This piece is part of our first-annual Health Care Heroes series, where we spotlight people doing amazing things in the health care and medical fields. Read the rest of the stories here.
THROUGHOUT MY CHILDHOOD and throughout high school, I always played sports, so I thought I was a pretty healthy kid. But in March 2003, two-and-a-half months before turning 18, some family friends who were in health care noticed that my neck looked a little swollen. They told me it was “probably nothing,” but I should get it checked out. “Probably nothing” turned into a diagnosis of Hodgkin’s Lymphoma, a cancer that starts in the lymph system and usually requires chemotherapy and radiation. From March 31 of that year on, the health care setting has been part of my life in one form or another, whether I was the patient or whether I’m helping one.
I met a chemo nurse that summer who changed my life and inspired me to consider nursing rather than engineering, which I was headed to college to study. One reason is that she was literally me and someone who I hoped to be—a young person battling Hodgkin’s Lymphoma, with hope to become a cured survivor. Another is that, being under 18, I was in the pediatric ward with two-, three-, and four-year olds, rather than patients around my age. She knew I wasn’t going to be able to relate to them—we weren’t going through the same things in life—and she took the initiative to be the person I could bond with.
I underwent about five months of chemotherapy—five days in a row of infusions every three weeks. These days ranged anywhere from 1- to 2-hour days to 10- to 12-hour days. Radiation was every day, Monday through Friday, for six weeks. Those treatments were about 20 to 30 minutes long, but required me to lie completely still on a table, so I was strapped in place to avoid movement. All that paid off, because I am currently in my 23rd year of remission and going strong.
When I saw what the front line of medicine looked like (helping patients hands on, working with them physically and emotionally) I thought, “I want to do that.” I’ve been at Memorial Sloan Kettering Cancer Center (MSKCC) in New York City for 18 years now. For my first two years at MSKCC, I worked bedside in the Gastrointestinal/Hepatobiliary Medical & Surgical floor. Then, I transitioned to the outpatient office practice nurse role that I’m in now at, along with working with the Center for Young Onset Colorectal and Gastrointestinal Cancer, which opened in 2018, due to the rise in the number of young people getting these types of cancers.
As the office practice nurse for Dr. Andrea Cercek, I provide clinical support and assist with management of the medical practice. I perform patient assessments, offer patients and family members education and symptom management, and act as part of a multidisciplinary team to provide continuity of care throughout various stages of treatment and follow-up. I always tell people that we are a patient’s primary nurse from diagnosis to death or survivorship.
The shift in what the cancer world looked like when I started at MSKCC and now is completely different. The downside is that patients are getting younger and sicker. But the upside is that there have been advances and people are living a little longer. Still, especially when you have cancer at a young age, there’s a tremendous disruption of control. I see people who are in all kinds of positions, ranging from CEOs of companies to blue collar workers, and different age ranges. They’re taking care of their kids, taking care of themselves, and taking care of their aging parents. All they know in their lives is control. The moment they lose it, they don’t know what to do, and that’s where I can hopefully step in and help.
I tell them never to refer to themselves as “patients.” To me, that’s the bottom of their totem pole, and it can be extremely painful to accept. I think it puts you behind in the battle. I try and affirm who they are outside of MSKCC. Another thing I do is have honest conversations about my experience. I was at a point where I thought I was going to start the chapter of becoming an adult. But there were days when I was isolated in my room. I didn’t go to my high school graduation or prom. I lost my hair and my eyebrows. For me to step out in public was a lot. I later learned that my dad would go downstairs to take showers so he could cry and no one would know. Having to fully rely on others, at a point in my life where I was trying to gain independence, was one of the hardest things I ever had to do in my life. But I learned to do it. Now I can say I’m grateful for the experience, and I try to help others with that.
In addition to helping people manage their symptoms and treatment, nurses like me are also therapists, case managers, social workers, etc. I try to be present with each person, and I like to help people remember to focus on their life and relationships outside of their appointments. It’s important to make sure you get treatment, but it’s also important to spend quality time with your family.
There can be advantages to being a male nurse, and not just from a physical standpoint when you have to carry and lift things. Colorectal cancer can be a touchy subject because people don’t like talking about their private parts. Sometimes that’s obviously easier when it’s male to male.
To men outside of the clinic, I always stress that if they think they need to see a doctor, see a doctor. Getting screened or talking to a heath professional can save your life. I like to say, “No ego, amigo.” There’s an expectation among men that you can’t be sick; you have to be the tough guy. Cancer doesn’t care who you are—it’ll come for you if it wants to come for you. Do your health maintenance checks, get your screenings [people at average risk of colorectal cancer should start screening at age 45 or earlier if you have a strong family history of colorectal cancer or of certain types of polyps]. Never hesitate to make known how you are feeling and any symptoms you may have, such as changes in bowel habits or blood in the stool. Cancer is no longer a disease of the elderly. It’s affecting everyone at every stage of life.
Today, I’m 40 years old and I’m healthy. I love what I do, but I will say that trying to leave work at work is getting harder do to. Sometimes the strong relationships I create at work are part of what helps me take care of myself. Other days, it can feel like I gave it all at work and go home running on empty. I read something the other day that said that it’s not necessarily a bad thing that you’re running on empty. It just shows that you need to refill. I want to be present at work but also be present when I’m home with my wife and kids (a daughter, age 11, and a son, age 9), whether that’s at dinner or coaching my daughter’s volleyball team or catching my son’s lacrosse practice. To me, that’s what fills my cup.
Describe your job in three words.
Clinical. Emotional. Advocate.
Favorite medical show?
I was heavily into Grey’s Anatomy during college.
Best career advice you’ve ever received?
Don’t be afraid to fail. You don’t know the extent of what you can do until you do it.
Strangest question a patient has asked you?
It’s not strange, but a lot of guys ask, “How do I have sex with my ostomy [the pouch that collects waste outside the abdomen as a result of digestion being rerouted]?” I say, “Any way, shape or form you feel comfortable. But really, doggy style makes it so much easier.”
Morning shift or night shift?
Morning; I’m an early bird. Start earlier and you finish earlier. And for me, that helps me get home to my “real job,” which is my family.
Guilty pleasure?
Watching videos on YouTube of sports card hobbyists/collectors.
Describe the future of AI in health care.
Although we will see it more, AI will never be able to replace clinicians completely. Medicine is an art and a science, and when it comes to the art, AI will never be able to touch it.
Marty Munson, currently the health director of Men's Health, has been a health editor at properties including Marie Claire, Prevention, Shape and RealAge. She's also certified as a swim and triathlon coach.
