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JCO's Cancer Stories: The Art of Oncology podcast series consists of author interviews and readings of the section’s content. This platform provides authors with the opportunity to comment on their work, offers better accessibility for readers, and stimulates moreconversations. Art of Oncology publishes personal essays, reflections, and opinions in the Journal of Clinical Oncology, giving our readers a chance to reflect on important aspects of practice and help shape our professional discourse. We hope you enjoy listening to these thought-provoking stories.


Dr. Lidia Schapira

Cancer Stories is hosted by Dr. Lidia Schapira, MD, FASCO.

Dr. Schapira is the Associate editor for JCO’s Art of Oncology. She is a Professor of Medicine at Stanford University School of Medicine where she serves as the Director of the Cancer Survivorship Program. 

All guests on ASCO podcasts agree to provide evidence-based information to our listeners. Guests agree to provide objective commentary free from commercial bias, and they agree to respect patient privacy. Conflict of Interest disclosures in connection with the content of the podcast will be provided with each episode.


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The purpose of this podcast is to educate and to inform. This is not a substitute for professional medical care and is not intended for use in the diagnosis or treatment of individual conditions. Guests on this podcast express their own opinions, experience, and conclusions. Guests' statements on the podcast do not express the opinions of ASCO. The mention of any product, service, organization, activity, or therapy should not be construed as an ASCO endorsement.

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Nov 8, 2021

A physician attempts to ease a patient’s pain, a painful moment somewhat eased by the joy of music.



SPEAKER 1: The purpose of this podcast is to educate and to inform. This is not a substitute for professional medical care and is not intended for use in the diagnosis or treatment of individual conditions. Guests on this podcast express their own opinions, experience, and conclusions. The mention of any product, service, organization, activity, or therapy should not be construed as an ASCO endorsement.



RICHARD LEITER: Ode to Joy. "Is now an OK time?" I asked as I quietly entered the dimly lit room on a Saturday afternoon. "Yes, we've been waiting for you," my patient's wife Julie responded in the same calm, composed voice she had maintained all week. "Before we start, what questions do you have?" "I think you answered all of them this morning. I'm ready. Tom is ready. We just don't want him to suffer anymore." "OK, we'll get started."

When I was in training, I had seen my preceptors initiate palliative sedation, but this was my first experience doing so as an attending physician. After being dormant for so long, my impostor syndrome returned. Though I was confident that I was taking the clinically-appropriate next step, I was nervous. I asked Tanya, our charge nurse and the nurse who was primarily caring for him over the last few days, to draw up the syringe.

She did so with practiced confidence and handed it to me. I held it between my fingers, wondering how slowly I would need to push it to ensure the 2 milliliters of midazolam went in over a full five minutes. Tanya cleaned off the side port of his IV. I twisted the syringe into place. I looked up at Julie. She squeezed Tom's hand.

I had first heard about Tom nearly a week earlier, when my colleague was handing off the service to me. "He's in his 50s, metastatic cancer. He was home on hospice and came in yesterday with uncontrolled pain. We started him on ketamine and he looks much better. The plan is to wean his ketamine, increase his methadone, and get him back home, hopefully in the next day or two."

Stoic from years of pain from cancer eating away at his bones, Tom lay in bed with his eyes closed, his furrowed brow the only sign of his ongoing agony. When the nurses tried to move him, he screamed. After we weaned his ketamine, his pain quickly worsened. We increased methadone and hydromorphone. Neither gave him adequate relief. We restarted ketamine, but it proved to be no match for his pain.

On rounds one morning, Julie asked if Tom could make it home. I told her I didn't think so and explained how worried I was about his pain. If we sent him home, I was concerned the pain would force him to come right back. Julie told me her kids would be disappointed, but that they'd understand, as she did. Easing Tom's suffering was more important. The hospital bed his family had set up in the living room would remain empty, a physical manifestation of cancer's unending cruelty.

The hospital bed his family had set up in the living room would remain empty, a physical manifestation of cancer's unending cruelty. We talked about what would come next. If further titrating his medications proved ineffective, which I worried it would be, we would need to consider palliative sedation. "Whatever you need to do," Julie responded, her voice barely betraying the exhaustion I imagine she was feeling.

Palliative sedation is a procedure used to relieve refractory suffering in a terminally-ill patient. Clinicians carefully sedate the patient, often to the point of unconsciousness, to relieve symptoms such as pain, nausea, shortness of breath, or agitated delirium. It is a procedure of last resort, and in our hospital, requires the approval of two attending physicians and the unit's nursing director.

Though palliative sedation may shorten a patient's life, ethicists and clinicians have long regarded it as acceptable because its goal is not to hasten death but rather to relieve suffering. This is known as the doctrine of double effect, by which an action with at least one possible good effect and at least one possible bad effect can be morally permissible. Back in his room on that Saturday afternoon, I looked over at Tanya, the nurse, then at Harry, my fellow, who had been caring for Tom all week.

I took in a breath under my mask, then slowly began to inject the contents of the syringe into his IV. In the quiet, I could hear the music coming from Julie's phone, which she had placed on the pillow beside his head. A pianist played a slow, mournful rendition of the final movement of Beethoven's Ninth Symphony, the Ode to Joy. In my head, I sang along.

(SINGING) Joyful, joyful, we adore thee.

I went to a traditionally Anglican school. 600 boys of all faiths and backgrounds, we'd rise each morning in assembly and sing hymns together. We cheered, yelled, and thumped on our pews-- a few minutes of raucous togetherness before we devolved into the usual bullies and cliques for the rest of the day. Tom's room couldn't have been more different. He remained completely still.

Though Julie held his hand, he was alone, as we all felt in that room.

(SINGING) Hearts unfold like flowers before thee, opening to the sun above.

I felt the soft resistance of the syringe's plunger hitting the barrel. I looked back up at Tom. His chest fell, but didn't rise. I waited. He didn't breathe. The music slowed down. I felt Harry's eyes pivoting back and forth between my face and Tom's chest. I fixed my eyes on Julie's hands wrapped around her husband's. Despite the tension of the last week, she was calm, gentle.

I matched my breath to hers. If she could exude such peace, so could I, I thought. I noticed Tom's hands. He had a piano player's fingers, long and slender. I pictured him sitting at the piano in their living room. I wondered who would take his place on the bench. I wondered if he could hear the song playing beside him. Had he and Julie chosen it for this moment? Did it bring back joyful memories, as it did for me?

(SINGING) Melt the clouds of sin and sadness, drive the dark of doubt away.

He didn't breathe. Did my first attempt at palliative sedation become euthanasia? Even if so, was this OK? I rehashed our conversations from the last few days. We talked about the risks. I went over the dose. Double effect, I reassured myself. Even so, as bedside nurses have told me, it's easier to talk about philosophy when you're not holding the syringe.

I thought about how I would explain Tom's death to Julie. I wondered if she would be angry, upset, relieved? With the help of my outpatient colleagues, they had spent years preparing for his death. His financial affairs were in order, and he had done legacy work with his kids. More than nearly anyone I had cared for, they were ready. Were we? Was I?

(SINGING) Mortals join the happy chorus which the morning stars began.

He breathed in. Not a grand gasp, a slow, soft inhalation. Tom's hand flexed ever so slightly around Julie's. In my head, I thumped a pew.



SPEAKER 2: Welcome to "JCO's Cancer Stories-- The Art of Oncology," brought to you by the ASCO Podcast Network, a collection of nine programs covering a range of educational and scientific content and offering enriching insight into the world of cancer care. You can find all of the shows, including this one, at

SPEAKER 3: The guest on this podcast episode has no disclosures to declare.


LIDIA SCHAPIRA: Welcome to "Cancer Stories-- The Art of Oncology" podcast series. I'm your host Lidia Schapira. And with me today is Dr. Richard Leiter, physician and member of the Psychosocial Oncology and Palliative Care team at Dana-Farber Cancer Institute in Boston and the Brigham and Women's Hospital. Welcome to our podcast.

RICHARD LEITER: Thank you so much for having me.

LIDIA SCHAPIRA: It's a real pleasure. You submitted a beautiful narrative piece called "Ode to Joy." And I'd like to start today, Richard, by just focusing first on the case that you present to us. Let me tell you how I understand Tom's history, and then you can correct me if this is not the way that you'd like him to be understood. And remember, Tom is a man in his 50s who's lived with metastatic cancer to bones for years.

In your narrative, you're very careful and document the fact that you've worked with many members of your palliative medicine team for a long time, that there had been many efforts to control his pain, his suffering, and he had to be hospitalized for pain management. He was already receiving home hospice care. There was a bed in the living room in the center of the family home. And he had a very supportive family and a wife that we'll call Julie at bedside. Is that the proper framing for the story?

RICHARD LEITER: Exactly. Yep. Yeah. I think what I would add is that the goal was really to control his pain and get him back home.

LIDIA SCHAPIRA: So now you're there as the fresh attending in palliative medicine, and you're called in, and it becomes quite clear to you after a few days of changing his medications that the pain is refractory. And that it-- you note here that he screams when he is moved, that the level of pain reaches what you have called agony. So tell us a little bit more about how a palliative medicine consultant or physician approaches this kind of situation in hospital today.

RICHARD LEITER: Yeah, no. Great. Thanks so much. So we were, I would say, lucky enough to have him on our intensive palliative care unit, where we're caring for patients with difficult and sometimes refractory symptoms at any stage of the disease. So not only for end of life. But we do see a number of cases like his every year, every few months, where someone is getting closer to the end of life.

The goal is to really focus on intensive symptom management. And their symptoms are challenging to control. So I think the first step, always, is a good history, right? Where is this pain coming from? What treatments have they tried already? What's worked? What hasn't? We're going to titrate medications, but select medications based on that and titrate them.

I think someone who has been involved with my outpatient colleagues and has been receiving hospice services at home has often gone through many treatment modalities. So it's really taking what they've been on before and starting to add to it. So for Tom, I had inherited him from one of my colleagues, who had admitted him a couple of days earlier. And at that point, he was already on a hydromorphone infusion and ketamine, as I talk about in the piece.

Ketamine had been started, hopefully, as a bridge to get him back home. And he had been on methadone, which is one of our most potent agents for, not only nociceptive pain, so our basic kind of bony pain or visceral organ pain, but also if there's pain with a neuropathic component. Methadone is an opioid that can be particularly effective there. So I think it's saying, OK, well, have we hit all of our receptors in managing their pain?

Are we managing the anxiety on top of that? Are we doing everything we can? Are there procedures that we could do to help with their pain? Sometimes we're talking about intrathecal pumps for instance. And obviously, that's a more involved discussion. How much time does someone have left? Are the goals really to put them through a procedure in order to get their pain under control? But we frequently work with our interventional pain colleagues to tease out whether a procedure would be helpful for a particular patient.

So those are the thoughts that always go through my mind when I'm approaching someone with severe cancer-related pain.

LIDIA SCHAPIRA: So this is a very thoughtful approach. And I think one of the messages is that it seems palliative medicine and pain management are integrated into the care of patients with advanced cancer, which is a very important message for our listeners and our readers. And here you are, you have all of this, you have good communication, it seems, with your team members, with the patient's family, and there's nothing more that you can think of doing.

And you're now starting to think about interventions that we normally don't think of, except as a last resort. Bring this to the bedside. Tell us a little bit about the recommendation for palliative sedation and when that's indicated in care.

RICHARD LEITER: Yeah. So palliative sedation, as I write in the piece, it's a measure of last resort. And certainly, in our hospital's protocol, it explicitly states it's when all other options have been tried. As we start to integrate more options, it's always a conversation we're having among our team-- is when is palliative sedation truly indicated. How many boxes do we need to check before going down the palliative sedation route?

And I think-- so we started to think about-- we had him on ketamine. We tried to wean him off, it didn't go well. We restarted ketamine. We started dexmedetomidine, which can be useful. Precedex, the brand name, they oftentimes use it in the ICU for sedation, but we find that it can be helpful in cases of refractory pain as well. And my practice has been-- and though I haven't gotten to palliative sedation until this case-- when I'm thinking about Precedex, I'm also starting conversations with the patient or their family, and certainly our team, about palliative sedation to say if this doesn't work, this is where we're headed.

LIDIA SCHAPIRA: And why is this situation so difficult, so personally anxiety-provoking for you? You do use words that convey that you are feeling nervous, or perhaps even anxious. Tell us why.

RICHARD LEITER: I think it's-- relieving our patient's suffering, relieving their families suffering is certainly the core of much of medicine and very much the core of what we do in palliative care. And I think to have someone in just such a terrible situation-- putting aside the pain, right? This is a man who's dying of his cancer, has a relatively young family. That alone is an awful situation. And my job is to make that situation a little bit less bad, is to ease the suffering.

LIDIA SCHAPIRA: And there's something about this particular procedure, however, that adds a level of intensity and nervousness for you, and that is that perhaps-- you can describe this better than I-- but the fact that in some cases, this could have the unintended effect of actually causing respiratory depression or even hastening death and something that you have explained in your piece, if I understood you correctly, as the double effect. Did I get that right?

RICHARD LEITER: Yeah, that's right. So the worry or one of the considerations with palliative sedation is that it could hasten someone's death. Oftentimes, the doses of the medications that we're using, if we're titrating them slowly, there are studies that show that it doesn't necessarily. I do think, though, when we tie it into withholding artificial nutrition and hydration, in that case, had the person been awake enough to eat and drink before, we do know that it would probably hasten their death, right, from that part of it, but not necessarily the sedation aspect.

So double effect is basically saying this is ethically OK-- and there are a number of criteria. But if we are intending the good effect and not the bad effect and that it's proportional to the gravity of the situation so that not every patient who comes in with bad pain undergoes palliative sedation.

LIDIA SCHAPIRA: My favorite line, Richard, in the piece-- and one that I now have read probably dozens of times-- is this-- "the double effect, I reassured myself. Even so, as bedside nurses have told me, it's easier to talk about philosophy when you're not holding the syringe." And that just gives me goosebumps thinking about it. What did you feel when you were holding the syringe?

RICHARD LEITER: Exactly as I wrote about. There's all of the cognitive processes going on. And I ran it by another attending, I ran it by the nursing director, I ran-- everyone was on the same page, that this was medically indicated in this situation. And yet, when I'm standing there in the room-- patient, his wife, my fellow, and the nurse-- and I'm the one holding the syringe, watching the medication go in, it felt completely different to me.

And there's a power that comes with it. In one sense, I felt like I was there for my patient. Here I am, standing here doing this to ease his suffering. And then the other, the unintended consequences of the sedation are real, and that feels different when you're the one physically doing it.

LIDIA SCHAPIRA: I think one of the incredible gifts you've given us as readers is to share this with us and really adds a different dimension to the discussion of the complexity of what it is to be present, not just as a witness, in this case, but as somebody, as you say, with a power to really control so many things in the situation. And I thank you for sharing that with us. And question to you is, did writing about it in any way help you process this emotional, very powerful experience?

RICHARD LEITER: Absolutely. I write to process. I write when I feel like I have something to say. And oftentimes, I write when a particular moment struck me. And I think that that moment, sitting there, pushing the medication, waiting for that breath while the music was playing was so poignant for me that I walked out of the room and I remember thinking to myself that night as I was decompressing on my walk home from work, I think I need to write about this.

LIDIA SCHAPIRA: So thank you for writing about it, and then, of course, for submitting for review and to share it with people. Let me bring the music in. Music is such an important part of our sensory experience. So as you were holding the syringe, Julie, Tom's wife, puts the phone on the pillow and she plays the piano version of Ode to Joy from Beethoven's Ninth Symphony, which I want to play for our listeners now.



So Ode to Joy meant something, clearly, to Tom and Julie. And you said that you watched-- perhaps you were watching for his reactions. But tell me a little bit about what it meant to you. You sprinkled your essay with the lines for the choral for Ode to Joy, which has a religious significance as well. So tell us a little bit about that.

RICHARD LEITER: Yeah. So I grew up in Toronto. I went to an all-boys school there that had a traditionally Anglican background, though I'm not-- I'm Jewish. We would sing hymns. And over the course of my time there, the hymns became less denominational and more multicultural and inclusive. And it was a moment-- it was a nice moment where everyone got into it. It's 600 boys singing, and so I still remember the words to Ode to Joy vividly.

Anytime I hear it, I can replay the words in my head. And I found myself, in those moments in the room, really thinking about it. And the words were still-- as I was processing and watching Tom and Julie and making sure I was pushing the medication at the right speed, there was this soundtrack. It's a strange moment too, because they're good memories for me, and yet I'm in this incredibly solemn, intimate moment in my patient's room.

LIDIA SCHAPIRA: And so as we're getting to the end of the piece and there's all of this tension that you've built up in the writing and the narrative-- and here you are, you're waiting and you hear the music and so on-- and then you finally let the tension out and he breathes. It's not a huge breath, but it's a soft, slow inhalation. And you see that the hand is flexed slightly around his wife, so he's still breathing.

And you finish with this line that you say, "In my head, I thumped a pew." And I have to ask you about that. What does that mean to you?

RICHARD LEITER: Yeah. So in that moment, it was relief, is what it was. Just the sense of, OK, this went-- it's my first time doing this, and this went OK. He appears more comfortable. He is still breathing. This is OK. And it just brought me back when we would thump the pews as we were singing the hymns. Our principal did not like it, but--


But I think it was just that it was relief. I hesitate to say it was joy because I don't think there's joy in a situation like that, in the room. But there was a sense of satisfaction maybe, or professional satisfaction, the, OK, this is what we can do. And as bad as the situation is, there was something that we could do to make him somewhat more comfortable.

LIDIA SCHAPIRA: Well, I certainly learned a lot. I wonder if now that some time has passed since this event, if you have any additional reflections on how this story has impacted your professional delivery of care, or perhaps the way you teach others, and if there are any parting comments that you'd like to leave us with. So I haven't had another case where I've needed to do palliative sedation, though we've thought about it in a couple of cases.

I do think it's helped me, when I talk about palliative sedation with our trainees, to add the emotional valence. I think I was pretty good at talking about the importance of making sure everyone's on the same page and talking to the patient and the family and nursing staff. But to really talk about the significance of that moment for us as clinicians and how it does feel different-- at least it did for me-- and I think drawing on my personal experience is helpful in teaching it to the fellows that it's OK to feel like that when you're doing this.

LIDIA SCHAPIRA: There are moments in medicine-- certainly in what you do-- that are really difficult. And this, probably, I would imagine, ranks as one of the top things. And it should never be easy. It will never be easy. The day that you think it's easy, you need to find something else, right?

RICHARD LEITER: I think that's right. I think that's right.

LIDIA SCHAPIRA: Well, thank you so much, Richard. You made me laugh, you made me cry reading this, and I thank you very much. My last question is, have you had a chance to talk with Tom's widow Julie about what that moment felt like to her?

RICHARD LEITER: I have not, although I hope to in the near future.

LIDIA SCHAPIRA: And that will be your next piece for us.


All right. Well, thank you very much and until the next time. Hope you all enjoy reading Ode to Joy.

RICHARD LEITER: Thank you so much.

SPEAKER 1: Until next time, thank you for listening to this "JCO's Cancer Stories-- The Art of Oncology" podcast. If you enjoyed what you heard today, don't forget to give us a rating or review on Apple Podcasts or wherever you listen. While you're there, be sure to subscribe so you never miss an episode. "JCO's Cancer Stories-- The Art of Oncology" podcast is just one of ASCO's many podcasts. You can find all of the shows at