We own our grief, and anyone telling us how to grieve is an interloper in a natural process in a sample of one. Yes, that’s research jargon, but a sample of one is just as relevant and valid as a sample of 100.

What is the reason this is today’s featured material? For one, someone to whom I am closely related is grieving now. Second, I am highly resistant to the insistence of others regarding how we should grieve or that there are stages of grief. Yes, this is personal.

All of us have grieved in the past and will grieve in the future, and we understand what it was and may be for us. No one should have the temerity to tell us how to grieve appropriately. Yes, I agree that rituals help just as churches, temples, and mosques help, but they don’t tell us how to grieve.

Rituals attempt to help us heal via the belief that we’ve performed something quasi-mystical that will be ameliorative. And they needn’t be religious in character, simply what is meaningful to us and the loved person or even a pet.

Some people will light candles on special occasions associated with the departed, and some may raise a glass. One man in New York City left funds for his friends to have a yearly party commemorating his life. Were those friends grieving? I’m sure they were, but they commemorated a life, not a death. Families may continue to celebrate the birthdays of those who have passed.

Elizabeth Kubler-Ross had her heyday in the 70s-80 when everyone studied death and dying and her alleged stages of grieving. How death got to be so popular is a question I can’t answer. I’d propose that death is still feared and people wanted so reassurance or help with others who were dying.

I’m not alone in my debunking of this “theory.” I do not believe she had a theory because her stages don’t meet a theory’s criteria. And, yes, I was subjected to someone who firmly believed in Kubler-Ross’ stages of grief and told me I needed to experience them when my mother died. I took my own path, and I’m fine. I can’t believe how insistent she was. She tried to make me feel as though it were pathological not to go through the stages as outlined.

Someone else who believes as I do, Russell P. Friedman of the Grief Recovery Institute in Sherman Oaks, Calif. (no, I’m not pitching for him here), has been quoted as follows: “no study has ever established that stages of grief actually exist, and what is defined as such can’t be called stages. Grief is the normal and natural emotional response to loss… No matter how much people want to create simple, bullet-point guidelines for the human emotions of grief, there are no stages of grief that fit any two people or relationships.”

Do I have beliefs about grief that may not have been subjected to rigorous studies? Of course, I do, and I don’t think everything can be studied and broken down to “truth” when it comes to grief. Yes, there will be those who endlessly force it through some mental pastry bag of their beliefs, pushing the grieving to come to their conclusions, not those of the aggrieved. For that, I am genuinely sorry and concerned about the grieving person who is subjected to that type of therapeutic demagoguery.

For me, grief is an expression of love and loss. I once heard of a man whose mother had recently died, and his father was considering dating and eventual marriage again. The father’s friend questioned how he could date or marry again after his wife died. The father replied that his marriage had been so loving and wonderful that he wanted that again. The circle was beginning anew.

What about grieving after a pet has died? Loving a pet may not be precisely like loving a person, but the loss can be incredible. Pet are often guardians, loving companions who ask little and provide much. They leave a space in our lives that cannot be denied when they are gone. I wouldn’t deny it, nor would I refuse to see that the loss will be grieved.

Who am I to say that people should not utilize pet cemeteries or any other form of memorial for a beloved pet? Of course, there are times when the loss may cause somewhat irrational behavior, and that needs attention, too. But it is a loss and will be grieved.

We know so little about animals and are only beginning to recognize that they have emotions and form strong attachments and love. Having a pet is a reciprocal attachment of love. Who can say it’s not? We are still children wandering in the scientific wilderness in too many things.

If you love, you will grieve. How you do it will be determined by you.

The post Grief Is Painful, Personal, and Stageless; Don’t Believe Otherwise appeared first on Medika Life.

Earlier that day I passed an ICU doctor for the 20th time, as we often do running from room to room, donning and doffing the PPE.

“Are you having a better day?” I ask him.

“No. I’m just having another day,” he tells me.

“Well, sometimes that’s all we can ask for,” I reply. “The sun coming up”.

The only problem is, we want the sun to come up for everyone.

I often wonder how many thousands of nurses had the same conversations as me that day; Encouraging doctors and patients alike to keep fighting.

I walk into my patient’s room one last time before shift change. The respiratory therapist has already been paged. The decisions have been made, he just doesn’t know it yet. Our governor just announced we have no ICU beds left and I wonder where they’ll put him. I tell him,

“Hey, call your wife ok?”

Then I hold his gaze until I see the realization wash across his face. In a few minutes, he’ll be one step away from a ventilator.

“O.K.,” he says as he lowers his head.

“Hey!” I tell him earnestly, getting him to raise up his chin once more,

“You call your wife, then you fight like hell.”

And that’s the story of how I came to be sitting on this bathroom floor. Wishing I wasn’t here, but finding it so hard to leave…

The post Call Your Wife; Then Fight Like Hell appeared first on Medika Life.

She left with life-changing news.

Exam, mammogram, and biopsy

Her breast cancer was confirmed, and she disappeared. We made phone calls, left messages, and sent certified letters to no avail. In medical terminology, we call this “lost to follow up.” She ghosted us.

We continued our pursuit. Months later she returned. She did not follow up with the breast surgeon or Oncologist. She didn’t like them. Her family had other opinions.

She was angry.

I could feel it.

This was life or death

I would like to say I encouraged her to seek treatment, but I didn’t. I pushed her to get help. Not a gentle nudge but a shove. It was intervention time. I spoke the cold, hard truth. The goal was to break the dangerous cycle of denial. After relentless encouragement, she promised to go.

The resentful look in her eyes told a different story.

She was not ready.

She just wanted to leave.

Surgery, chemotherapy, and radiation

I saw her a few months later. My intervention worked. She had bilateral mastectomies and removal of the lymph nodes. She was undergoing chemotherapy and radiation. She was still angry.

She resented me.

I knew it.

I reminded myself her care was all about her. This moment was not about me. My job was not to be liked but rather to help her get well. In desperate times, patients focus their frustration on what they can control. Patients need a place to channel their feelings and rage. My job that day was to be the target.

Fear manifests as anger. She was furious and frustrated.

But she was alive.

Three years later we meet again

She came to see me yesterday. With a huge smile on her face, she embraced me in a giant bear hug. She held the hug a little too long. She grabbed both my hands and squeezed them tight. We locked eyes. She said, “thank you.” She appreciated my fight to get her treatment.

Then, with a beaming smile, she told me her cancer was back.

My heart sinks

After three years of remission, her breast cancer came back. The metastatic disease has spread to the chest, lungs, and brain. It is inoperable. She is restarting chemotherapy. She qualified for an experimental protocol with a 2–3% survival rate over three years.

I am rarely speechless. I can not talk. Tears fill my eyes. I try to fight it.

I am the doctor she trusts to take care of her. I am losing it.

What? No? Not possible. That can’t be true. She has a teenage son.

Quickly, I process her reveal. Inoperable metastatic cancer. Experimental protocol. 2% survival rate.

I stop fighting my emotions. I cry. I manage to say, “I am so sorry.”

She looked me in the eye and said “But I am ok”

She explains she came today just to see me. She wants me to know she “is good.” Her spirits are great. This was the best she felt in years. It took a long time for her to get to this place of acceptance.

She has found joy in living.

She shares her story. In the past, she blamed me for finding her cancer. She was frustrated every office ended in bad news. She resented me for forcing her into treatment. She was furious she had cancer.

Now, she is at peace. She is thankful. She appreciates all that I did. She needs me to know she is no longer angry. She has accepted her fate. She has found a happy place. She is loved.

My eyes glisten with tears. Her eyes glimmer with joy.

I am in awe of her strength, her will, and her compassion. We finish our visit with another hug.

It was my turn to hold the hug too long.

Afterthoughts

I think about her often. I try to shake the memory. I can’t. She was closing the open loops. Seeking resolution.

When I think about her, I smile.

My heart fills with admiration and gratitude. I am thankful she blessed my life. I am thankful she came to see me. For 15 years, I had the honor of being her doctor.

She found her happy place.

I will find mine knowing the true reason for her visit was to say “Goodbye.”

The post How a Breast Cancer Patient’s Strength Inspires Her Doctor appeared first on Medika Life.