“Take pride that you have chosen a profession that isn’t a career, but a calling.”
In these tumultuous, divided times, it was a breath of fresh air to be in Worcester, Massachusetts this past Sunday, giving the commencement address for the nurses, doctors, and scientists graduating from the University of Massachusetts Chan Medical School. Along with philanthropist Tania Semaan and renowned scientist Luke O’Neill, I received an honorary degree and had the privilege of addressing the graduates with what I hoped was some hard-earned wisdom given my own experiences with the healthcare system. I was humbled by Chancellor Michael Collins’ words when he presented me with an honorary Doctorate of Humane Letters. I thought some of you might be interested in hearing his words and mine from that special day.
Chancellor Michael Collins:
Award-winning journalist, world-changing advocate for biomedical research and preventive health, trusted resource for sharing and communicating news and lifesaving information, an inspirational influencer who draws from her uniquely powerful and personal narrative to give hope, comfort, and solace to millions, Katherine Ann “Katie” Couric, the University of Massachusetts Chan Medical School, welcomes you on this, our 50th commencement day. From your first job in television news in 1979 through your groundbreaking roles as host of the Today Show and as the first solo female anchor of the CBS evening news, you are known and respected for your authenticity, your commitment, and your courage. Your interviews with national figures, including five United States presidents, highlight your poise, your grace, and your backbone. As an influential, tireless news reporter and anchor, you are for many a role model, especially for women, known for possessing, a willingness to listen and a curiosity that fosters continuous learning. In 1998, when your world changed with the diagnosis and subsequent passing of your husband Jay from colon cancer, you brought those same steely qualities, hard work, adaptability, and an insatiable inquisitiveness to bear on a role you could have never imagined. Public advocate for cancer screening, cancer care, and cancer research. And when you underwent, on a broadcast of the TODAY Show, a colonoscopy in 2000, a new phrase entered the American medical lexicon, the Couric Effect because you inspired so many others to schedule screening. Screening colonoscopies themselves. To this day, people credit your encouragement with saving their lives. To what more noble and humble calling could one aspire? The passing of your sister, Emily, in 2001 from pancreatic cancer accelerated, broadened, and intensified your impassioned push to increase awareness and screening. When you co-founded Stand Up to Cancer in 2008, few would’ve envisioned that the organization would raise over three-quarters of a billion dollars for cancer research and would contribute to nine FDA-approved cancer treatments, and counting the cancer screenings for which you so perve persuasively advocated led last year to your own diagnosis of breast cancer. Though thankfully, at an early stage, this screening fulfilled the promise of successful early detection. Your impact on the American public; our nation’s medical community; and the health, wellness, and well-being of countless lives is impossible to overstate. The trust you have earned in your career as a journalist makes you a singularly effective public advocate for saving lives. That all may know of your journey, from world-renowned journalist to peerless advocate for cancer awareness screening and treatment without a moment losing your authenticity, your independence, or that courage, the University of Massachusetts Chan Medical School, confers upon you the degree of Doctor of Humane Letters Honoris Causa. Congratulations.
My speech:
Chancellor Collins, faculty, distinguished guests, parents, family members, and most of all graduates of the University of Massachusetts Chan Medical School:
What a thrill it is to be in Wormtown, the birthplace of birth control…and the yellow smiley face — two things that, as far as I know, are unrelated. I’m so honored to be here on this very special day. Standing up here on this stage, I see a sea of faces full of hope for the future. Some with dark circles, some perhaps a little hungover, but all deserving of the biggest, most heartfelt congratulations I can muster. You have all worked SO. DAMN. HARD.
Today is a time to celebrate, pat yourself on the back, and begin to think about the challenges ahead — of which there will be plenty. I hope I can leave you with a healthy dose of inspiration — a shot in the arm, a prescription for being the best doctor, nurse, or scientist you can be. And a little laughter, because, while it may not be the best medicine, it can sure make life a lot easier.
You’ll be making your mark in a world that is dramatically different than the one I entered when I graduated. Sure, embarking on a career in TV news had its challenges: There were plenty of men who wanted to keep the broads out of broadcasting. Back then, harass was two words instead of one. But over the last 40 years, I’ve seen a huge transformation in the media industry — fueled by technology —that has changed the way we create, distribute, and consume information. Now we’re approaching a new era, a brave new world, where artificial intelligence will transform almost every aspect of society. And your chosen professions are no exception.
Even though A.I. has been used in medicine since the ’70s, with machine learning — which takes advantage of the processing power of computers and big data — it’s going to be a whole new ballgame. Whether this represents a brand new day or the beginning of the end depends on who you talk to. But the consensus is that it will make the healthcare system more efficient, less expensive and more equitable, get rid of massive paperwork that takes too much time away from patients, and help reduce medical errors that kill an estimated 200,000 people a year. It also has remarkable applications in predicting disease that isn’t visible to the naked eye. An A.I. system created at MIT can scan a mammogram at the pixel level, compare it to patterns from previous scans, and flag patients who have a high risk of getting breast cancer in five years — something even the most competent radiologist could never do. Other systems are helping predict whether early lung nodules will turn into cancer or skin lesions into melanoma. There are so many other applications, it could make your head spin.
The world of medicine will continue to evolve and ideate at breakneck speed. It’s exciting yet scary; promising, yet perilous. And while it’s likely to help you serve your patients better and discover new exciting therapies, perhaps even cures, it will never replace the living, breathing human beings who are graduating today.
You’ll be bringing your unique selves to your profession — not the information you’ve processed, but the wisdom you’ve gained from the sum of your life experiences. You’ll provide what no machine or robot can: your irreplaceable humanity. Never losing that will be your biggest challenge. Making sure it’s as omnipresent as your stethoscope, thermometer, and Petri dish will be the greatest gift you give to your patients.
So look, really look at your patients. Listen to them. Learn about them and from them. Instead of asking, “What’s the matter with you?” Ask, “What matters to you?”
I know what matters to patients and their families, because I’ve been there. Until the age of 40, I had a fairytale existence. My late husband Jay once said I was born on a sunny day. That was before he was diagnosed with stage 4 colon cancer at the age of 41. He died nine months later. Our daughters, just 6 and 2, were suddenly fatherless and I was a widow, grappling with a devastating loss that would completely shatter the future I had imagined for our family.
Those nine months between diagnosis and death were excruciating. Balancing hope that somehow we’d be able to manage Jay’s disease until some miraculous new treatment came along with the reality of his bleak prognosis — optimism, with despair — was overwhelming. But our loving doctors and nurses were there, always there, offering words of encouragement, strength, and comfort. I don’t know what I would have done without Jay’s gastroenterologist, Mark Pochapin, who spent time getting to know Jay as the incredible person he was, and who deeply understood that cancer affects not just the patient, but the entire family. I asked Mark what he would tell you this morning. He said, “When patients come to see us for medical help, they are at their most vulnerable state. They may be at the top of their game personally and professionally, but when they need medical attention they may feel confused, helpless, frightened and out of control. Being present, holding a hand, and validating those emotions are so important for creating a bond of trust and understanding — the very essence of the doctor-patient relationship.”
Just two and a half years after Jay’s death, I got a phone call from my oldest sister Emily, a rising star in Virginia politics. She had been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer, and in her words, it was “all over her liver.” Like Jay, she fought like hell and lived for 16 months. Having a painful front-row seat to the patient experience, her eldest son — my nephew Ray — became a gastrointestinal oncologist. This is what Ray told me that I wanted to share with you:
“Experiencing the death of my mother when she was just 54, before I finished becoming the son I wanted to be, and the son I felt she fully deserved, and watching the pain on her face as she struggled to come to terms with her inevitable demise conditioned me to let myself relive that experience and reimagine her pain at least a little with every cancer patient and every family member I care for. As difficult as that sounds, it’s what sustains me. It’s up to you to manage your empathy so that it doesn’t consume you, but never make the mistake of inadequately nurturing it. When you care for another human being, you’re caring for a version of yourself.”
Fast forward to 2022. I thought my cancer was in my rearview mirror…but last summer, I went to my radiologist for my yearly breast cancer screening. (Like many other women, I got off schedule during the pandemic and was six months behind.) Much to my surprise, I too became a member of a club no one wants to join. I was diagnosed with stage 1A breast cancer, which required a lumpectomy and radiation. Once again, my medical team was amazing. I asked my breast surgeon, Dr. Lisa Newman, for some words of wisdom. She quoted a mentor of hers who once told her, “Each patient should always be the object of our affection,” adding, “It always reminds me that in the midst of the intensity of explaining a new cancer diagnosis and its treatment, it’s imperative to connect with each patient and make sure they know you genuinely and sincerely care for their well being.”
My friend Dr. Jeremy Faust, an emergency physician at Brigham and Women’s Hospital put it this way: “Use every bit of technology that you possibly can to prepare for each patient. But then drop all that and do the one thing that technology never can do: Look at your patient and think, ‘What would I do if this were my mother or my brother?’ No machine will ever be able to know that feeling and it will change what you do, more often than you’d expect.” In fact, a book titled Compassionomics shows there’s scientific evidence that compassion can improve the outcomes of everything from glucose control in diabetics, response to pain stimulus, anxiety in breast cancer patients, and the duration of the common cold by bolstering the immune system.
All these experiences shook me to my core. But they also motivated me to try to make a difference. After my husband died, I got a colonoscopy on The TODAY Show. Nothing says “good morning” like showing your colon on national television. After that, colon cancer screenings increased by 20 percent, and the University of Michigan even gave it a name: The Couric Effect. I’ve continued to be the Screen Queen in the years since. Not long ago, when Jimmy Kimmel turned 50, I took him to get his colonoscopy. Now that the screening age has been lowered to 45, maybe this year, I’ll take Tom Brady. (I’m sure a few Patriot fans here might be willing to perform the procedure with minimal anesthesia.)
Meanwhile, in 2008, I co-founded an organization called Stand Up to Cancer with eight other women frustrated by the pace of cancer research. We’ve raised more than 700 million dollars to support dream teams of scientists from different institutions who are collaborating instead of competing. Who knows, maybe one of you scientists will get a Stand Up To Cancer Research Grant one day! And following my breast cancer diagnosis, I joined forces with two members of Congress (one Democrat, one Republican) to introduce the Find It Early Act, which will mandate insurance companies pay for lifesaving screening ultrasounds or MRIs for the millions of women in this country who have dense breasts like me. (I know, TMI.) And just as I did with colon cancer, I’m using every avenue I can to make sure women find out if they need additional screening. In fact, using my skills as a journalist to explain complicated medical concepts in an understandable and accessible way has been one of my greatest sources of pride. I urge you all to learn to talk to your patients in human.
You don’t have to be on TV to be an advocate. All of you will need to be, not only for your patients but for yourselves. There’s no getting around it — being a healthcare professional is stressful. Sometimes you’ll be working double shifts. You often won’t have enough time with your patients. You’ll be under pressure, writing grant proposals and doing research at the same time. You’ll have patients who are cranky and ungrateful. You’ll watch patients die. You’ll speak to bereaved families. Perhaps you’ll have to respond to a global pandemic…God, let’s hope not. But whatever you face, it’s bound to take a toll.
One-third of nurses left the profession in 2022. More than half of physicians reported feeling burned out this year and nearly 1 in 4 doctors reported feeling depressed — the highest percentages in 5 years. The residual effects — the trauma, really — of Covid haven’t dissipated. At the height of the pandemic, I looked for a hospital expert in New York City who I could interview about the mental health programs that were available to support their exhausted workforce. I couldn’t find any. Too many institutions are woefully behind when it comes to acknowledging the stressors of the job and providing the infrastructure necessary to help their teams. Demand more for yourselves and your colleagues. As Gandhi said, “Be the change you wish to see.”
Hopefully, you will also challenge a system that is rife with inequities. When I was being treated for breast cancer, I couldn’t help but think of the women who couldn’t afford the kind of healthcare I was privileged to have. Black women with breast cancer are four times more likely to die from the disease than white women. That’s simply unacceptable. As Bono once said, “Where you live should not determine whether you live, or whether you die.” Yet, as you know, there are wildly different outcomes for those who don’t have access or who are not treated with the same degree of care.
A few days ago I met a physician who is leading a company that provides high-quality care to marginalized populations. Her advice: As you make choices about what and where to practice, lean into opportunities to apply your incredible skills and talents to improve outcomes for those who need it the most. And recognize that by focusing your career on addressing health inequities by working in underserved communities, you may find the key to your own well-being, satisfaction, and longevity in your profession. She also told me that treating every patient the same isn’t necessarily the goal. In a society in which bias and inequity are baked into the fabric of every aspect of our lives, understanding every person you treat — their history, their education, their culture, their families, their circumstances — the so-called social determinants of health — is key to improving healthcare for everyone.
Before I go, I can’t let the opportunity pass to tell you one last thing: You are my heroes. And I’m not just sucking up. This is something I’ve said for years, not just during the pandemic when I was hanging out the windows banging my pots and pans with other New Yorkers. You save lives. Your work changes lives. You are there for others in times of great joy and times of tremendous sadness. Whether you’re delivering difficult news or delivering a baby, encouraging a patient to take their meds or checking their vitals, discovering a new drug for ALS, or overseeing a promising clinical trial, you matter. Take pride in the fact that you are a graduate of this fine institution. Take pride that you have chosen a profession that isn’t a career, but a calling.
I am so excited (and frankly, a little jealous) that you have your whole lives ahead of you. As my husband says, I’m on the back nine, but to mix metaphors, I’m sprinting to the finish line. There is so much to experience, so much to do, so much to give — every day is a chance to put something good in the world. As Mary Oliver wrote in her poem, “The Summer Day”:
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
With your one wild and precious life?
I for one, cannot wait to find out. Thank you again for this incredible honor…and congratulations!!!!!
