How to Handle a Difficult Diagnosis

You just left the doctor's office. Chances are you are in a daze. No matter what diagnosis was just handed to you it will take awhile to sink in. Got cancer? Got multiple sclerosis? Got Bubonic Plague? The actual diagnosis does not matter. Every person who has just left the doctor's office with a diagnosis of "fill in the blank" is in the same boat. You are suddenly on the Titanic and frantically looking for a life boat and you know there are not enough to go around. What do you do? Right now the most important thing to do is breath. Your body needs oxygen and deep, calming breaths will help process the anxiety. You will need to practice breathing from now on because somehow it will no longer come as second nature. Every time you think of "fill in the blank" disease you will have a tendency to tense up and hold your breath. It is only natural to respond in this way but it is not healthy. Try not to panic and jump overboard either. Remember, most of the people that did froze to death on an iceberg. The boat you are in is most likely well stocked with supplies. In all likelihood it is not going down for a very long time.

Who do you tell?
Hopefully you have a good support system. A spouse, parent or sibling are good people to start with when you need to talk. Friends and co-workers should be saved for later communication if at all possible. Unless you have a friend who is very much like family. Some diagnoses have a way of scaring off the medically skittish. That would cause some emotional pain if you are not prepared for the different ways other people may handle your news. It is extremely important to surround yourself with people that love and care for you unconditionally because you just aren't going to be yourself for awhile. Your emotions are going to be all over the map of the ocean floor. Don't worry, you don't stay in that boat forever. Soon, you will disembark and your feet will stand upon a whole new world.

Spaced out and disconnected.
It is quite common to find yourself in the weeks to come feeling very disconnected. Even as you go about your normal activities you may feel like an alien. It may be hard to feel a part of the rest of the human race. You will
remember what it felt like to walk through the grocery store absentmindedly picking out the same food you bought every week. After receiving some difficult medical news all of those mundane activities become quite overwhelming. Don't be alarmed if you forget where everything is. Where everything has always been for the last one hundred times you were previously in that store. Your brain is no longer on automatic pilot. It is preoccupied and that is what is causing that disconnected feeling from the rest of the world. It is temporary and you will get past this part of the process rather quickly. For most of us it seems to last for just a couple of weeks.

Acceptance and treatment
Many people are surprised with how soon acceptance occurs. Even when the diagnosis is extremely dire after the first two weeks it begins to assimilate itself into your life. Acceptance and treatment do not always go hand in hand. Sometimes the treatment begins so quickly that you are still in that dazed zone which makes it more difficult. It does not make acceptance impossible however and you will get there. Do not mistake acceptance for the white flag of surrender. No one said acceptance of a serious illness means you just throw yourself on the couch and wait to expire. Healthy acceptance includes learning all you can about your illness. Going into treatment of any kind well informed and understanding what lies ahead is very helpful. Fear of the unknown can be put to rest by asking questions of your medical professionals. No question is too small or too stupid. Keep in mind that doctors do not have crystal balls. Good thing too because every once in awhile you may feel like giving one a swift kick. Broken crystal is messy.

Laugh about it
Drawing from a personal experience recently I had the occasion to shock a doctor with my humor. It's not that I am callous about serious illness but I tend to handle difficulties with humor whenever possible. It eases tension and it helps keep those endorphins pumping. My comment at the time was meant to diffuse a tense moment and it did for my husband but not for his doctor. My husband is battling a type of autoimmune vasculitis. His diagnosis nips right on the heels of my own recovery from thyroid cancer. Also, I was recently diagnosed with undifferentiated connective tissue disease and psoriatic arthritis. We make a good pair to say the least. His illness is not in remission at this time. He is having a very difficult time and the road has been long. During the exam the doctor was checking out some swelling in my husband's legs. He was reassuring my husband that the swelling was most likely caused by prednisone and not a blood clot. He had recently had a scare and had to have an ultrasound of his legs to check for clots. As I was kneeling on the floor sliding on my husbands socks I looked up at him and saw his nervous expression. I said, "honey everything in life is temporary, including life itself". He burst out laughing as I knew he would. We've been through a lot in our thirty years together. I know how to make him laugh and he knows how to comfort me too. The poor doctor on the other hand was not comfortable with the reference to death. The dreaded "D" word.

Death happens
Eventually, you will get there too. You will be comfortable with the fact that death is a part of life. Every living thing has a beginning and an end. It's what we do in between that counts. Just last week my husband asked me if I thought he was dying. How does a person answer that question. I answered it as honestly as I could. "Not today, honey." I told him that for today he was still here and that is all anyone ever really has. I lost my fear of death when I went through my cancer. Actually having to face the possibility of ones own demise in the near future helps to lessen the fear of it. What happened for me was the unbelievable awakening that every new day really is a gift. Not that hokey Hallmark greeting stuff either. I didn't make lemons out of lemonade or sing "the sun will come out tomorrow" on a daily basis. I just began to appreciate how pretty the color yellow was when looking at my bowl of lemons. Yellow really is a pretty color! As for the sun, when it does come out tomorrow I am always grateful. I know now that someday it will stop shining for me permanently. My husband has just begun that journey of knowing that for himself.

We are in this boat together
Having someone in your boat that knows what you know helps. If you can find one person that can share your experience do it. If you can't then there are support groups for everything. If you don't know where to find one you can ask your doctor or surf the web. Just make sure when you leave your boat to go surfing you do so in safe water. Choose medically reputable websites that have accurate information and not just the opinions of others. Misinformation is worse than no information when it comes to handling a serious illness. It took awhile for my husband to understand what I had actually gone through when I was sick. Now that he is occupying a deck chair next to me as we cruise through a medical sea of uncertainty he has total understanding. He often remarks that he does not know how I did it? "Did what"? I asked him. He just points to his bin of medication and zippered binder of medical records and notes. "Oh, you mean the whole sick thing"? "Yeah, how did you do this everyday for over a year"? I try to remember just when I was able to handle it and there really was no specific time or day. I do know that at some point I just let go of the ships wheel. I don't know how to captain a boat anyway. I know how to swim though. I choose to swim rather than sink. When my husband realizes that he can swim too I will let him go. For now, like a tug boat I pull him through the murky waters. He is like a barge that is not used to running aground. Find your anchor and hold on until the waters calm. No storm lasts forever and often the sun does come out the next day.