The 5 Stages

Thus far in my life I have been lucky enough not to deal with too much grief.  I have lost 3 grandparents and a dog, and as sad as it may sound, I was probably closest with the dog.  Regardless, the stages of grief, in my own personal opinion, can also be applied to other traumatic experiences in one's life.  In returning to the MSKCC after a couple weeks at home on the mend it got me thinking: I have certainly come a long way since my initial appointments, and the surgery - nearly 3 weeks ago.  In a very stripped down and raw tone, I think my own progression goes something like this...

• Denial - "Look, I appreciate my family physician referring me to a good doctor in NY, but I think he overestimated my condition.  I mean, everyone in here has cancer.  I don't belong here.  A chemotherapy suite?  Um, yeah.  I need to get the hell out of here.  I'm not sick like them."

• Anger - "Alright, I've had to come back here 3 times now.  Why the hell are they treating me like I have cancer?  This is bullshit.  I've had this stupid thing on my side for a while now, and it's not causing any pain, so how the hell could it be something dangerous.  I'm wasting my time."

• Bargaining - "Ok fine, what if I do all the research, take tons of vitamins and all types of things that will make me really healthy - maybe when I have the surgery the doctor's will realize it's not that serious.  Could that work?  I mean, it might.  I'll just be really prepared, and maybe it will turn out to be nothing."

• Depression - *laying in a hospital bed, trying to move around* "umm. this sucks."

• Acceptance - "I've come back to the hospital and the word 'cancer' doesn't make me cringe anymore.  This isn't so bad.  The worst is behind me.  The people in the waiting room no longer look desperate and sick to me anymore, but rather people with hope to recover and people I can relate to.  Yeah, it's rough, but best case scenario they'll be just fine - like me.  Thank god my doctor's are smart, capable, and skilled.  I owe them a lot.  But, oh yeah, the coffee in the waiting room still sucks."

I'm extremely happy that I'm at a place much closer to "acceptance" than "depression," and I think a great deal of that goes to the fact that I had doctor's that not only knew how to use a sharp tool to cut me open, but also knew how to explain things, answer questions, and listen.  Dr. Pusic, the plastic surgeon, showed great empathy and managed to take the issue of moving an entire muscle in my back and make it something I understood. Dr. Park had to kind of figuratively slap me across the face a few times because of my blatant ignorance.  In my first appointment with him I asked if I could have the surgery on Friday so that I could return to work on Monday - only missing one day.  In hindsight, I'm not sure a cross between the Terminator and Cal Ripken could have pulled that off.  But, it just goes to show how much of denial I was in that this "thing" on my side was anything serious.   Yeah, I'm pretty lucky.

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Basford