Brown Paper Bags: Beware of Patients Bearing Gifts

Listen to ASCO's Journal of Clinical Oncology Art of Oncology article, "Brown Paper Bags" by Dr. Stephanie Graff, who is an Associate Professor of Medicine at Brown University and Director of Breast Oncology at Brown University Health in Providence Rhode Island. The article is followed by an interview with Graff and host Dr. Mikkael Sekeres. Dr Graff shares how she handled receiving a gift from a patient.

TRANSCRIPT

Narrator: Brown Paper Bags, by Stephanie Graff, MD, FACP, FASCO

Minor demographic features of the patients described have been altered to honor their privacy

"Why are you being weird about opening the bag?" he asks.

The gift that William brought me is still sitting on the edge of the clinic examination room counter, the proverbial elephant in the room. He presented it to me the moment I entered the examination room, excited as a child giving their first Christmas gift. I have demurred, stating I will open it later. I have tried to avoid opening the bag, explaining that I do not like opening gifts in front of people. William is as tenacious about me opening this gift right now as he is about facing his disease.

I treat William for male breast cancer. I have always called him William because it is what the electronic medical record says as his preferred name. It is his first name, and when I verified on our first meeting what he preferred to be called, he said "William is fine," but just like the Sheryl Crow song says, "I'm sure it's Bill or Billy or Mack or Buddy." 1 William is electric. He lights up the examination room, engages my staff while playfully ribbing them, and has a laugh that reverberates down the hallway. He comes to each visit with a colorful story about the events that have transpired since our last appointment, vividly painting images of his children and grandchildren and his life outside the clinic walls. He swells with pride discussing his grown children like a new mother showing off photos of her baby. "Ryan just finished the most beautiful presentation deck for work. You should see it. Those slides! I bet he would show it to you." Ryan works in banking or finance or insurance—I cannot remember—but I confess I never took William up on the offer to see the slide deck.

Abruptly, William stands up, moving faster than an elderly patient with metastatic cancer should be able to move. In a single swift movement, he grabs the brown paper bag from where I abandoned it on the counter and drops it in my lap. "Open it!"

I sigh deeply, carefully unroll the top, and peek in. "I got those for the mister!" he exclaims. Inside is a bag of Werther's hard caramels. As relief floods me, I laugh a deep, slow laugh of appreciation for this 70-something man and his ability to brighten the world around him in the most surprising ways. During our last clinic visit, he told me hard caramels take the chemotaste out of his mouth, and I had confessed that my husband is also Werther's devotee, but prefers the soft chews. William made a case then and there for the hard caramels and told me I should try to get "Mr Dr Graff" to make the change. He approached the soft caramel versus hard caramel discussion with the intensity of a high school debate champion. Needless to say, the Graff household now alternates our caramels—enjoying both hard caramels and soft chews.

"Seriously. What gives with you and the bag?" he probes again. I recognize that William is not going to let this go. He is too astute and persistent. So, I decided to tell him the whole truth about gifts from patients and brown paper bagsThat first year as an oncology fellow, after months on inpatient consults, I finally started outpatient clinics just as the holidays season began. The patients, many of whom had deep and long relationships with the attending oncologists—the same relationships I was eager to build, the relationships that drove me to oncology as a profession—brought in gift after gift, homemade cookies, handmade quilts, and jars of homemade jam. It was rarely something elaborate as the patients knew the faculty could not accept anything too over the top, but it often showed the same tender thoughtfulness that you show a dear friend or favorite relative. Their favorite coffee. A T-shirt of a favorite band. Or something jovial, like a rival sports team or college's coffee mug.

It was during this time of the busy holidays, maybe the second week of December, in my own fellow's clinic, that one of my patients with solid tumor arrived with a small brown paper bag. He of course had synchronous primary malignancies that in no way aligned for a simple plan of care and was experiencing dreadful side effects, which seemed to be the way of fellow's clinic. I had been seeing him quite often, pouring every ounce of my nascent skills into trying to help him through his treatment. He handed me the bag, and in my enthusiasm and naivety and holiday spirit, I bubbled with excitement thinking "oh, he brought me a little gift!"

But my own thoughts were pouring over him saying "I brought this in for you because…" and as he was saying the rest, I tore open the bag, all the while with my eyes on him as he spoke, and plunged my hand into the bag, grabbing the…what exactly…cloth something…to hear him saying….

"…because I wanted you to see how bad this diarrhea is! Pure liquid. Bloody. Constant. I can't even make it to the bathroom," he was saying.

Yes. I was holding—in my bare hand—his soiled, blood-stained underwear. Merry Christmas.

I have not excitedly torn open a mystery gift or plunged my hand into a bag since. This is not a lesson that took more than one time to learn. In retrospect, perhaps my patient did give me a tremendous gift that day. I was given a true under-standing of his side effects, of what it means to have grade 3 diarrhea, hemorrhoidal bleeding, and fecal incontinence. If there was any chance I did not believe patients before that day, I have always believed patients since—no need to bring me evidence in a little brown bag. Thanks. I'm good.

By this point in my retelling of the story, William was nearly doubled-over in laughter, red-faced, and barely able to breathe or stay in his chair. Thus, our little ritual began. William continued to bring me gifts in brown paper bags at every visit for the rest of his time as my patient. Always small tokens. A pocket pack of Kleenex during cold season. A can ofsoup "to warm my hands," which are perpetually cold during physical examinations. A small handmade Christmas ornament. Sometimes, he would put a bag inside a bag, inside a bag…laughing like an evil super villain, while I nervously unpacked his brown paper bags of torture.

William elected to go to hospice care appropriately, living a few months with a good quality of life with home hospice. A few weeks after his passing, his son arrived at the registration desk and asked to speak with me. When I went to the front of the clinic to invite him back, to hug him, and tell him how much his father mattered to all of us at the cancer center, he handed me a brown paper bag. "He insisted" was all William's son said.

I opened it, genuinely concerned what I might find this time, nervously peeking into the bag. It was a copy of William's obituary, thanking the cancer center for all the care we had shown him and for inviting him to be part of our lives as much as we were a part of his. This is the greatest gift—the gift of impact. Of knowing my care mattered, of knowing we were truly on the same care team. I carry my patients and their families with me through life, recalling their anecdotes, wisdoms, and warnings at just the right moments. I save their precious words in a box of cards I keep at my desk. I also have a collection of hilarious, insightful, peculiar, and profound assortment of little gifts that made a patient think of me—a curio of curiosities, a microcosm of my career. I think this is why patients give these small tokens in the first place—to make tangible the gratitude, the emotion, and the bond that is ex-changed between the patient and the oncologist. In giving, we are connected. Gifts speak for us when the weight of emotion and the vulnerability of truth are too much. A gift says "you matter in my life" as much as a gift says "I want you to feel how life altering the diarrhea I have been experiencing at home has been." I have received both those gifts. They have changed me.

So, I do not know—I am thinking maybe it is time I go back to plunging my hand straight in? Because in the end, somewhere down there at the bottom, that is where all the good stuff is hidden.

Mikkael Sekeres: Welcome back to JCO's Cancer Stories: The Art of Oncology. This ASCO podcast features intimate narratives and perspectives from authors exploring their experiences in oncology. I am your host, Mikkael Sekeres. I am Professor of Medicine and Chief of the Division of Hematology at the Sylvester Comprehensive Cancer Center, University of Miami.

Today, I am so excited to be joined by Dr. Stephanie Graff, Associate Professor of Medicine at Brown University and Director of the Breast Oncology Program at Brown University Health in Providence, Rhode Island, to discuss her Journal of Clinical Oncology article, "Brown Paper Bags."

Our guests' disclosures will be linked in the transcript.

Stephanie, I am so excited to have you here. Welcome to our podcast, and thank you for joining us.

Dr. Stephanie Graff: It is such an honor to be here and to discuss this with you.

Mikkael Sekeres: Stephanie, I have to say, I feel like I know you so well because I have read your writing over years, and there is an intimacy to how you write and an honesty to it where I really feel as if we are sitting together over a table drinking an International House of Coffee mocha blend, talking about our recent trip to Paris. But I am not sure all of our listeners know you quite as well, so I am wondering if you can tell us a little bit about yourself.

Dr. Stephanie Graff: Sure. So I am on the JCO Art of Oncology editorial board, and live in Providence. So you and I have many shared interests. I love to write and I love to read, and I think that how you described my writing reflects my communication. I think that I tend to be really honest and open with patients about, about everything, about both myself and their disease. And I think that that is really what you are capturing in my story writing. I am an avid reader. I read just nonstop and write a variety of different styles of writing. I have written several breast cancer related texts, obviously academic papers. I have confessed to you in the past that I write poetry, but it is for myself. It is very unlikely to end up in the pages of JCO. I like writing stories like this when I feel like a story has been percolating in my mind for a while.

Mikkael Sekeres: Boy, there is a lot of jumping off points I want to take from what you just said, of course. Maybe we can start with your writing process. What triggers a story and how do you face the dreaded blank page?

Dr. Stephanie Graff: I think it is different for different stories. Often, it is something that has been the struggle or the relived experience that I keep turning over. And I find that like when I am walking my dog in the morning or when I am running on the treadmill, that sometimes the same moments keep coming back up in my mind: a difficult patient encounter, a heartwarming patient encounter, a challenging conflict with a peer or colleague. Those are the things that I keep going back to. And I think that as I go back to it over time, I craft that narrative. And crafting the narrative is also what helps me work through the story and cement it as a lesson that I learned from or that becomes a memory that is important to me, and ultimately makes it easy to just sit down and write, which is often, I do just sit down and write the whole story and it comes out pretty much in the form I end up submitting. But I think that that is because I have spent so much pre-contemplative thought before I get to pen to paper.

Sometimes it is, with this story, and I think I had said this in my original cover letter with "Brown Paper Bags," one of my nurses, my nurse practitioner, actually had gotten a gift from a patient that was actually wildly inappropriate for her, both as a gift from a patient and for her as an individual. And she had like brought it back to our shared workspace and was like, "Guys, like, what do I do with this?" And it prompted all of us to share our stories of like really fantastic things that patients have given us, really weird things that patients have given us, and just to end up laughing hysterically about the funny moments and getting a little teary-eyed thinking about the way that we hold on to some of those memories.

Mikkael Sekeres: I love that whole description. First of all, starting with your writing process. I think we all come out of a room sometimes where we have been meeting with a person, and our stomach just turns. There is something that did not sit right with us about the interaction or there is something that was really special about the interaction. And I think if we are thoughtful people and thoughtful doctors, we ruminate over that for a while and think to ourselves, "What was it that was really special about that, that really worked that I can actually apply to other patients?" Or, "What was it that did not work, that something that went south where I probably need to change my behavior or change how I am entering an interaction so that does not happen again?"

Dr. Stephanie Graff: Yeah, I think about it like those, you know, I am sure you have the same experience I do that a lot of your early childhood memories are actually photos of your early childhood that you can remember more clearly because you have the picture of them, and certainly the same is true for my own children. But I think that having that description, that powerful visual description of a photograph from a moment, helps you cement that memory and treasure it. And I think that the same is true with writing, that when we have an experience that if we are able to make it tangible, write about it, turn it into a song, turn it into a poem, turn it into a piece of art, whether that is, you know, an interpretive dance or a painting, whatever your expression is, that is going to be something that becomes a more concrete memory for you. And so regardless of whether it is a good memory or a bad memory, I think sometimes that that is how we learn and grow.

Mikkael Sekeres: I think that is spot on. I believe there are some theories of memory also that talk about accessing the memory over and over again so that you do not lose it and you do not lose the connections to it. And those connections can be other memories or they can be anything that occurred with our five senses when the event actually occurred.

Dr. Stephanie Graff: Yeah. That- so one of my favorite books is Audrey Niffenegger's book called The Time Traveler's Wife. Have you read that? It is- the gentleman has a, you know, genetic condition in the fictional book that makes him travel in time and he like leaves his body, his clothes are on the floor and travels back and he is drawn to moments that are important to him. So he is drawn back constantly to the moment he met his wife, he is drawn back constantly to the moment his parents died. And I think that that is true, right? Our memory takes us back to those really visceral, important moments over and over again.

Mikkael Sekeres: So you mentioned before, one of the jumping off points I wanted to explore a little bit more was when someone gets an unusual gift and brings it back to the workroom and there is that moment when everyone looks at it and the person says exactly what you said, "What do I do with this?" Right? And it is interesting that it is even a question because sometimes there is a really weird gift and there are certain people who would just immediately put it in the trash, but as oncologists, we do not, do we?

Dr. Stephanie Graff: No.

Mikkael Sekeres: That is not an option, but we want to know what it is we can do with it. So I do not know if you can remember any particularly unusual gifts you received or your colleagues received during that conversation and then what do you do with them?

Dr. Stephanie Graff: Yeah, I think that sometimes they are, I mean, honestly, like the truth is is that I have them, right? Like they are all over my life, these little trinkets and doodads, even to the point that sometimes I give gifts that are inspired by my patients, too. Like two Christmases ago, I gave all of my colleagues as their Christmas gift these blown glass octopuses because one of my patients was obsessed with octopi and it like had led to several conversations, and they have obviously eight arms, we all know that, but they have numerous hearts, they have this very complex, empathetic brain, they are thinking and feeling, very cool, cool animals if you really start to learn and read about them. And I really started to think both about how much we had all kind of rallied around this one patient and her unique love of octopi, but also like how much that animal represents what it means to practice team based care, to have this larger than life heart, to feel like you are more than one brain, like you have eight arms because you work with these really great people. So I wrote that much more eloquently than I am doing right now in a card for my team and gave them these glass octopuses for Christmas. And so, you know, I think that our patients, it is not always even a physical gift. Sometimes it is just sharing their stories that ends up staying with us.

Mikkael Sekeres: And that must not have been that long after the documentary was released about the man who had this special relationship with an octopus as well.

So do you save the gifts given to you by patients? Why or why not?

Dr. Stephanie Graff: So, obviously we get a lot of things like food and we just eat that, right? I am sure your clinic is a collection of boxes of chocolates and, so in Rhode Island, there is a lot of Portuguese patients and so we get a lot of like Portuguese bread and things like that too, which is delicious. So we have all sorts of food all the time and that just gets eaten. I do save patients'- and I realize we are not on camera for our viewing audience, but I have bizarrely, so one patient gave me this red devil, which is amazing because Adriamycin, which is obviously a really common breast cancer drug, is called the "red devil." And this is kind of a famous folk art carving by Alexander Girard. I think the actual real one is in Philadelphia at their art museum, but she was like, "You gave me the red devil, so I am going to give you the red devil." And like, I think that is hilarious. Like, I will save that forever. But I have so many other patients that have given me like little angels because I like meant a lot to them or helped them through this difficult moment. And I have all of those things, right? And so I have this kind of funny little shelf of angels and devils in my office, which is, I think, amusing.

And then, obviously I wrote about the brown paper bags. You know, that patient filled it with little things like butterscotches and a can of soup and an instant hot cocoa mix. It was stuff that like you can realistically use. It kind of comes and goes. It is not necessarily something that you have forever. I had all three of my children during my time, one in fellowship and two as a practicing oncologist, and I was practicing in the Midwest then. I have a wealth of absolutely gorgeous quilts, baby quilts, that were made by my patients for my kids. And I have saved every single one of those. I can tell you which patient made it for which child because those are just such heirlooms to me. Yeah, lots of really great things.

I am curious about you. You have to have these treasures too in your life.

Mikkael Sekeres: Oh, absolutely. Isn't it remarkable that people in the face of life threatening illnesses, and I probably have a patient population specializing in acute leukemia and myelodysplastic syndromes where their illness is often more acute than, than your typical patient in your patient population even, but even during those times, I am always so moved how people take the time to ask about us and want to know about our lives as physicians and take the time to give a gift.

And sure, I have my own shelf of curios, I think that is how you refer to it in your essay, from patients and it is very meaningful. There was one patient I treated who was a baseball fan. We were both living in Cleveland at the time. I am a Yankees fan. Both my parents are from the Bronx, so they raised me the right way, of course, even though I was raised in Providence, Rhode Island. And she was a Red Sox fan, and every time she came to visit me, she would wear red socks. It became this ongoing joke. She would wear her red socks and I would remember to wear my Yankees socks. So when we reached the five year mark, she was cured of her leukemia, she gave me a framed box of red socks to hang up. So, yeah, we have these stories and they are immediately evocative of the person we took care of and built a relationship, hopefully a long term relationship with.

Gift giving in oncology can be nuanced at times. Why do you think patients give gifts and why are they meaningful to us as caregivers?

Dr. Stephanie Graff: I mean, I think that gift giving at its heart is sometimes just a more comfortable way to express emotion for so many patients, right? And humans, right? We give gifts to celebrate births, weddings, birthdays, anniversaries, major holidays, right, for our own friends and family. And so it makes sense that that cultural or social tradition exists where we give gifts to acknowledge and celebrate that someone is important and a part of our life. And so often, I think it is just a way for a patient to say, "You have been here for me, I see you, I see the work you do, I appreciate you." So it is a way to say thank you that to any individual patient feels bigger than just the words.

Obviously, I want to say as- if any patient stumbles onto this podcast, just the words are more than enough and we do not even need that. Like it is my greatest honor to care for the patients that allow me to enter their lives and care for them. Like, I do not need them to tell me thank you. I certainly do not need them to give me a gift, but I think that is a big part of why patients do it. But I think another part of it is that in many ways, you know, we have all seen that when somebody is diagnosed with cancer, that they have this real reckoning with their family and friends where people that they thought were very good friends do not know how to show up for them. And so sometimes they see these shifting dynamics in their friend groups, especially maybe for our younger patients or mid aged patients that just their friends are so busy. There is lots that goes on, right, that I think that often the gift is saying, "Thank you for showing up." We were a constant in their life during that time and for many of my patients, they do not have that constancy from the other people in their life.

And so again, if anyone stumbles onto this podcast and someone in your life that you love is diagnosed with cancer, the most important thing that any of us can do for someone battling a chronic illness is just show up. And I often tell people even uninvited, like, show up and offer to take their laundry back to your house, show up and drop off a meal because I think that the people saying, "Well, let me know what I can do," is not helpful because it is really awkward to tell people what to do when you are battling an illness.

Mikkael Sekeres: That notion of presence is just so important and you enunciated it beautifully. When my patients say to me, "Oh, I want to get you something," I always respond the same way that you do. I always say, "Your good health is the greatest gift that I could hope for," and just the, just the words and the presence are enough.

I wanted to end quoting you to yourself and asking you to reflect on it. You write, "I carry my patients and their families with me through life, recalling their anecdotes, wisdoms, and warnings at just the right moments." Stephanie, what are those moments when you lean on the anecdotes and wisdom of your patients?

Dr. Stephanie Graff: Patients will say things to me about - oh gosh, I will get all teary thinking about it - you know, patients say things to me who are my, you know, stage four metastatic patients about what has mattered to them in life. And it makes it so easy for me to leave that thing undone and go home at the end of the day because none of them say, "It really mattered to me that I spent that extra hour at work or that I got that promotion or that raise." I am in the habit of, when I meet patients for the first time and they are at a visit with their husband or their wife or their partner, I will ask how long they have been together. And when patients tell me that it has been decades, 40, 50, 60 years, I will ask what the secret is, because I am at 17 years of marriage and I'd love to see 63, which is my record for a patient story. And my one patient during a visit, the wife and I were talking and I asked how long they had been married. We had already had a pretty long visit at that point when it came up, and the whole visit, the husband had just sat in the corner, very quiet, had not said a word. For all I know, he could have been nonverbal. And she said, "Oh, we have been married 60 years." And I said, "Oh my gosh, what is the secret?" And before she could even open her mouth, he goes, "Separate bathrooms." I think about it all the time. Like any time I am like annoyed with my husband getting ready in the morning, I am like, "Yep, separate bathrooms. It is the key to everything." Bringing those little moments, those little things that patients say to you that just pop back up into your mind are so wonderful. Like those rich little anecdotes that patients share with you are really things that stay with you long term.

Mikkael Sekeres: So it does not surprise me, Stephanie, that you and I have settled on the same line of questioning with our patients. I wrote an Art of Oncology piece a few years ago called exactly that: "What I Learned About Love From My Patients," asking the exact same question. It was a fascinating exploration of long term marriage from people who say, "Oh, you have to have a sense of humor," which you always hear, to some things that were just brutally honest where somebody said, "Well, I could not find anybody better, so I just settled," right? Because they are in the oncologist's office and sometimes people will speak very dark truths in our clinics. But my favorites were always the people where I would ask them and the husband and wife would turn to each other and just hold hands and say, "I do not know, I just love her." And I always thought to myself, that is the marriage for me.

Dr. Stephanie Graff: My husband and I trained together. He was a fellow when I was a resident. So we had one rotation together in our entire careers and it was in cardiology. Like he was like the fellow on cardiovascular ICU and I was the resident on cardiology. And the attending had been prodding this woman who had heart disease about how she needed to be more physically active and said something to the extent to the patient about how he could tell that she was more of a couch potato, that she really needed to get more active. Mind you, this is a long time ago. And her husband, I mean, they are older patients, her husband boldly interrupts the attending physician and says, "She may be a couch potato, but she is my sweet potato." And my husband and I every once in a while will quip, "Well, you are my sweet potato" to one another because we still, we both remembered that interaction all these years later. Like, that is love. I do not know what else is love if it is not fighting for your wife's honor by proclaiming her your 'sweet potato'.

Mikkael Sekeres: Well, I cannot say just how much of a treat it has been to have you here, Stephanie. This has been Stephanie Graff, Associate Professor of Medicine at Brown University and Director of the Breast Oncology Program at Brown University Health in Providence, Rhode Island, discussing her Journal of Clinical Oncology article, "Brown Paper Bags."

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Until next time, this has been Mikkael Sekeres. Thank you for joining us.

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. Guest 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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Guest Bio: Stephanie Graff, MD, FACP, FASCO is an Associate Professor of Medicine at Brown University and Director of Breast Oncology at Brown University Health in Providence Rhode Island

Additional Reading: What My Patients Taught Me About Love, by Mikkael Sekeres