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The Dartboard Toss and the Algorithm

By GEORGE BEAUREGARD

How A.I. could have personalized my 2005 cancer journey

I don’t think I’m in the minority of Baby Boomer physicians when it comes to my curiosity and ambivalence about the progressing application of A.I. in medicine. But that curiosity isn’t just prospective, it’s retrospective too. In 2005, I became an outlier who perhaps needed something other than the standard of care for a disease.

During the fall of 2005, I first saw a single drop of blood hit the toilet water while I was urinating in my bathroom. After hitting the water, the rose-colored bead slowly sank, twisting and contorting, dissipating like a puff of smoke. The evidence was fleeting—gone in seconds. If I were a spectator rather than the source, I might have admired its visual artistry. There was no associated pain.

A single thought ran through my mind: Did I just pee blood? I thought I had perhaps imagined it.

I was 49 years old and didn’t have what were considered risk factors for kidney or bladder cancer: smoking, obesity, advanced age, high blood pressure, or exposures to cadmium, trichloroethylene, or herbicides. But I was adopted and lacked any knowledge whatsoever about my family history. Did I have a grim genealogy? What was perhaps significant, however, was that both of my adoptive parents had developed different types of urogenital cancer. That led me to speculate that environmental factors related to materials in our house and/or the land it sat on or around it had perhaps played a role.

I tried to dismiss any concerns, but the adage “painless hematuria is cancer until proven otherwise” ran through my mind in chyron-like fashion.

The episodes continued and worsened, prompting an ultrasound, the report of which read: “…a soft tissue density is seen in the base of the bladder toward the right. While this could represent thrombus, I cannot rule out a primary mucosal lesion. The lesion measures approximately 4 X 5 cm in diameter.”

I consulted a urologist colleague, who performed a cystoscopy. His comment about what he saw: “As you know, you have a mass in your bladder. I got a very good view of it. It’s pretty angry-looking, so I suspect it’s not benign. I tried to remove as much as I could. It would’ve been pretty risky to scrape deeper and risk puncturing your bladder. I know I didn’t get all of it.” A TURBT soon followed. The pathology showed a high-grade urothelial carcinoma extensively invading the lamina propria and muscularis propria. There was multifocal lymphovascular invasion, so I probably had a more advanced subgroup than the localized SEER stage.

At that time, the relative five-year survival rate for stage II muscle-invasive bladder cancer was about 45 percent.

Overwhelmingly, bladder cancer is an age-related malignancy. So, there I was, 49 years old, with a cancer whose median age of incidence—septuagenarians— was much older than mine. A WTF moment.

One that started me thinking about how much time I had left.

So, I had cancer, but in some ways felt cautiously optimistic. I had access to Boston-based academic centers and specialist colleagues who were willing to see me quickly, and good insurance.

But getting the diagnosis was only the beginning. I saw three expert urologists, each of whom recommended a radical cystectomy, small bowel resection, and construction of an orthotopic ileal neobladder. Convergence. Certainty for me.

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Between Hope and Grief: A Medical Memoir of Father, Son, and Family

By GEORGE BEAUREGARD

This piece is different from the typical “health-care industry” topics covered in this forum. 

My Sunday morning routine usually involves getting a cup of coffee and downloading the most recent editions of magazines on my iPad.

The cover of the February 13 edition of Time magazine immediately caught my attention because the title read “OUR CANCER MYSTERY. WHY IT’S NOW STRIKING US SO YOUNG’’. Four people are on the cover: their names, cancer types, and age at diagnosis displayed. 18 to 40. I imagine that the majority of readers might describe their expressions as neutral and composed, their posture calm.

But I see what exists below the restrained surfaces. Something I am all too familiar with. Disbelief. Worry, Bewilderment. Uncertainty. Sadness.

Although overdue, a major news magazine had finally put it out there, front and center. A call to action.

On September 14, 2017, I was standing in a hospital room in Boston, when my previously healthy son, Patrick, then 29, received the shocking news that he probably had stage 4 colorectal cancer, which further tests confirmed. That grave diagnosis came with a bleak 14 percent relative 5-year survival rate. Like the cognitive simulation of Schrödinger’s cat, my beloved son’s life now lay in a sealed box, with a hammer hovering over a flask of toxin. Would it fall, smash the vial, and kill my son? I could only be an observer. I desperately wanted to be the one in the box instead of him.

Fatherhood and medicine are integral to my identity. Throughout the three years during which he received superb care at Dana Farber Cancer Institute,  in Boston, I had to be his father first, offering emotional support with love and hope. The physician adviser part was a secondary role.

Despite his indomitable spirit, positivity and best efforts, Patrick took his last breath on September 6, 2020, in his childhood home, Although relieved that his suffering was over, I was caught in immense sorrow, not yet realizing that eventually acceptance would slowly weave itself through the grief,  and I would gain a nuanced understanding of “before and after.’’

As I mentioned in my 12/6/2024 piece in this forum, I hadn’t thought very much about early-onset cancer during many of the  years that I was in clinical practice and as a physician executive.( I had categorized my experience with bladder cancer at 49 as an anomaly.) But that has changed in the past few years, during which the rising incidence of cancer in younger adults has been, first, in the scientific and medical literature and then sporadically in the broad national news, especially since the summer of 2023. But millions of people still have no idea that this is happening. 

Writing is how I express myself best, so in early 2020, I started writing to help myself navigate what was happening to Patrick. As the global phenomenon of early-onset cancers expanded, I felt compelled to tell my son’s inspirational story and raise awareness of early-onset cancer and  the need to dramatically expand screening for it. Over three years, I wrote a book titled RESERVATIONS for NINE: A DOCTOR’S FAMILY CONFRONTS CANCER, published earlier this month and timed to CRC Awareness Month. A labor of love and grief, it’s a book about family, love, loss, science and spirituality. Craig Melvin, NBC’s TODAY Show co-anchor, graciously wrote the foreword. Three months after my son passed away, Craig lost his 43-year-old brother to the same disease.

Many books have been written about cancer. From a patient undergoing treatment, to a family member or other caregiver, to a doctor treating a patient, to a researcher looking to change the trajectory of those being diagnosed and treated. But this one is unique. Part memoir and tribute, interspersed with journal entries by my son and others in my family. Part medical saga, the book aims to educate the public about the dangerous global rise in early-onset cancers, and  to help provide a roadmap by example of loved ones going through cancer battles, and a call to action to the medical community to get ahead of this crisis. 

My son’s life shouldn’t be defined by cancer, but, rather, how he responded to it. Most inspirational was how he became a strong public advocate of screening  and funding for cancer research.

I hope that readers of THCB can find the time to share the messages of this book with family, friends and colleagues.

Thank you, Matthew and THCB for providing this forum to present my story.

My website is https://www.georgebeauregard.com and you can buy the book there or on Amazon. My appearance on the Today show is here.

George Beauregard, DO is an Internal Medicine physician whose experience includes 20+ years of clinical practice as well as leading organizations strategic and clinical initiatives

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