Help! I’m In a Glass Case of Emotion!
Usually, we hear about the numerous stages of grief when we're plagued with the loss of a loved one; any therapist out there will know them off by heart while you sit there crying in their chair. The same, however, goes for being diagnosed with any tumour, or even being hit with that word. Cancer. While I may be lucky enough to not have the official 'Big C' diagnosis, I've come across many people who haven't shared the same fortune. For anyone out there at whatever stage in their diagnosis, I've realised that to come to terms with your situation you too must go through these multiple stages to reach that ultimate stage of acceptance. Luckily, I've also decided to write these stages out too.
Stage 1: The Great Egyptian River (Denial).
Denial of your diagnosis is the first cruel stage in coming to terms with it. Personally, I laughed as if the Doctor was playing some cruel prank, and would turn round and say 'Only joking, you just have excess fluid in your brain and we'll just do a lumbar punch.', and I'd be home before the day was out. (Spoiler alert, I spent the next 17 days in hospital and underwent two bouts of brain surgery before I actually got to go home). Throughout this stage, the world around you becomes meaningless and incredibly overwhelming, and that is perfectly okay. You are allowed to deny what you are going through, because no one should have to go through it to begin with. The thing to remember is that there is balance in denial; it is denial that allows us to survive and numb those initial feelings of shock so we can come to terms with our diagnosis in our own time. As you slowly begin to accept the reality of what is happening to you, you are unknowingly beginning the healing process and you are genuinely becoming stronger, and that is what will help you get through the next stage.
Stage 2: I Don't Have a Pun for This One (Anger).
So, we have dealt with the tear-inducing stage of denial, but now we're really angry about it all. Anger is the emotion we are most used to managing, and it is crucial you kick and scream as much as you can, because the more you feel through your anger the quicker it will begin to dissipate. The initial anger I felt was at every single GP I had seen before my official diagnosis, the pointless pills they threw at me that did absolutely nothing. Specifically anger at that one GP who refused to give me a CT scan because of radiation risks as I unknowingly sat in his office with a brain tumour. It was at that exact moment I had lost all hope, and just took whatever was given to me as I just wanted to go back home and go to sleep again. It was necessary that I came to terms with this anger, because I was also angry at myself. How could I do this to my family? Why hadn't I pushed further to get that CT scan? Why couldn't I have been that bit more pushy to get what I needed? Anger is a multi-faceted emotion that appears to have no limits, and it is vital that we accept all aspects of it before we move on to the next stage.
Stage 3: Please Sir, Can I Have Some More? (Bargaining)
Now, I'm not asking for more cancer, or more brain tumours, but I did want to bargain my way out of my diagnosis. After such a bombshell, bargaining may take the form of a truce: 'What if I turn my life around? Perhaps I can finally work out every day? And eat healthily like I said I would? Perhaps that could somehow cure me from this?!'. It's common to become lost in a labyrinth of 'If only...' statements and want to go back in time. What if we found the tumour sooner? What if we recognised the illness quicker? Maybe if we had the GPs pick up on the symptoms faster and this could have been over so much sooner? Generally speaking, remaining in the past is another way the brain tries to help us to survive. While my brain may have messed up on the whole 'not growing a tumour' thing, it does it's job of helping me manage trauma, even if it accidentally IS the reason I'm traumatised in the first place.
Stage 4: It's Not a Phase, Mum. (Depression)
It's crucial to remember that this specific depression is not necessarily a sign of mental illness. Feeling like you're mentally ill as well as physically ill can feel like the final straw, but it is a necessary stage we must go through. I found that empty feelings began to present themselves and I had lost alot of motivation to just 'be'. I had just moved out with my boyfriend, I had just started University, and I was settling into my job with a new group of people, and now I've got a brain tumour?! Do me a favour. I didn't even want to think about fixing my life back up because I wasn't even sure how much of a life I had left. It is this depression that is a necessary stepping stone in grief, without it we could not build ourselves back up to move on to the fifth and final stage. To not feel depressed in such a traumatic situation would be unnatural, and as humans we need that cathartic release. So, if you need to cry, please do.
Stage 5: I'm a Boss Ass Bitch (Acceptance).
Acceptance is often confused with the notion of 'being okay' or 'all good' with the situation you're in, but this is not the case. Truthfully, no part of you will ever be 100% okay with your diagnosis, and that is nothing to be ashamed of. This stage is more about accepting the reality of your situation, and coming to terms with the fact that your life is going to be a bit different than what it was. For me, this stage focused on how humbled I now felt going through life, things became much easier to process; I had lost friends, missed out on making new ones, but I also just accepted the fact that I had some weird looking mush in my brain that I needed to get rid of before it came back again. I was lucky enough to share my story with the nation, I spoke to multiple journalists who put my story out there and helped me raise awareness for diagnosing young lives with brain tumours, and bringing forward the amazing work that The Brain Tumour Charity do. My life may now include alot more MRI scans than I expected, and going through radiotherapy and chemotherapy isn't exactly the holiday I'd rather be on, but I have accepted that this is just something I have to go through with because it is all there to make me better. Acceptance allows us to recieve closure from ourselves, we have just grieved a life that we have lost out on, but we can also accept we have a new life ahead of us, and in a strange way it's like we have been given a second chance to really make a difference. My new life does not look too bad now, I can venture into neuropsychology, I can move back out with Alfie into a nicer (and quieter) place, and the titanium screws in my head make me pretty bionic.
These stages of grief are not linear, and there is no rulebook about how quickly they come to pass, sometimes you go back and forward throughout them before you reach the acceptance stage, but that is nothing to worry about. There is no shame in feeling any of them, and knowing what to expect can sometimes be half the battle, so I hope you can gain some closure from this. I'm now 7 months into my diagnosis, I've had three lots of brain surgery, more MRI scans than I can care to remember, and I still have another year of treatment to go. It has taken me 7 months to reach acceptance not only with my diagnosis, but with myself too. These stages affect every part of you, and remembering that this is not your fault will guide you through it all. The likelihood is, if there is a higher being out there, we'd probably overpower them if we didn't have this illness.
Stage 1: The Great Egyptian River (Denial).
Denial of your diagnosis is the first cruel stage in coming to terms with it. Personally, I laughed as if the Doctor was playing some cruel prank, and would turn round and say 'Only joking, you just have excess fluid in your brain and we'll just do a lumbar punch.', and I'd be home before the day was out. (Spoiler alert, I spent the next 17 days in hospital and underwent two bouts of brain surgery before I actually got to go home). Throughout this stage, the world around you becomes meaningless and incredibly overwhelming, and that is perfectly okay. You are allowed to deny what you are going through, because no one should have to go through it to begin with. The thing to remember is that there is balance in denial; it is denial that allows us to survive and numb those initial feelings of shock so we can come to terms with our diagnosis in our own time. As you slowly begin to accept the reality of what is happening to you, you are unknowingly beginning the healing process and you are genuinely becoming stronger, and that is what will help you get through the next stage.
Stage 2: I Don't Have a Pun for This One (Anger).
So, we have dealt with the tear-inducing stage of denial, but now we're really angry about it all. Anger is the emotion we are most used to managing, and it is crucial you kick and scream as much as you can, because the more you feel through your anger the quicker it will begin to dissipate. The initial anger I felt was at every single GP I had seen before my official diagnosis, the pointless pills they threw at me that did absolutely nothing. Specifically anger at that one GP who refused to give me a CT scan because of radiation risks as I unknowingly sat in his office with a brain tumour. It was at that exact moment I had lost all hope, and just took whatever was given to me as I just wanted to go back home and go to sleep again. It was necessary that I came to terms with this anger, because I was also angry at myself. How could I do this to my family? Why hadn't I pushed further to get that CT scan? Why couldn't I have been that bit more pushy to get what I needed? Anger is a multi-faceted emotion that appears to have no limits, and it is vital that we accept all aspects of it before we move on to the next stage.
Stage 3: Please Sir, Can I Have Some More? (Bargaining)
Now, I'm not asking for more cancer, or more brain tumours, but I did want to bargain my way out of my diagnosis. After such a bombshell, bargaining may take the form of a truce: 'What if I turn my life around? Perhaps I can finally work out every day? And eat healthily like I said I would? Perhaps that could somehow cure me from this?!'. It's common to become lost in a labyrinth of 'If only...' statements and want to go back in time. What if we found the tumour sooner? What if we recognised the illness quicker? Maybe if we had the GPs pick up on the symptoms faster and this could have been over so much sooner? Generally speaking, remaining in the past is another way the brain tries to help us to survive. While my brain may have messed up on the whole 'not growing a tumour' thing, it does it's job of helping me manage trauma, even if it accidentally IS the reason I'm traumatised in the first place.
Stage 4: It's Not a Phase, Mum. (Depression)
It's crucial to remember that this specific depression is not necessarily a sign of mental illness. Feeling like you're mentally ill as well as physically ill can feel like the final straw, but it is a necessary stage we must go through. I found that empty feelings began to present themselves and I had lost alot of motivation to just 'be'. I had just moved out with my boyfriend, I had just started University, and I was settling into my job with a new group of people, and now I've got a brain tumour?! Do me a favour. I didn't even want to think about fixing my life back up because I wasn't even sure how much of a life I had left. It is this depression that is a necessary stepping stone in grief, without it we could not build ourselves back up to move on to the fifth and final stage. To not feel depressed in such a traumatic situation would be unnatural, and as humans we need that cathartic release. So, if you need to cry, please do.
Stage 5: I'm a Boss Ass Bitch (Acceptance).
Acceptance is often confused with the notion of 'being okay' or 'all good' with the situation you're in, but this is not the case. Truthfully, no part of you will ever be 100% okay with your diagnosis, and that is nothing to be ashamed of. This stage is more about accepting the reality of your situation, and coming to terms with the fact that your life is going to be a bit different than what it was. For me, this stage focused on how humbled I now felt going through life, things became much easier to process; I had lost friends, missed out on making new ones, but I also just accepted the fact that I had some weird looking mush in my brain that I needed to get rid of before it came back again. I was lucky enough to share my story with the nation, I spoke to multiple journalists who put my story out there and helped me raise awareness for diagnosing young lives with brain tumours, and bringing forward the amazing work that The Brain Tumour Charity do. My life may now include alot more MRI scans than I expected, and going through radiotherapy and chemotherapy isn't exactly the holiday I'd rather be on, but I have accepted that this is just something I have to go through with because it is all there to make me better. Acceptance allows us to recieve closure from ourselves, we have just grieved a life that we have lost out on, but we can also accept we have a new life ahead of us, and in a strange way it's like we have been given a second chance to really make a difference. My new life does not look too bad now, I can venture into neuropsychology, I can move back out with Alfie into a nicer (and quieter) place, and the titanium screws in my head make me pretty bionic.
These stages of grief are not linear, and there is no rulebook about how quickly they come to pass, sometimes you go back and forward throughout them before you reach the acceptance stage, but that is nothing to worry about. There is no shame in feeling any of them, and knowing what to expect can sometimes be half the battle, so I hope you can gain some closure from this. I'm now 7 months into my diagnosis, I've had three lots of brain surgery, more MRI scans than I can care to remember, and I still have another year of treatment to go. It has taken me 7 months to reach acceptance not only with my diagnosis, but with myself too. These stages affect every part of you, and remembering that this is not your fault will guide you through it all. The likelihood is, if there is a higher being out there, we'd probably overpower them if we didn't have this illness.
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