[Congressional Record (Bound Edition), Volume 154 (2008), Part 3] [Senate] [Pages 4248-4249] [From the U.S. Government Publishing Office, www.gpo.gov]TRIBUTE TO DR. HARRY CARLOSS Mr. McCONNELL. Mr. President, I rise today to pay tribute to a good friend and respected Kentuckian, Dr. Harry Carloss. Dr. Carloss has worked diligently for over 32 years to treat thousands of his patients who face one of life's most terrible illnesses, cancer. Originally from Lexington, KY, Dr. Carloss went to the University of Louisville Medical School and later worked at the Scripps Clinic and Research Foundation in San Diego, CA. Dr. Carloss, along with and his wife Barbara, returned a few years later to Kentucky and settled in Paducah to practice as an oncologist. Dr. Carloss worked in Paducah for 28 years, choosing to help those who oftentimes were facing a death sentence. Along with helping his patients, he became a point man in the campaign to battle cancer. He has written medical scientific papers, been involved in many research and clinical trials over his career, and been given numerous accolades in the form of honors and awards from his peers. Mr. President, I ask my colleagues to join me in honoring a man who worked tirelessly and gave so much of himself to the people he served. Recently the Paducah Sun published a story about Dr. Harry Carloss, which admirably illustrates the work, sacrifice and commitment Dr. Carloss gave to his patients, and to finding a cure for cancer. I ask unanimous consent that the full article be included in the Congressional Record. There being no objection, the material was ordered to be printed in the Record, as follows: [From the Paducah Sun, Mar. 12, 2008] Carloss Standing Down--After a Reluctant Withdrawal, Combatant in War on Cancer Looks Back on Campaign (By Steve Vantreese) Paducah, Ky.--A cancer doctor dying of cancer--that sort of story has a dark irony. In the case of Paducah oncologist Harry Carloss, happily it isn't true. ``I've heard the rumor,'' he said, not particularly offended. ``I don't have cancer. I have physical limitations that forced me to retire.'' Instead of his primary foe over 32 years as a cancer fighter, a fall from a ladder stopped the 57-year-old Carloss in his oncological tracks. He broke his back, had it surgically repaired as best as could be done--ruined spinal parts removed, at least--and now is debilitated. Not dead, not totally paralyzed, both of which he could have been. Just limited. He returned to his practice after injury and surgery, but found after a trial period that he couldn't remain on his feet for any length of time, or sit in most circumstances, for that matter. He makes little reference to ongoing pain, loss of sensation and difficulties in walking that came with the nerve damage. ``Other people have far worse problems,'' Carloss notes in self-deferring fashion. He's seen enough to know. As once the sole oncologist in a void west of Louisville, south of St. Louis and north of Nashville, Carloss saw a steady parade of patients in dire straits. The Lexington native and University of Louisville medical school graduate went to the Scripps Clinic and Research Foundation (San Diego, Calif.) to work in primarily hematology. He and his wife, Barbara, returned to Kentucky, coming to Paducah as a smaller town in which to raise their kids. ``I came here to be an oncologist, but I had doubts at first that a town the size of Paducah could support an oncologist,'' Carloss said. ``That turned out to be the joke of the century.'' In the 28 years that he practiced in Paducah, Carloss treated thousands. When he recently had to cease practice, he found that he had approximately 3,000 current patients on chemotherapy who shifted their cases to other physicians' care. Even though cut short by result of accident and injury, Carloss can still claim a lengthy practice in a field that often doesn't produce long runs. ``Thirty-two years is a long time to practice as an oncologist,'' Carloss said. ``There is a high burnout rate. Most doctors who do this end up in research or something outside seeing patients every day.'' One reason is that there is extra emotional burden in specializing in the care of people who in many instances are fatally ill. The position of the oncologist has improved through the years as medicine has, yet there is still the excess baggage that comes from serving some of the sickest people. ``Their problems become your problems,'' Carloss said. ``Especially during the early years of my practice, before medicine evolved as much, many cancers were just a death sentence. ``The stuff we had to use for chemotherapy would either kill you or cure you,'' he said. ``It has to attack cancer cells, but it attacked white blood cells, too. We now have antidotes that chemo patients get to keep their white cell levels from dropping. ``There are lots of things we have to battle cancer now that we didn't have then,'' Carloss said. ``And over the years the mortality for cancer has gone down. It's become more of a chronic disease than a death sentence.'' That has eased Carloss' burden of fighting what too often seemed a losing battle. More clear wins against cancer certainly helped, but he also has learned to benefit patients--and himself--with relative, mitigated victories. ``I discovered pretty early that I couldn't fix everything,'' he said. ``What I learned is, while I might not be able to save somebody, there are things I could do. I might give them more time, make sure they had less pain and improve the quality of the life they had left.'' Carloss said fairly early in his practice he got help in dealing with losses, assistance that came from dying men. ``I explained to one man that he was terminally ill and offered him a chance to take part in some research,'' Carloss said. ``He really didn't show any emotion and I wasn't sure he understood, so I explained his situation again--and still no emotion. ``Then he told me that he'd landed on Omaha Beach on D-Day and everybody in his group was killed but him,'' he said. ``He figured that everything he'd done since that day was a bonus. And he said if he could do anything that would help somebody else with the time he had left, he'd be glad to.'' A young man told Carloss that there was a blessing in his cancer as opposed to a fatal heart attack. ``He said at least he had time to correct his mistakes and say his good-byes to people,'' Carloss recalled. Carloss doesn't regret the emotional expenditures from his past practice. He does have some sore spots about some of its frustrations. ``Because of the way treatment is paid for, all services aren't available to everybody,'' Carloss said. He said Medicare regulations and the resulting insurance coverage parameters are such that every cancer patient simply cannot get access to some of the drugs that might be beneficial. ``Now drugs have become so expensive that reimbursement drives what can be used for a patient,'' Carloss said. ``I could, or I used to could write you a prescription for a drug that would cost you $72,000 for a year's supply. There are drugs available that nobody can afford. ``That's the part of the practice that I don't miss,'' he said. ``Before, in the first 25 years of my practice, if there was a drug out there, I could use it for a patient and it would be paid for. We never turned anybody away if they didn't have the money.'' Beyond patient care in small town America, Carloss has been a point man in the campaign to counter cancer. He has been involved in a wealth of research and clinical trials through the years. He likewise has been a prolific writer of medical scientific papers. Carloss' honors and awards among medical peers have stacked up through his career. His foremost recognition may be his selection for mastership in the American College [[Page 4249]] of Physicians, which comes only for those cited for exceedingly stellar career achievements. Carloss, a plain talker might say, had a lot of irons in the fire. His injury-forced retirement was such an abrupt change in schedule, the reversal of pressure was so extreme that it might have produced the bends in a mental sense. Long days of life and death decisions were suddenly switched over to longer days of no particular commitments. ``I had lots of people that I was taking care of, and it took me two months to stop calling the office every day to check on them,'' he said. ``I solve problems during the night, and it took me two months before I could sleep through the night and not be lying there working things out in my head.'' The demands of the career don't seem to have taken a regrettable toll, however. ``If I could do it all over tomorrow, I'd do it again,'' Carloss said. ____________________