Those Famous Anti-Cancer Physicians Who Themselves Died of Cancer

On June 23, 2019, Professor Wang Lei, former vice president of the Sixth Affiliated Hospital of Sun Yat-sen University and a renowned colorectal-cancer specialist, died of pancreatic cancer after unsuccessful treatment, at the age of 50. Like him, other physicians who were both famous anti-cancer doctors and cancer patients include Professor Pan Mingji of Fujian, Professor He Ren of Zhejiang, the Beijing famous physician Professor Kong Sibo, and Professor Zhang Jingren of Shanghai.

Among these famous anti-cancer physicians who themselves fell ill with cancer, some won their fight: Professor Pan Mingji and Professor He Ren treated themselves with integrated Chinese and Western medicine and both lived to a great age—especially Professor He Ren, who had cancer for decades and died in his nineties. Others lost the fight, such as Professor Wang Lei and Professor Kong Sibo, both of whom had relatively short survival. Professor Wang Lei treated himself with Western medicine; Professor Kong Sibo, after developing lung cancer, treated himself with Chinese medicine for three years, and in the end both lost their fight, their lives taken by cancer.

Famous anti-cancer physicians have fought the cancer they themselves developed, some successfully and some unsuccessfully. This fully shows how hard cancer is to deal with, and also proves that medicine has an inherent uncertainty—what famous anti-cancer physician would not want to cure himself? Their medical expertise is rich, yet it still could not save them. If one day I myself develop cancer, I likewise do not know whether I have the ability to treat myself to a good result.

Patients often ask me whether I can be sure of controlling the progression of their cancer; I always try to choose a rather "slippery" answer between telling the truth and caring for their psychology.

From the bottom of my heart I would like to answer truthfully that I have no certainty at all, but so as not to crush their already fragile hearts, I tell them there is still hope—and indeed, some patients do have hope. And the reason those hopeful patients improve under treatment is half truly related to the doctor's skill, and half to their good fortune.

A famous Korean physician once said: it is God who saves the patient; the doctor only builds a bridge between the patient and God. A doctor's effective treatment of a patient is both the doctor's good fortune and the patient's good fortune; it is improper for a doctor to claim heaven's merit as his own.

That anti-cancer doctors die of cancer is something I understand very well. Perhaps not only in China, but everywhere in the world, doctors work under great pressure, and anti-cancer doctors especially. Facing life and death, taut nerves, high-intensity work, and the heightened vigilance needed when not understood or appreciated by some patients and relatives—all can exhaust body and mind.

My asthma, which had not flared for more than ten years, has in the last two years shown signs of frequent attacks, especially recently, growing more obvious. If I can rest fully for a few days, the symptoms ease greatly. But the arrow is on the string and must fly; whether I can rest well is often entirely out of my control. So many long-maintained patients pin a thread of hope of life on me; it is already impossible for me to stop, and I can only adjust my routine as best I can. I therefore also have to set necessary thresholds and cut back my workload.

I believe the reason Professor Wang Lei developed pancreatic cancer at such a young age and passed away so early is not unrelated to the enormous work pressure he bore in life.

Recently I brought my father to live with me, because our village is growing ever emptier and the elderly are very lonely living there alone. Living with me he is also lonely; to ease that loneliness I have set aside some time to accompany him, take him for walks, and design his old age for him.

My father has age-related constipation. While solving his age-related constipation by adjusting his diet and using moderate medication (incidentally, I think for the elderly, supplementing probiotics, yeast and vitamins works much better than taking medicine), I also comfort him emotionally.

These take up much of my time, but they have inadvertently eased my work pressure. The person who brought me into this world—one has already passed on, and one has grown old. Accompanying my father is both an emotional need and a duty and responsibility I owe.

And my father, in order to spare me work and help me preserve my health, and to protect his son from harm, often comes to my workplace to watch me work and remind me to rest.

Many doctors sacrifice their own lives to serve society. Yet in the fields they are best at, they may not even be able to solve their own problems—the so-called "a doctor cannot treat himself" precisely reflects the professional embarrassment revealed by medical uncertainty.

That famous anti-cancer physicians cannot solve their own cancer problems also reflects that, no matter how famous doctors become in their own field, their insight remains limited.

The reason Professor Pan Mingji and Professor He Ren won their fight against cancer relates both to their luck and to their deep understanding of both Chinese and Western medicine. Today many famous anti-cancer physicians know only the very small field they are familiar with. So, though they are famous doctors, once they develop cancer they cannot themselves devise a reasonable, comprehensive anti-cancer plan, nor win a longer survival for themselves.

In view of this, patients really need not take any one famous physician's words too much to heart. As a patient, when devising a comprehensive anti-cancer plan for yourself, you may learn from our ancestors' attitude that "listening to both sides enlightens, listening to one side darkens": widely seek opinions from many sides, rather than following only one famous doctor. Most students of medicine, myself included, may be merely medical technicians proficient in one field. A rational patient or relative must have his own judgment.

I believe the attitude of a rational help-seeker is to take the doctor's opinions as reference; even if a doctor is world-famous, there is no need to listen to only one. Whoever blindly worships a particular doctor risks "a leaf blocking the eye so one cannot see Mount Tai," and risks losing his life through his own superstition.

This also reminds me to keep necessary humility, not to learn a little surface knowledge and then be so full of myself that I look down on everything. What we do not know is far more than what we know.