They’re Not Looking for Ivermectin—They’re Looking for Agency

“Most people do not listen with the intent to understand; they listen with the intent to reply.” – Stephen Covey.

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When a cancer patient in my clinic asks about Ivermectin, Fenbendazole, or whatever compound is currently circulating in online cancer forums, my first instinct—trained over decades—is to pull up the data. To explain, clearly and compassionately, that it doesn’t work.

And I do that. It’s necessary.

But I’ve learned it’s also incomplete.

To stop there is to miss what the patient is actually asking me.

The Compound Changes. The Question Doesn’t.

This year, it’s repurposed antiparasitics. When I was a younger physician, patients asked about Laetrile. Then, high-dose Vitamin C and Hydrogen peroxide infusions. Dichloroacetate. The list evolves with the internet, but the underlying question has remained constant for generations:

“Is there something—anything—I can do?”

These conversations aren’t really about the drug. They’re about trust. About autonomy. About the profoundly human need to find any sense of control when facing a disease that offers none.

What Cancer Takes First

A cancer diagnosis doesn’t just threaten life. It strips away agency, certainty, and often hope. The world suddenly narrows to a relentless cycle of scans, appointments, and statistics. Everyday life—planning a vacation, thinking about next year—becomes a luxury you’re not sure you can afford.

For many patients, researching an obscure compound and bringing it to me is their way of fighting back. It’s them saying: “I refuse to be passive. I am doing something.”

When I was younger, I sometimes saw these questions as obstacles—interruptions to the evidence-based treatment plan I’d carefully constructed. Now, at 54, I recognize them as invitations. Invitations to understand what’s really happening beneath the question.

The Questions Behind the Question

So now, when a patient mentions Ivermectin, I pause. I ask myself, ‘What is driving this?’

Are they terrified of the side effects of chemotherapy? Are they feeling like conventional medicine has exhausted its options? Did someone they trusted—a friend who survived cancer, an online community that provided support when they felt most alone—tell them this gave them hope?

The specific drug matters far less than the fear, the longing, the desperation underneath it.

If I respond only with data—however kindly delivered—I risk answering a question they’re not actually asking. Worse, I risk making them feel dismissed. And once a patient feels that their doctor isn’t truly listening, the relationship begins to crack. That’s when they stop telling me things. That’s when they go searching alone.

The Real Work: Building Trust Before the Crisis

The most important work I do isn’t in the moment someone asks about an unproven therapy. It’s in all the moments before—building a relationship strong enough to weather that storm.

When a patient trusts me deeply, they bring these questions to me as consultations, not confrontations. They’re checking in with someone they believe has their best interests at heart, not trying to sneak something past a gatekeeper.

That trust doesn’t come from my credentials or my clinic’s reputation. It comes from showing up, consistently, as someone who sees them—not just their disease.

It means:

Validating what they’re feeling. “I understand why you’re searching for every possible option. I see how hard you’re fighting, and I want to fight just as hard for you.”

Understanding where the hope is coming from. “Tell me what you’ve read about this. What gave you hope that it might help?” This isn’t just politeness—it gives me insight into what they’re actually looking for. Are they seeking gentler treatment? A sense of control? Evidence that someone, somewhere, beat the odds?

Offering a clear path forward together. “I need to be honest with you: the research shows Ivermectin won’t help fight your cancer, and it could interfere with treatments that will. But I hear what you’re really asking—you want to know we’re doing everything we can. Here’s what I believe gives you the best chance, and why. Let’s do this together.”

What We’re Really Competing Against

Here’s what I’ve come to understand: I’m not competing against misinformation. I’m not competing against conspiracy theories or internet gurus.

I’m competing against loneliness. Against fear. Against the feeling of being swept along by a disease and a healthcare system that can feel impersonal and overwhelming.

The best defense against the appeal of unproven remedies isn’t better data literacy—though that matters. It’s a connection. It’s the patient knowing, bone-deep, that they have a doctor who sees them, listens to them, and will be honest with them even when the news is hard.

After Two Decades, Here’s What I Know

The patients who ask about Ivermectin aren’t looking for Ivermectin. They’re looking for hope. For agency. For someone who won’t give up on them.

My job isn’t to win an argument about clinical trials.

My job is to be the person they don’t have to argue with—because they already know I’m on their side.

That’s the work. That’s always been the work.