What's not so well known is that, apart from the normal grief that's caused by a death or a loss, there's a similar kind of grief that comes from a diagnosis. Hearing that a parent has Alzheimer's or that a friend has been diagnosed with cancer, brings a different kind of grieving that's linked with the uncertainty of not knowing how much longer we will have that person in our lives. It's a sort of anticipated grief. Or if you yourself happen to be person with the diagnosis, there's a grieving that comes over you as you accept the loss of the life you used to know, and embrace the reality of your new situation: that you'll never walk again, that you're slowly going blind, that your cancer is terminal…. or whatever the diagnosis happened to be.
I recently came to realise that I've experienced a double case of diagnosis-grief over the past month: one to do with my cat and the other to do with myself. When I went to the doctor because the cough and chest pain of pleurisy seemed to be lingering on, I honestly didn't expect to hear that the cough might never go away completely and may be just a symptom of my underlying lung weakness. I didn't expect to hear that the chest pains I experience when I lie down in bed at night may have nothing to do with my lungs, but be yet a further symptom of the arthritis that has affected various parts of my body over the past twelve years. And I certainly didn't expect to hear that I possibly have a problem with high blood pressure…. when I've been known for my unusually low blood pressure throughout my whole lifetime.
I feel almost embarrassed to admit that it was the blood pressure diagnosis that provoked a deep sense of grief. It seems so insignificant compared to someone who's diagnosed with cancer or with multiple sclerosis. But, for some reason, it just felt like one thing too much, on top of the lung issues, heart murmur, and osteoarthritis with fibromyalgia that I've learned to deal with over the years. Everything within me just seemed to shrink away from the idea of having to take blood pressure meds on top of everything else, and the tears seemed to be welling up at the most inopportune moments. I needed to lean on the Lord and remind myself that a diagnosis is not the same as a death. I honestly don't know how things will develop with my lungs, or arthritis or blood pressure….. and so it's important for me to live life to the full, right now, and not waste my sorrows dwelling on what further limitations I may experience in the future.
And the same thing goes for my pets. I didn't experience too much death-grief when I had to put my Tamba to sleep last month. I'd been expecting it for a while and when I discovered she had diabetes and kidney failure, I knew that it was the kindest thing to do for her. But I realise that I've been experiencing diagnosis-grief since having Teddi's blood tested and discovering that he had hyperthyroidism. Having made the decision to treat it with medication, it was a relief to see his thyroid levels return to normal… but then came a new experience of diagnosis-grief on discovering that the condition had already begun to have an effect on his kidneys. He's a relatively young cat, full of life and fun, and it's sad to think that he may not be around for much longer. On the other hand, he could live quite happily for another couple of years. You just never know with renal insufficiency.
I've watched people grieve for years when a family member, human or animal, is given some kind of terminal diagnosis. It's a normal response, as we feel sad for "what could have been" and begin to anticipate the loss of that person or place or pet. But there's a danger of letting our attention focus so much on the sad future that we fail to enjoy the joy of the present.
I well remember the day in Cape Town when the vet called us into his office and sat us down to break bad news to us. In a scene reminiscent of informing a patient's relatives in the hospital, he told us that our border collie, Zola, at only two years old, had very severe arthritis. We already knew that we weren't going to put her through invasive surgery, and decided instead to make the most of the years we had left with her. In fact, little Zola lived happily for another four years.
I don't know how much longer my Teddi will live if his kidneys have begun to fail. I feel at peace about treating his hyperthyroidism with medication, as this will help protect his heart and kidney function…. but I know that, in one sense, the countdown has begun and he's not going to live to be an old cat. However, I don't want my diagnosis-grief or anticipation of loss to cause me to miss out on the fun that I can have with my boy in the present. And so we've decided it's time to upload a new video to YouTube and let Teddi show off a little with some of the new tricks he's been learning. Here, for your entertainment, is one of Teddi's latest tricks. It's called leg- weaving. Hope you enjoy it.
