Joseph Moore, MD
Hematology-Oncology

I got up at 5:30 a.m. today, as I do every single day of the year. I often wake up moments before my alarm clock goes off—after all these years, I’m programmed. Arriving at Duke about an hour later, I pick up a triple cappuccino in the cafeteria and sip it while conferring with my colleagues Jon Gockerman, MD, and Carlos De Castro, MD, at our daily 7 a.m. meeting. Then it’s on to rounds. One week out of three I round in the hospital; the other two weeks I make clinic rounds. First I get together with the interns, residents, fellows, and others who may be joining us, such as medical students and pharmacists. We review new cases, then we begin seeing patients.

On any given day, my team has about 25 patients in the hospital, and about 40 more whom we see in clinic. I visit with all of our patients, examine them, and dictate notes for their charts. I confer with my colleagues throughout the day as necessary, plus review x-rays, bone marrow scans, and various other studies. I don’t stop for lunch—I just gobble a handful of trail mix (which I keep in my office) or sip a cup of soup on the fly. If someone brings in cookies or cake, I’ll grab some—and probably wash it down with another triple cappuccino.

Around 7 p.m. during my hospital weeks, I round again with the oncology fellow or resident on call and see every patient once more. Clinic-week evenings usually find me catching up on paperwork or checking in with colleagues on investigative protocols. I get home around 8:30 or 9 at night.

Fortunately, my wife of 32 years, Alice, is wonderfully patient with me and my demanding schedule. Alice is a gourmet cook, so every night we sit down and relax over an excellent meal together. I might watch a bit of sports on TV—especially if the Blue Devils are playing basketball—and try to get through most of The New York Times before my eyes close around midnight.

I travel around the Southeast frequently, giving educational talks and collaborating with colleagues at fellow institutions who are part of the Duke Oncology Consortium. Alice and I also enjoy getting together with our three grown daughters every few months, sometimes meeting them at our vacation home on the Chesapeake. On the odd weekend day off, I may take a walk with our “pound hound,” Bandit (whatwith dog-sitting for our daughters, we sometimes have up to three pooches in our house), or pursue my interest in all things Japanese—from collecting porcelains to reading contemporary Japanese novels. I also love working in the yard—it’s the greatest therapy there is.

I don’t really need much R & R because I love what I do and have never wanted to do anything else. There were no physicians in my family, but somehow, from the time I was a boy growing up in a tiny Georgia town, I knew I wanted to be a doctor. I went to Emory, got my medical degree at Johns Hopkins, then spent a couple of years working for the National Institutes of Health in Hawaii. Some very impressive cancer specialists came there to speak, and listening to them is what inspired me to specialize in oncology.

I arrived at Duke for an oncology fellowship in 1975. Alice and I thought we’d be here for just a few years, but when I was asked to stay, I did—and I’ve never regretted it. I’m continually impressed by how, here at Duke, we’re able to link clinical care and research to get extraordinary things done. We’re on the brink of some real breakthroughs in the understanding and treatment of cancer, we’ve got terrific people, and we’re poised to do even greater things in the years ahead.

What really keeps me going is my patients. I admire them deeply: their strength, their optimism. It’s very fatiguing, both physically and emotionally, to fight cancer, whether you’re a patient or a physician. But we all help each other and learn from each other. I truly believe there’s no one whom I can’t help somehow. I may not be able to cure them, but I can relieve some of their symptoms, or ease their anxieties just by being available and letting them know I’m truly interested in their well-being.

It’s so gratifying for me to see patients I’ve treated for 20 years or more doing well. We cure some people every year, so my circle of friendships with former patients keeps growing. They let me know how much they, too, value our relationship in all kinds of ways. They give me a hug when they come in for their annual checkup, they write nice notes, they bring in holiday treats. Some have their own families now, and I’m an informal uncle to many of their children.

I’ve been caring for Robin for about three years now. I recently provided her with an experimental therapy that is already showing results, and should give her some very good years. There are no guarantees in life, and certainly no guarantees with cancer. But if you can help someone enjoy a better quality of life and reap some extra years of survival, there's simply no better feeling in the world.