Cancer Doctors Have Emotions

 

Laura Vater, oncologist

This is an aspect of cancer care that I’ve been waiting for — the emotions of a doctor caring for cancer patients.

I discovered the writing of Dr. Laura Vater because her essay “Goodbye Stethoscope” was also in the 2025 issue of The Examined Life Journal published by the Carver College of Medicine in Iowa. I was drawn in by its honesty and compassion.

Vater is a gastrointestinal oncologist at the Indiana University Cancer Center. She cares for patients with colorectal, pancreatic, gastric, liver, bile duct, and other cancers, and believes that patients should be treated as whole human beings and that clinicians deserve the same. 

She thinks the storytelling of narrative medicine as an important tool to foster empathy with patients and help physicians cope with the stress of their work. “Writing anchors me to the humanity of my patients, and to my own,” she said. “It provides an avenue to reflect on a person’s story. It also helps me process the emotionally complex aspects of caring for patients with cancer.” Her goal as a physician is to help patients feel supported and cared for as they navigate the challenges of their diagnosis.

Vater decided to pursue a career in oncology after a close family friend developed metastatic colorectal cancer in her forties. She is the founding director of the program for patients under 50 who get colon or gastrointestinal cancers, and co-founder of the narrative medicine program at Indiana University.

Journaling as a medical student helped her process the heartbreaking experience of tending to the parents of a stillbirth while Vater was pregnant. She shares this story in her essay “Papaya” that was published in Intima journal. Her words help me realize how deeply doctors are affected by what happens to their patients, and the grief they feel when someone dies. This is something I’ve long suspected, but reading her words made those feelings real.

“The Holiday Card,” published in Journal of Clinical Oncology, is a sobering account of caring for someone with cancer who was being treated correctly, yet unexpectedly died. She reminds us that in oncology there is always uncertainty.

I value the words of someone who cares this deeply for her patients, and tries to provide whole-person care for people who are seriously ill. I want all of my doctors to be like Vater. 

Her writing often focuses on encouraging doctors to practice self-care so that they don’t burn out and they stay emotionally open to the lives and struggles of their patients. The titles of some of her articles gives you an idea of her concerns: “How Physician Exhaustion Kills Compassion – and Nurtures Shame,” “When Your Confidence is Shaken,” “10 Things Thriving Doctors Do,” and “Facing Exhaustion and Burnout?”

The flip side of doctors showing empathy for patients is that patients should treat healthcare workers with kindness, especially in the hospital at night when there are fewer healthcare workers. You don’t know what kind of stress the nurse or the resident doctor is feeling from another patient, if someone they were close to died earlier on their shift, or how long it’s been since the resident has slept. A doctor who comes across as cold or uncaring may simply be sleep-deprived, and they are grinding through the hours trying to keep all their patients alive. Some doctors, though, just have brusque bedside manners and need to soften their face. 

Although there seems to be no easy solution to not requiring residents to work for 24+4 hours straight, Vater is concerned that if doctors don’t sleep, the “ability to process emotionally information is impaired,” mistakes can be made, and empathy for the pain of patients is reduced. The reason for the long hours seems to center around “continuity of care,” because during shift changes and handoffs to the next doctor there is concern that some details of care can get lost. It’s a balancing act that has been part of medical training since the 1890s. I don’t think that sleep-deprived doctors provide anyone’s idea of ideal patient care. 

Whenever I take a red eye flight and haven’t slept for 24 hours, I am in no shape to make important decisions. I want every doctor who is treating me to be thinking clearly because they got enough sleep. I want them to be smiling when they enter my hospital room, not dragging. I want our interactions to feel like that first cup of coffee in the morning that starts the day off with hope.

© 2026 Mark Liebenow