← Return to Emotional health after cancer: How are you doing really?

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@swright9

In 2003, at the age of 25, I received a sudden and unexpected diagnosis of lymphoma. The situation was dire, with the location of the lymphoma giving me only about three days left to live. Swiftly, I underwent surgery and began chemotherapy within a week. This abrupt turn of events left me grappling with post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD).

The speed of the diagnosis and subsequent treatment left me little time to process the enormity of the situation. Despite returning to school and work just three months later, I found myself harboring resentment and anger at the drastic shift my life had taken. While others admired my perceived strength, I struggled to connect with the reality of facing cancer. Pity from others became a source of frustration, making me less sympathetic to those complaining about illness. Compassion became a conscious effort for me, I don't want to feel like this.

Even now, years later, I live with the lingering fear of another blood cancer. I find it challenging, given the traumatic nature of my past experience. The memories are vivid – the red infusion solution pumping through tubes, triggering unexpected reactions like the taste of metal upon seeing someone drink red Kool-Aid through a swirly straw and getting nausea.

Recently, a routine blood workup revealed dangerously high Hemoglobin and Hematocrit levels along with the presence of the JAK2 mutation. The fear is palpable, and I'm grappling with anxiety about what the future holds. Despite my partner's perception of me as a hypochondriac due to annual blood work anxiety, each test serves as a stark reminder of the fragility of health and the ongoing battle against my fears.

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Replies to "In 2003, at the age of 25, I received a sudden and unexpected diagnosis of lymphoma...."

I hear you. It is a trauma inducing situation. A normal reaction to a totally abnormal situation. For me, the down button on the elevator is a trigger. Weird I know ... but down in the basement is where life changed, pain happened, choices in my life were removed and losses in my life multiplied. It is truly like a picture of my life... standing before that button... reaching out to push it ... and hesitating.
It was a choice to make , a courageous choice I now recognize, to push down and not to simply walk out of the elevator. I did walk out once, abruptly to the surprise of everyone in the elevator I pushed aside. But I waited, Took a deep breath and re-entered, pushing the down button.
I dread my favorite season... fall. Because it's the months of my first diagnosis and yearly biggest testing.
As a Crisis trained Chaplain, I know that the best thing to do is have someone talk about their experiences. To process it that way, as soon as possible. But Drs don't want to hear this, really they can't, as their empathy and compassion has to be objective to treat us. And family doesn't really want to understand your hurting, because they don't know how to process it themselves or help you with it as well.
Writing this letter here probably helped you a lot. Maybe finding someone you can speak to who can help you process the pain, fear and anxiety that you feel might help you. A counselor, faith based leader, understanding friend who is willing to hear you.
Just know , we all experience it to different levels and ways.
Do things that ground you, like walking in the sun. In nature, doing things that you enjoy... laughing, loving , living present in each moment. Don't let the inability of others to comprehend your experiences cause you to repeat a negative narrative in your head.
Don't feed on that. Nourish yourself mentally, physically, Emotionally and spiritually with positive things, hope filled things.
Prayers for you

"Despite my partner's perception of me as a hypochondriac due to annual blood work anxiety ..."

This upsets me. Your partner really needs to get on board. I learned a new word a few days ago, "scanxiety" -- the anxiety that people with pancreatic cancer feel as they gear up for the every-3-mos. scan that will tell them whether the cancer has returned. (I'm not there yet but will be.)

They are, QUITE NATURALLY, freaked out because it's a stealth cancer that creates few or no side effects (so we have to rely on scans and blood tests to know whether it has recurred, and even those can be misleading), bc it's a super-aggressive cancer that can do a lot of damage in that 3-mo. spell between scans, **and** bc it has a low survival rate.

I can only repeat: Your partner needs to get on board and start being sympathetic to your completely understandable / completely logical distress.

Also, I'm wondering whether you've ever looked into EMDR, a therapy that works to reduce intense reactions to old traumas.

I wish you well.