THE “SILENT KILLER”.
It feels strange to have disease themed days. They do, however, serve their purpose to incite those affected to stand up in hopes to raise awareness and inspire others to lend support in any capacity.
Today is world pancreatic cancer day.
I lost my mother and a few too many close acquaintances to this disease. It is infamously known as “the silent killer” for a reason.
Why, still with today’s tech advancements, we’ve yet to discover better means for effective screening escapes me.
But disease is far too perplexing to begin to address on a social media platform.
I will say this:
My mother’s symptoms started six years prior to her official diagnosis.
Six years of escalating emergency room visits, increased testing and scans, and mounting debilitation.
Six years of being told all tests are clear, and being sent home with nothing but indigestion — dismissed as psychosomatic.
Still, my mother persisted that it was something more serious.
She had reached completely crippling pain levels before a gastroenterologist relative of ours dug deeper and was able to see the tumor — big enough to finally be seen. By then, she was stage 4 with a despairing prognosis; six months later she passed. This was 4 years ago, yet the pain and memories are still very much alive and present.
When you or someone you love loses their health, you abruptly learn that health is indeed paramount.
Your views of life are forever changed; and so are your priorities.
It opens your eyes to life’s absurdity and to human fragility and imperfection. And it hopefully provides you with new resolve; one with more focus on empathy and authenticity.
Mostly, it hopefully gives you the courage to live and love virtuously.
To all those affected — I hope you find some comfort in knowing that your pain is solemnly shared.
To those whom — I learned from firsthand observation — are unsure as to how to behave toward the dying and grieving — know this:
You don’t need to know what to say other than a genuine “I’m sorry” or “I love you”.
Remain present without expecting that they’ll reach out to you if they need you — I assure you that they need you, and it’s up to you to reach out and check in.
Be there in whatever capacity you can.
Sit with them even if in silence.
Let them know they’re in your thoughts.
Swallow your discomfort surrounding death and extend your sympathies and sentiments.
Hold their hand.
Stroke their back.
Drop off some flowers or food.
Don’t dismiss the smallest of gestures as insignificant. They matter. They’re vividly remembered.
And most importantly, be unafraid to talk about it with the grieving — even if years may have elapsed.
At worst, they might not be quite ready and will prefer to change the subject; but will know you cared enough to ask.
At best, they’ll want to talk and you will have paved the way to a deep connection. And there’s nothing that makes you feel more alive than that.
