Diagnosis

I've decided to continue to write.

Noticed that it really helped me process while Lianne got the diagnosis, battled, and entered into glory. I know also that many of you read her story and lifted her up in your prayers and supported us in so many ways. My heart is filled with thankfulness when I think of the community that surrounded us and my dear sister in the Fall of 2018 and until now. I wrote the majority of the posts on Lianne's blog and am Lianne's sister - Marieta - two years her senior I think they say. I also have my own blog where I wrote several times in the past few months (click the link to bring you there), but figured I'd update this one one more time. This post I wrote for you,,,,

So here goes.

diagnosis.

That word is loaded.

Sometimes a diagnosis clarifies a whole lot of things, it explains why one has been feeling like this or that, explains the symptoms observed and the trouble it has caused. Sometimes a diagnosis helps care move along, provides opportunity for therapy, counselling, extra support in home or school or place of work. Sometimes a diagnosis is a good thing, but I think it's always life altering.

This word has been playing in my mind for a number of weeks. Diagnosis. Painful. Loaded. Heavy. Associated with grief and hurt in my life. Diagnosis - that word 'cancer', with all its connotations. Cancer - and then rare - and then aggresive - and then genetic mutation. Cancer. Fear. For me cancer goes hand in hand with fear. Fear of that dreaded disease that not only affected and still effects my family. Fear of that awful disease that impacts not only people near me. Fear of that pain, that loss, that brokenness, that frailty of the human body. Fear of being confronted - faced with - death. Eye to eye with the end.

Her diagnosis - and the prognosis of just mere days, maybe weeks - changed my life. Upside down. Rollercoaster ride. Tumulting and plummeting deep down into the dark. Changed my life in a rapid pace, unimaginable speed, a blur. Numb.

Diagnosis, not just my family that heard a diagnosis that week in August. One of my students found out his 5 year old sister had leukemia. She's battling hard. A co-worker found out his mom has pancreatic cancer, just like that, another one. Then my friends' aunt was diagnosed a couple of weeks ago. A friend from church back home was diagnosed. I was in church on Sunday and a young father was diagnosed with stage 4 - terminal. Seriously, all around. Diagnosis after diagnosis. Not just cancer but many other things. Then you hear the questions fly - is it curable? What's the prognosis? What's the plan?  Have they started treatment? Basically the questions all seem to say the same thing, will they live? To be diagnosed - when the illness or problem is identified based on examined symptoms.  Diagnose -  a whackload of tests and a whirlwind of questions all at once. I love the medical field, am so thankful for all the knowledge it entails and has to offer us, all the care it provides and the lives it saves, enriches and helps. I was overwhelmed by the medical field in those months of Lianne's illness, overwhelmed by all the questions she was asked - it was so very repetitive and exhausting. I am thankful for the medical staff, doctors, nurses, residents, oncologists, radiologists, health care aids, paramedics, and so many more who worked with and helped Lianne (and us).

That whirlwind was physical - you could see the symptoms that needed to be treated. We saw her muscles deteriorate before our eyes and her skin sag and her abdomen swell. We heard her cough and helped collect the vomit. We helped clean up after her and adjusted pillows to make her more comfortable where possible. All that - after the diagnosis. NUT Midline Carcinoma is what my sister had. She passed far too early but am I ever thankful that horrific disease no longer eats away at her body.

Breast cancer. Lung cancer. Pancreatic cancer. Leukemia. Brain tumours. Grief.

Those are just a few of the diagnosis I've heard in the last few months, some multiple times. Each time my body shudders. I tremble. Goose bumps. Shivers down my spine.

All I can utter is "not another one!!"

My heart is overwhelmed with grief each time I hear of another diagnosis. It's one thing my sister died and I have to bear that cross of loss now. But to hear that friends had to lose a family member, a friend loses her hair and energy and the normalcy of her life, that people are attached to lines and tubes with fluid and oxygen because their body no longer does it well... because cancer rages. My heart cries, and often tears actually well up. You know why??! It hurts like hell. To watch a loved one suffer. To see those around them crumble. To see people's heart break and watch their world shatter. To witness people as they cope with the diagnosis and courageously start treatment with high hope but you know how hard all those decisions are. It tears your heart in pieces when you hear of another patient whose body is inhabited by carcinoma or another disease.

It's one thing my sister died and I have to bear that cross of loss now but I don't want that for anyone else. No one should have to suffer through this pit of darkness and despair. I don't think anyone deserves to feel the pain of loss and grief. Symptoms of grief aren't very visible, but they sure are there. You can examine me or anyone else who's grieving and wrestling with a diagnosis - but you may not see the diagnosis. Grief and loss is not like a broken leg with a cast or a deep wound with stitches. Grief and psychological complications surrounding grief are difficult to diagnose, difficult to define, difficult to name.

Grief is vulnerable, it's painful and it hurts like hell. But honestly people. It's there alright, diagnosed or not.

In a way I find it the most beautiful thing of all - you crumble and feel fragile and shattered. Tears trickle or rush down your cheeks and sometimes you can feel them in your eyes just waiting for the dam to burst. Memories flood back and laughter fills my heart and mind and it's the best when you can share that with other people. Sometimes I can share her story with others and other times we just weep. I love it when I have the most vivid dreams bring them back to life - so real. But then, just today as I was leaving work it hit me - I no longer have a little sister to hug. She's gone!

I got in my car and drove off. There.

I called my health insurance to get some stuff organized and the lady on the other end asked me why... It felt cold when I said "my sister died a couple of months ago". A shiver down my spine - how did I say that so matter of factly? Did those words really roll off my tongue? How can this be? You know... After Lianne died so many things happened and we all kind of tried to pick up the pieces, to keep going. But we are learning that each day is different and each moment we may respond differently. We are learning that we aren't the only ones grieving and at a loss for words. We know there are many around us who are now facing similar trials as we faced while Lianne was sick. We also know there are many around us who are grieving loved ones - loved ones who passed yesterday or a what seems like yesterday. Your grief is there. Let it be there. Don't be ashamed to voice it and share. Let tears roll and laughter fill the air (sometimes with only seconds separating the two).

Recently I could say to people that my days have more ups than downs. I was shocked when I heard those words come out of my mouth. How?! Four months and 13 days and I am already doing okay or experience more ups? More than four months and finally I can say I am doing okay...? (It's this tugging between finally and already... or still not and yay I got this!) Oh, these emotions are so mixed. Guilt for feeling okay right now and longing to be doing okay when you don't feel okay. As a family we are all learning in this. We get to know ourselves and are faced with the loneliness of grief. We journey through emotions, sleepless nights and lack of energy or drive. We struggle to fill our days with good stuff and binge watch shows or take endless naps. We fill our agendas to the brim and keep on keeping on... We all are trying to find our way through this, trying to learn and to carry this with us. But we're not alone. We're carried in the arms of our loving Father.

The diagnosis. No matter what it is - let your feelings be. Even if you don't know what to feel. Just be. It's okay to not be okay. And okay will come again.