My oncologist treated Steve Jobs.
I didn’t know that when I first met him. I just knew he was the pancreatic cancer specialist at Stanford. Dr. George Fisher. Top of his field. The guy you wanted if you had pancreatic cancer.
We shook hands in his office in February 2011. I was 30 years old. Newly diagnosed with Stage 3-4 Acinar Cell Carcinoma. The same cancer that killed Steve Jobs.
Dr. Fisher looked at my scans and said, “We’re going to fight this.”
I believed him. Not because I was optimistic. But because he said it with the confidence of someone who’d seen this before. Someone who’d kept other people alive when they shouldn’t have survived.
Years later, I learned he’d been Steve Jobs’ oncologist. He’d kept Jobs alive for years after his initial diagnosis. Extended his life through aggressive treatment and management.
Jobs eventually died. Pancreatic cancer is brutal. But Dr. Fisher gave him extra years. Quality years. Years Jobs wouldn’t have had without world-class oncology care.
Then he did the same thing for me.
The First Appointment
Dr. Fisher’s office was in the Stanford Cancer Center. Modern building. Lots of glass. Everything designed to feel less like a death sentence and more like a place where healing happens.
I sat in the waiting room with my girlfriend. We’d just gotten my biopsy results a week earlier. Acinar Cell Carcinoma. Pancreatic. Aggressive. Stage 3-4.
I’d been referred to Dr. Fisher because he was the best. If anyone could treat this type of cancer, it was him.
He walked into the exam room wearing a white coat. Calm. Professional. Not overly warm but not cold either. Just direct.
He pulled up my scans on the computer. Pointed to the tumor. Baseball-sized mass in my pancreas. Pressing on my liver. Displacing my stomach.
“This is treatable,” he said. “Not easy. But treatable.”
He laid out the plan. Surgery first. Whipple procedure with Dr. Poultsides. Then nine months of chemotherapy. Cisplatin-based protocol. Aggressive but effective for this type of cancer.
I asked what my chances were. He said honestly, five-year survival rates for my stage were around 5-10%. But I was young. Otherwise healthy. That helped.
“We’re going to fight this,” he said again. “And we have a good chance.”
I left that appointment feeling like I had a plan. And a doctor who knew what he was doing.
The Chemo Protocol
After my Whipple surgery in March 2011, I started chemo in April. Dr. Fisher designed the protocol specifically for my case.
Cisplatin. Every three weeks. Six-hour infusions. Nine months total.
The first infusion was at Stanford Cancer Center. I sat in a chair with an IV in my port. Watched the clear liquid drip into my veins. Tried not to think about what it was doing to my body.
Dr. Fisher came by to check on me during the infusion. Asked how I was feeling. Explained what side effects to expect. Nausea. Fatigue. Hair loss. The usual.
He said the goal wasn’t just to kill any remaining cancer cells. It was to give my body the best possible chance of staying cancer-free long-term.
“Steve Jobs had the same cancer as you,” he said casually. “Same type. Similar stage. We kept him alive for years with aggressive management.”
That was the first time I heard he’d treated Jobs. I didn’t know what to say. So I just nodded.
“We’re going to do the same for you,” he said. And walked out.
The Steve Jobs Connection
After that appointment, I looked up Dr. George Fisher online. Sure enough, he was listed as one of Steve Jobs’ oncologists at Stanford.
Jobs had been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer in 2003. He’d tried alternative treatments for a while. Then eventually had surgery and chemo. Dr. Fisher had been part of his treatment team.
Jobs lived until 2011. Eight years after his initial diagnosis. That’s rare for pancreatic cancer. Most people don’t make it five years.
Dr. Fisher didn’t save Jobs forever. Nobody could. Pancreatic cancer is too aggressive. But he gave him extra years. Years to run Apple. Years to create products that changed the world. Years to be with his family.
Knowing that my oncologist had kept Steve Jobs alive gave me confidence. If he could extend Jobs’ life that long, maybe he could do the same for me.
Maybe I’d get eight years. Maybe more. Maybe enough time to actually live.
The Protocol Worked
I finished chemo in September 2011. Nine months of infusions. Constant nausea. Hair loss. Exhaustion. Chemo brain.
But my scans came back clean. No evidence of disease. The surgery and chemo had worked.
Dr. Fisher scheduled me for regular follow-ups. Every three months for the first two years. Then every six months. Then yearly.
Each time, he’d review my scans. Check my blood work. Ask about symptoms. Make sure nothing was coming back.
And each time, everything looked good. Clean scans. Normal blood work. No signs of recurrence.
Year one. Year two. Year three. Year five. Year ten.
I kept showing up. He kept checking. Everything stayed clear.
The Conversations Got Different
Around year seven, the appointments shifted. Dr. Fisher stopped treating me like a patient and started treating me like a case study.
He’d ask detailed questions about my supplement protocol. My diet. My Creon management. Everything I was doing to stay healthy.
“Most patients with your original diagnosis don’t make it this far,” he said. “I want to understand what you’re doing differently.”
I told him about Dr. Kunin’s vitamin protocol. The orthomolecular approach. High-dose vitamin C. Aggressive nutritional support. The farm job that rebuilt my energy in year two.
He took notes. Said he’d recommend similar approaches to other patients.
I realized I’d become one of his success stories. Like Jobs. Someone who survived longer than expected. Someone whose treatment worked.
Except unlike Jobs, I was still here. Still showing up. Still cancer-free.
Year Fourteen
I’m 14 years post-diagnosis now. I still see Dr. Fisher once a year. Or I did until recently. He’s semi-retired now. Slowing down after decades of fighting pancreatic cancer.
At my last appointment, he told me I’m one of his longest-surviving pancreatic cancer patients. Most people don’t make it to 14 years. Especially not with my original stage and type.
He attributed my survival to a combination of factors. Excellent surgery from Dr. Poultsides. Aggressive chemo protocol. My age and overall health at diagnosis. The vitamin protocol. My commitment to optimization.
“And some luck,” he added. “You can do everything right and still have the cancer come back. You got lucky.”
I agreed. Luck played a role. But so did having the best oncologist I could have asked for.
Dr. Fisher gave me a treatment plan that worked. He monitored me closely for 14 years. He caught potential issues before they became major problems. He answered every panicked email when I thought something might be wrong.
He kept me alive. Just like he kept Steve Jobs alive for years longer than expected.
What Jobs and I Had in Common
Steve Jobs and I had the same cancer. Pancreatic. Acinar Cell Carcinoma. Aggressive. Deadly.
We had the same oncologist. Dr. George Fisher at Stanford.
We had the same surgeon essentially. Jobs was treated at Stanford. I was treated at Stanford. Same institution. Same protocols.
The difference is Jobs waited. He tried alternative treatments first. By the time he had surgery and chemo, the cancer had progressed.
I didn’t wait. I had surgery immediately. Started chemo as soon as I recovered. Hit it with everything modern medicine had.
Jobs lived eight years. I’m at 14 and counting.
I don’t know if that’s because I acted faster. Or because I was younger. Or because my tumor happened to be less aggressive. Or just luck.
But I know having Dr. Fisher as my oncologist gave me the best possible chance. The same chance he gave Steve Jobs.
The Weight of Being Treated by a Legend
There’s something surreal about being treated by someone who treated one of the most famous people in the world.
Every time I sat in Dr. Fisher’s office, I’d think about Steve Jobs sitting in the same chair. Looking at the same scans. Hearing the same reassurances. Fighting the same cancer.
Jobs had infinite resources. The best care money could buy. Access to any treatment in the world. And he still died.
I had good insurance and a Stanford oncologist. And I lived.
That randomness haunted me for years. Why did I survive when Jobs didn’t? What made my case different?
Dr. Fisher said every cancer is unique. Every patient responds differently. There’s no formula that guarantees survival.
You do everything you can. Surgery. Chemo. Nutrition. Management. And then you hope.
I did everything I could. And I got lucky. And Dr. Fisher kept me alive.
The Legacy
Dr. Fisher has treated hundreds of pancreatic cancer patients over his career. Most of them didn’t make it. Pancreatic cancer has one of the worst survival rates of any cancer.
But some did. Some, like me, beat the odds. Survived five years. Ten years. Longer.
We’re the exceptions. The statistical outliers. The ones who make doctors think, “Maybe we’re getting better at this.”
Dr. Fisher never promised me I’d be cured. He promised he’d fight. He promised he’d give me the best possible chance.
He kept that promise. For 14 years. Through dozens of appointments and scans and blood tests. Through every moment I panicked thinking the cancer was back.
He kept me alive. Just like he kept Steve Jobs alive for years.
Jobs is gone. But I’m still here. Still showing up. Still cancer-free.
That’s Dr. Fisher’s legacy. Not that every patient survives. But that some of us do. And for those of us who beat the odds, we owe our lives to oncologists like him.
What This Means for You
If you’re diagnosed with pancreatic cancer, get the best oncologist you can find. Not the closest. Not the most convenient. The best.
Dr. George Fisher was the best. He treated Steve Jobs. He treated me. He’s treated hundreds of other patients with the same aggressive approach.
Find your version of Dr. Fisher. Someone who specializes in your specific cancer. Someone who’s seen cases like yours. Someone who has a track record of extending lives.
Because the difference between a good oncologist and a great one is measured in years. Years you might not have otherwise.
I got 14 years so far. Steve Jobs got eight. Both of us got more time than we would have without Dr. Fisher.
That’s what great oncology looks like. Not guarantees. Not miracles. Just extra time. And the chance to fight.
The Doctor Who Saved My Life
I don’t know if I’ll ever see Dr. Fisher again. He’s mostly retired now. I see other oncologists in his practice for my annual checkups.
But I’ll never forget him. The calm confidence. The detailed protocols. The fourteen years of monitoring and management.
He saved Steve Jobs’ life for years. Then he saved mine.
I’m still here because of him. Still cancer-free. Still living.
Fourteen years and counting.
Thank you, Dr. Fisher.
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