Unmatched Energy, Every Single Day

For the past 2 years, I have worked alongside Carmela Cuccurullo, NP. I have never seen someone in hard-soled clogs move as much as she does. You will find her running to and from the treatment floor to guide the infusion nurses at the Ruttenberg Treatment Center. She can often be seen rushing to manage treatment and address conflict while helping care for the two dozen patients in clinic.

It is even more remarkable when you consider that Carmela works in a department that accounts for 25% of all treatments received in one of Manhattan’s busiest treatment centers. With the cross-coverage she provides, she has personally worked with approximately 41% of all patients within the multiple myeloma department.

Not only does she dive headfirst into the most challenging situations of every clinic, but she is also the primary team’s first point of contact for this patient population. On any clinic day, you can arrive at the office to find Carmela already running through the huddle list, finding the most challenging patients, pointing them out and exclaiming, “I’ll see them!” From the most anxious patients who make a scene in the infusion center, to family members needing monthly treatment calendars to keep on top of their loved one’s schedules, to the patients in wheelchairs whose transport sent them to the wrong hospital, Carmela invests her time.

One notable case of the care that she provides is a patient Carmela has encountered since 2022. “QZ” was a frequent no-show patient for treatment and follow-up appointments alike, his course complicated by being barely middle-aged and already having received half a dozen lines of therapy. He had chronic fatigue, acute kidney injury, frequent transfusions to address his anemia and pathological rib fractures. Add the financial burden of commuting to several different clinic sites within the five New York boroughs to receive comprehensive care, and you can appreciate why this patient would appear irritable and nonadherent. He stared at the ground as the laboratory assistants drew his blood, his clothes often were disheveled, and he barely uttered a word except for a few grunts when greeted. Giving him care was by no means an easy task, but would Carmela take the easy route? No. Enter Carmela, already reviewing recent local laboratory results while coordinating the patient’s treatment plan in Brooklyn, scheduling a bone marrow biopsy in Chelsea, and texting the social work team to assist with transportation to get this patient to his follow-up on Manhattan’s Upper East Side. She is ready to meet this challenge ... but the patient never shows up. Upset and frustrated, as any health care provider would be, Carmela is back on the phone rearranging schedules, making sure that the next time the patient comes into the office there will be no excuses because she is taking ownership of this patient’s care coordination. She even calls the patient directly to make sure he has everything he needs for the next visit and understands how critical it is that he shows up. This is a seemingly endless cycle of disappointment. Countless clinics have ended with Carmela frustrated enough to stop caring and disassociate herself from this thankless task, but she never stops.

Fast forward one tireless year later, a new treatment and an almost new person as QZ strolls into the clinic smiling. His once-stooped posture is now straightened, no doubt to show off the fashionable outfit he is wearing. As he sits in the exam room, I remark how good it is to see him. He replies with a sly grin. Then I asked if he had seen Carmela, and the patient paused. His eyes dart away and, with embarrassment, says, “No.” Many of us are familiar with this look of embarrassment when you are ashamed of your behavior. It is the same look as when you know someone has bent over backward to help you, been one of your biggest supporters and now that you have a moment of clarity, it might be time to say, “Thank you.” After returning to the clinic huddle, I mention to Carmela that our patient is looking better than before and that she should say hello. Carmela stares at her computer screen and nods, saying, “Sure, maybe,” which I have learned is the equivalent of a victory lap for her. For once, she does not need to end the clinic flustered, rifling through her papers to make a contingency plan for this young man. All the effort she put into him was finally paying off.

This is why Carmela is an Extraordinary Healer: She does not look for credit or brag about her work, nor does she just sit back and enjoy her success. Carmela lives in the struggle that is oncology nursing and bears the weight of responsibility for patients on her shoulders. As a mentor, she is a true example of what it means to coordinate patient care.

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