems that my own family had encountered years before.

As PCSN approaches its first year of existence, I hear and see the relief from our clients own fears, concerns and worries as we offer and deliver the very kind of assistance that was absent for us and for Annie.

I question whether there is a greater calling or service that I ever would have been able to encounter or deliver and it has been my great privilege to participate with our wonderful CEO, my own daughter, the other incredible board members and voluntary staff that have miraculously appeared to fill this gap in patient care.

My heart filled thanks goes out to Jenny Martin, Nancy Weber, Fred and Andrea Dias, Gary and Susy Sennett, Rob and Dom Wascher, Raphael Sheffield, Julie Xander and Marcy Laront for their dedication, enthusiasm and hard work.

May the work continue! May our clients prosper and survive! May cancer be eradicated from our world!