Denial in cancer patients is known to have many negative effects. It may delay completing the full diagnosis. It could hold up the patient from getting proper medical treatment. It may slow down the process of accepting the situation and trying to deal with it.
Nonetheless, denial for short periods during stressful times can be helpful. It could give your mind the opportunity to digest the dreadful information at a slower pace and handle it better. Although I’m typically very rational and realistic, I, too, experienced bursts of “mini” denial periods, associated with My Hodgkin Lymphoma, the treatments and their side effects.
Misdiagnosis -
As defined in the dictionary it is “an incorrect diagnosis of an illness or other problem”. According to a random research paper I found on the internet, the rate of misdiagnosis, though difficult to determine, occurs in 5–10 percent of cases. Since I’ve already beaten the statistics once (Hodgkin Lymphoma at 40+) — why not again? Perhaps I’m in the “low probability bucket” again?
Admittedly, during different stages of the diagnostic procedures and even after, I was waiting to get a phone call from the hospital, calling to sincerely apologize. For misplacing the biopsy specimen.. For a mix-up between me and another patient with a similar name.. For a wrong diagnosis because astonishingly I had a very rare condition that could look like Hodgkin Lymphoma, but in fact it was something else. I would then use the compensatory damages to embark on a lengthy, once-in-a-lifetime trip around the world.
I never got this phone call.
Chemical Treatments -
Some words give me the chills. Chemotherapy is one of them. I’m not sure why. Trying to travel back in time… maybe it is because a good friend’s mother was diagnosed with cancer when we were teenagers and I heard a lot about her chemo sessions; or maybe there’s another subliminal reasoning for it, but the reality is I can’t stand hearing or using this word. Alas, turned out I needed to go through this myself so I kind of invented my own terminology for it — chemical treatments. I don’t think it’s a formally accepted term in this context and definitely not a common medical lingo but I needed to have an alternative so I’m not forced to pronounce Chemotherapy, or Chemo. It worked well for some time, but oftentimes when telling people “I’m getting chemical treatment for my Lymphoma” they would ask “do you mean Chemotherapy?”. This is when I had to declare defeat, to overcome the denial and to start using that word again.
Hair Loss -
When reviewing the potential side effects of the treatments, my hemato-oncologist told me I would probably start losing hair after the second treatment. Wow that’s early. But treatment #2 passed, and then #3. Things got a little loose with the hair, no doubt, but it didn’t really feel like I was going to lose it completely. There were moments when I thought — maybe I’m one of those who won’t lose THAT MUCH of it? I could be just fine with the thinning hair, perhaps change a haircut or something? After another week I even developed a buyer’s remorse, regretful about spending so much money on a wig that would help me during the hair-less months. Maybe I should have postponed this purchase? I was pretty much ready to go back to the shop to return it for a full refund — Brand New in a Box. Alas, things started escalating rather quickly after treatment #5, and then one day when I looked in the mirror I realized — this was happening!
Here goes my denial.
Patient or Accompanying Relative? -
My chemical treatment (hmm, chemotherapy) sessions are given in an outpatient clinic. Usually, you’d see pairs of people arriving together — the patient and the accompanying relative or friend. However, during Coronavirus time, with the importance of minimizing the number of “non-essential” people in the clinic — the guidelines are different. You’re allowed to bring an accompanying relative only if it’s absolutely required, like in case of mobility issues, otherwise you need to come by yourself; and there’s a security guard at the entrance enforcing the policy. As a result, I am going to these sessions by myself, seeing the glass half full that I am mobile and independent!
A couple of times I was stopped by the guard, who respectfully explained that “only patients are allowed in, no accompanying relatives”. Then it was my turn to explain — I AM the patient, to the slight embarrassment of the guard who then wished me good health and all the best. I admit, it felt good to be inadvertently considered a healthy person, not a cancer patient coming for a treatment. It was a mini-denial episode, when for a split-second it felt again like in my pre-Hodgkin era. But then it was gone.
