Reports of my death from a brain cancer have not been evidence-based (at least so far)
Authors: URIEL HALBREICH
Journal: World Psychiatry (2010)

At the WPA Florence 2009 Congress, it has been quite interesting to be greeted by a number of colleagues saying “I'm glad to see you, I heard that you were severely ill and died of brain cancer”. Well I'm not dead yet, and, to my knowledge, never had a “brain cancer”. I had meningioma that was successfully removed and have not had any physical symptoms since then. The neurosurgeon's conclusion was: “you are like new”. I do not live with a sand-clock and I am pursuing long-term projects. However, one of my resolutions of “becoming like new” following the opening of my cranium is to keep my mind open and speak my mind up. In this regard I wish to illuminate some quick-sand experiences that we as self-proclaimed experts on human behavior may share. They are our own responses when dealing with a friend or colleague who is supposedly severely ill and may be dying. One of the two extremes that I encountered were colleagues who expressed over-concern and over-empathy. They would rub my arm with a concerned expression, saying “So, are you OK? Do you really feel fine? I understand your condition”. That started to remind me of Bill Clinton's “I feel your pain”. But he was a politician, a gifted communicator who addressed groups in real distress. If I replied “I am fine”, these colleagues continued to insist that this could not be so — they heard differently and insisted to continue with the “hyper-empathy”. The most efficient way for me to get out of this situation was to actually tell them the uninteresting details and complain about the quasi-empathy. They disappeared within a couple of minutes. On the other extreme were people who pretended not to notice me and went by me gazing at a far away target. Some of them later shifted to the other extreme and apologetically called with “hyper-empathy”. Interestingly, the frequency of these two behaviors increased when the American media were flooded with reports that Ted Kennedy, the beloved US senator, had a brain tumor. Until then, I did not know that the Senator from Massachusetts may have any direct personal impact on me, but then I started getting phone calls inquiring how I was doing with “my brain tumor”. When I called an “old” friend (84 years old, 30 years friendship) on the phone, her response was “Err” followed by a long silence. I asked her what was the “Err”. She said “I heard you had a brain cancer and died, all my friends are dead or dying, where are you calling from?”. Well, I am still writing this communication. The message? Psychiatrists look at thy self. We behave like any other human. At least we should be aware of this and attempt to rectify it and control it when warranted. Pretension that “all is as usual” may sometimes be better than avoidance of potentially embarrassing situations, or pretension of empathy that the (possibly oversensitive) receiver will perceive as insincere, especially if it comes from somebody who was never regarded as a person who really cared. The removal of my intracranial space-occupant was apparently peaceful, but the social and professional aftermaths encouraged further reflections. The subjective experience turned out to be part of my lifelong continuing medical education, though with no formal credits. I would encourage colleagues to share with me (biobehav@buffalo.edu) their subjective experiences and observations that may be generalized. Hopefully we will organize an open session in one of our future meetings. The aim will be an operational contribution towards enhanced camaraderie as well as behavioral and relational change.