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Hospitals' `hope coaches'

Patient navigators offer care beyond medicine

March 29, 2008|By Stephanie Desmon , Sun reporter

Cancer treatments had turned Marina Pena's once-full head of hair into a few wispy strands. Embarrassed, she hid them under a ratty blue fleece hat, one hardly suited for an 85-year-old grandmother.

Anne McNerney knew how Pena felt. Years ago, the moment McNerney realized her own fight with cancer was taking her hair, she bought a wig and had her husband give her a buzz cut.

So, one recent morning while Pena was getting her chemotherapy, McNerney appeared with a shopping bag kept in her desk drawer for just such occasions. Inside was a wig. The style, a short, Hillary Clinton 'do, but a few shades darker, was perfect.

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Pena was giddy. She rolled her IV pole down the hall to get a look in the mirror, the wig's tag still hanging over her left ear. "It makes me look young," she said with a laugh.

McNerney smiled. She was doing her job.

McNerney is the patient navigator at the University of Maryland Medical Center. Her charge: To ease the life of the hospital's cancer patients in any way she can. That may mean finding help to pay for the tolls and gas to get to Baltimore for treatment, translating the arcane language of cancer treatment into plain English, or just holding a hand if that's what the patient needs.

Her job title - which didn't exist a few years ago - came about to deal with a health care system that can be overwhelming, even frightening, especially patients are the sickest. They wonder if they're going to die. They wonder if their insurance will cover the bill. They wonder if they'll ever make it through the maze of treatments and appointments and who-knows-what-else that lies ahead.

"Once you're diagnosed, you're free-falling for awhile," she said. "You're like a deer in headlights. You have a million questions ... . They just want someone to listen. Ninety-eight percent of the time we connect. They don't know what to expect and I've already been there."

McNerney's own cancer story brought her here. When she got the news in 1992, she was 39, with four children under 5, and a high-stress job in an office with a harbor view. She had breast cancer.

Her four months of treatment covered the gamut of therapies - 16 rounds of chemo, radiation and surgery that turned her life upside down. Somehow, she pulled through.

She tried to go back to the life she had before - but couldn't. She was a changed person. She quit her job - "I didn't buy expensive shoes anymore, but I didn't care" - and stayed home to raise her kids and help with her husband's construction business. She was happy.

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