One’s expectations are potent arbiters of well-being. But the curious case of Mr.

Wright was
proof, for the eminent psychologist Bruno Klopfer, that the mind can be so powerful it may even
influence a cure. Writing half a century ago, Klopfer was one of the pioneers of the Rorschach
test. Among his research interests was the exploration of “psychological variables,” including
ego and degrees of hopefulness, and how they could help in cancer care. In a talk he gave in
1957, he relayed one patient’s experience, as told to him by the patient’s doctor, to show how the
mind should be recognized as an important tool in treatment.1

There was little doubt among the doctors seeing Mr. Wright at a well-known clinic that he had
little time left to live. He was suffering with a terrible type of lymphosarcoma that had spread
throughout his body. The tumors in his neck, groin, and abdomen were the size of oranges, and
radiation treatments would no longer shrink them. He was weak and had even resorted to taking
breaths from an oxygen mask. His doctors, agreeing that treatment options had run out, were
ready to provide palliative care until he succumbed to the disease.

But Mr. Wright seemed to have lucky timing. Just as doctors were conferring about his imminent
end, a new drug came on the market, a chemical derived from a horse serum. Enthusiasm about
the drug, known as Krebiozen, was rampant. Even the newspapers were reporting that it was a
miraculous cancer cure. Mr. Wright read the accounts and found out that the clinic where he was
being treated was one of the few test sites for the drug. He wanted to join the study. At first, his
doctor resisted. He didn’t believe Mr. Wright, who seemed unlikely to live for more than two
weeks, would qualify for the drug trial, which stipulated at least a three-month life expectancy.
But Mr. Wright was absolutely certain that the miracle drug would make a difference and begged
to receive it.

Mr. Wright’s case involves several deviations from ethics protocols that wouldn’t be allowed
today, such as his doctor including him in a clinical trial simply on grounds of sympathy.

But those deviations paved the way for some truly remarkable results. Mr. Wright received his
first injections of Krebiozen on a Friday. His doctor returned on Monday to find his patient not
only in excellent spirits and chatting energetically with the hospital staff, but with shrinking
tumors. Astounded, the physician proceeded to give Mr. Wright the full course of treatment.
Within ten days, he no longer appeared to be dying. He was breathing on his own and was so full
of energy that the doctors decided to discharge him from the hospital.

However, over the course of the next two months, conflicting reports about the effectiveness of
Krebiozen began to appear in newspapers. Many challenged the original research, and new
information appeared that the drug was a sham. Mr. Wright, who’d kept up on the reports, was
devastated by the news. He relapsed after two healthy months and returned to the hospital in a
dismal state.
Recognizing that Mr. Wright’s hopefulness might have played a role in his two-month recovery,
his physician decided to engage his positive outlook. Today’s ethics standards would never
permit what happened next, but the doctor, having nothing more to offer his patient, told Mr.
Wright that a new, double-strength preparation of the drug was arriving at the hospital, and that
Mr. Wright was eligible to receive it. Even though he gave Mr. Wright nothing but fresh water
injections, the doctor gave every indication that he was hopeful about the enhanced Krebiozen.

Mr. Wright’s enthusiasm returned, and the results were even more astounding than they’d been
the first time. The tumors shrank again, his energy returned, and he was discharged from the
hospital a second time. In fact, his health lasted two more months—until a definitive medical
report appeared from the American Medical Association, stating that Krebiozen was a
“worthless” drug. The news rattled Mr. Wright. Within a week of the public report, he was
rehospitalized and died two short days later.

For Klopfer, who recounted the story in an address to a psychological professional society, the
unusual case suggested that certain “types” of patients have a better opportunity to heal. Those
individuals with fewer emotional impediments— less fear and more hope—are ultimately better
equipped. Mr. Wright’s positive spirit “left all available vital energy free to produce a response
to the cancer treatment that was nothing short of miraculous,” Klopfer wrote. The results didn’t
last, he added, because the patient was easily swayed by disappointment, but the relationship
with his doctor—and his doctor’s enthusiasm for the treatment—clearly affected his survival.

While this case provides an interesting narrative, it also raises some important questions: What if
we learned to pay more attention to features like optimism? What if clinicians were trained to
consider patients’ emotional capabilities as part of treatment? and What exactly is the
connection between the mind and healing?

1
Bruno Klopfer, “Psychological Variables in Human Cancer,” Journal of Projective Techniques,
no. 21 (1957): 331-40.