When we experience a medical crisis, we look to professionals for guidance. They make recommendations based on knowledge and experience; they share opinions about surgery, medication, rehab, treatment, or entering a trial. In a medical crisis, we are impacted by more than the physical aspects, yet little is said as to how our way of life and emotions might be affected. During the treatment process, our system undergoes massive changes. Our brains and emotions react as our bodies struggle to regain health and balance.

Understanding what is happening can provide solace and comfort as we search for ways to cope during the treatment stage of the journey.

I was 23, and so happy driving down the beltway on my way to pick up my new pet chinchilla, when a nine-pound piece of metal from a truck hurled through my windshield, penetrating my skull. At Shock Trauma, I was diagnosed with an uncountable number of fractures around my frontal bone, eye socket, cheekbone, jaw, and teeth. All the sinus cavities and most of the muscles on the upper left side of my face were injured. Excessive swelling loomed around my head. Blood was everywhere. I vomited up blood that kept going into my stomach along with my teeth. My life was forever changed. –CK

Human beings are resilient, in part because we focus on what is around us that we can control. If we experienced all of what is happening in the world, near and far, few of us would be able to function. Our minds, hearts, and souls would be overwhelmed, rendering us immobile, unable to make decisions, wanting to retreat and run for cover. Our ability to screen out what we can’t handle is remarkable, but when we are thrust into a medical crisis, the safety net is removed, and trauma reactions set in.

When we think of trauma, our minds flip to scenes of war, violence, abuse, or the death of a loved one. The traumatic nature of these events is easily understood. When we receive a life-threatening diagnosis or experience, it sets off specific neurological and emotional reactions similar to more traditional traumas.

After two surgeries and prolonged treatment to combat my mother’s cancer, I wanted to get back to normal. After all, I was nine years old. Unfortunately, life did not return to normal because my parents separated and divorced shortly afterwards. I was thrown from one trauma straight into another. –AB

Socially Acceptable Trauma

As a society, we struggle with what we can’t control. Certain illnesses and situations become taboo to discuss. We retreat in silence leaving others feeling unsupported and isolated which fuels the trauma reaction brewing within. It wasn’t until the 1990s when emerging grassroots organizations and advocacy made it more acceptable to talk about cancer diagnoses.[1] The silence was even more striking during the AIDS epidemic. Individuals and families in desperate need of support were met with misunderstanding and exclusion. Today, we continue to be challenged by understanding and discussing physical and emotional health. To have a mental health diagnosis is often viewed as a personal weakness. Even our health care system discriminates against mental health care by covering treatment at a lesser financial rate than physical health care.

My wife’s mother has cancer. We don’t know what her prognosis or treatment is. They are the type of family that doesn’t discuss things. We don’t know what to do to support them. They shut every conversation down. –TS

Cindy’s Journey Silence is not always golden

When I was sixteen, I met Renee. We went to different high schools, but we worked at the same McDonald’s. McDonald’s was my first job outside of babysitting for neighborhood children, and I loved it. Driving to work, receiving a paycheck, and making new friends fed my emerging independence.

Renee’s mother, Velia, had been ill for quite a while before I met Renee. I didn’t know what was wrong with her, and neither did Renee. Nobody would tell us. We just figured whatever was wrong, she would get better, despite being bedridden and in pain.

One day, I went to Renee’s to pick her up so we could go to work our shift at McDonald’s. While Renee was getting ready, her mother called me into her bedroom. The curtains were drawn, and a thin shard of light filtered into the room from the hallway. Velia took my hand and in a trembling voice implored, “Be strong for my Renee.” My teenage self tightly gripped her hand assuring her I would, without truly comprehending what was happening.

Velia died of breast cancer a few weeks later.

[1] Osuch, J. R., Silk, K., Price, C., Barlow, J., Miller, K., Hernick, A., & Fonfa, A. (2012). A historical perspective on breast cancer activism in the united states: from education and support to partnership in scientific research. Journal of Women’s Health, 21(3), 355-362. doi:10.1089/jwh.2011.2862

Featured image courtesy of jplenio on Pixabay.