The Doctor And The Disease

At a major teaching hospital and research center, death and disease are an expected part of the business. But the unexpected happened at the University of California, San Francisco, when one of the medical center's top researchers announced his own diagnosis. Correspondent John Blackstone reports for CBS News Sunday Morning.

Said Dr. Richard Olney: "I still hope that maybe a cure will be found in time to help me. But I recognize that's a long shot, at this point."

Olney spent his medical career treating patients with the fatal neuromuscular disease ALS. He established a clinic for ALS and, as one of the nation's leading researchers, he hunted for the cause and a cure.

Then, months ago, he began to recognize the symptoms of ALS, in himself.

"At first, I was skeptical that it could affect me, 'cause it just seemed too ironic," says Olney.

ALS is not contagious, but it remains almost as mysterious as it was when it became known as Lou Gehrig's disease.

When the famous ballplayer gave his 1939 emotional goodbye at Yankee Stadium ("Today, I consider myself the luckiest man on the face of the Earth"), ALS was already robbing Gehrig of control over his muscles. He died less than two years later.

Says Olney, "Prior to the past year, my favorite activities have been backpacking and hiking and mountain biking."

Not long ago, Olney was vigorous and athletic, but ALS is quickly making his muscles useless, even progressively destroying his voice. Many with ALS die within two years, few live longer than five years.

Now Olney arrives as a patient at the hospital where he used to work. He's being treated at the ALS clinic he founded. His doctor, Cathy Lomen-Hoerth was once his student. Says she, "I can hear the changes in his speech, even if it's only been a week or two since he's last been here, and that's really heartbreaking, just to hear how quickly things are changing for him."

Over the years, Olney treated hundreds of patients with the same symptoms that are now destroying his body.

Says Lomen-Hoerth, "The biggest thing that he conveyed to patients was the fact that he would be there with them through the very end."

And does she find herself giving that to him?

"I'm certainly trying to emulate what he taught me," she replies.One the most difficult things he did was to give families the terrible diagnosis. The job of telling Olney's family (wife Paula, daughter Amy and son Nick) fell to Lomen-Hoerth.

Says she, "It was something I had done many times before, but to actually tell his wife I was worried that he had ALS…and it was just a very heartbreaking experience, very very difficult."

Says Paula Olney, "It's devastating to get that diagnosis, knowing that he was going to die really set my apple cart upside down, I'll tell you that for sure… I just couldn't even think of life without him or growing old without him or not having grandchildren to share."

Paula is a nurse who had been married to Olney for 30 years: "Not long enough," she adds.

Their shared medical background made the reality no easier.

"Oh, he cried. He did his share of crying. We both did," says Paula. "But what do you do? You don't cry all day, every day, that's for sure."

The Olney family however quickly rallied. Amy, who is training to be an occupational therapist, moved home from Seattle to help. So did Nick, who is studying for entrance to medical school.

Says Nick, "I'm hoping to get into ALS research at the other end, but I've got, definitely, quite a few years of school ahead of me before I can really start my career."

Knowing he would lose the ability to speak, Olney recorded hundreds of words in a computer program while he could still talk. Among the phrases he recorded: "I love you, Paula." "I love you, Nick." "I love you, Amy."

Inside his increasingly damaged body, Dr. Olney's mind remains as sharp as ever. It is a cruelty of ALS that in the end patients can do little but think.

But Rick Olney still has one more contribution to make to research. He is a volunteer in an experimental ALS drug trial, an experiment he designed himself that may eventually help others but won't help him.

Says Lomen-Hoerth, "With the same grace that he went about everything else he did in his career, he's really approached this with an amazing attitude."

He is also trying to make ALS a little less mysterious. Says Paula, "Anybody can get it, and it's not as rare as most people tend to think. One in 1,000 people will develop ALS in their lifetime.

It is, as Blackstone points out, a very difficult disease for the family as well as the patient.

With the help of his computer, Olney says, "They are taking great care of me, and there will be an end for me sooner (than for them)."

Dr. Olney's disease is progressing quickly. He likely has only a few months to live. But he says a career spent treating others facing death has helped him accept his own mortality.