April 20, 2026 | Janine Praxmarer
Diagnosis: Case number - What medicine can feel like
Before I begin, I would like to clear say:
This is not a Doctor bashing. I will deliberately not mention any names, departments or precise medical details, to protect everyone involved.
I'm not interested in pillorying anyone. My point is to share an experience.
One Experience, which shows what medicine can feel like today when there is a lack of time, a lack of staff, when everything has to happen quickly and something very important is lost in the process.
It all began in January 2025.
With a small swelling with my mom.
Nothing that would have caused fear. Nothing that immediately looked like something serious. It was simply there. Sometimes visible, sometimes barely. Months went by without it really playing a role. You get on with your life, you don't think too much about it. You think your body will sort itself out.
Until the fall.
The swelling then started to grow. Very slowly, but in such a way that at some point no longer could ignore. And with this growth came this quiet feeling that you can't grasp, this „Something is not right“.
In the November 2025 my mom finally went to the family doctor. From there she was sent on to the radiology department. There she was given the wrong diagnosis. With this diagnosis, she then went to another doctor. And from there finally to the Hospital.
A Friday, the beginning of something that we could not or did not want to foresee.
Many studies. Many people. Many rooms. Ultrasounds, CT scans, blood tests. And in the middle of it all, my mom, who just wanted to understand what was happening. At the end of the day it was clear:
A tissue sample must be taken. Appointment: Tuesday.
On Monday we still had to go back to the hospital. And there we suddenly noticed something: her sodium level was too low. At first it was nothing more than a Side note. Nobody really seemed to be bothered by it. It wasn't dealt with, it wasn't explained, it wasn't prioritized.
My mom then said that she wanted to go home by Tuesday. That was important to her. She is a anxiety patient and has also told the doctors this. She wanted to sleep at home, but not because she was afraid of the treatment, but because of everything around it. These long corridors, these full waiting rooms, this restlessness, this feeling of having no space for herself. She just wanted to sleep at home. In her safe environment. To come back on Tuesday and get through the whole thing.
Throughout the day nobody something. And then, all of a sudden, the mood changed.
This incidental finding suddenly became a problem. A big problem.
But not because it was explained to her. Sor because they suddenly started to scare her without her knowing what was going on. Suddenly she should stay. Absolutely. When she asked what specifically would be done if she stayed there, the answer was no correct answer. Nothing really. She was simply told to drink less. In other words, they wanted her to stay, but there were no plans to treat her or find out why this value was „apparently so threatening“.
In the end, my mom had to sign that she goes home at his own request.
And she left with the feeling that she might have just made the wrong decision. A dangerous decision, but since nothing would have been done about it anyway and she would have just waited, it was clear to her that she was going home.
On Tuesday she came back for a tissue sample. She stayed until Thursday. The result was available on Wednesday. She found out on Thursday morning. BUT!
Not in a quiet conversation and not in a safe space. But during the ward round, just in the middle of it. A doctor came in, said briefly that malignant cells were found and left again. A sentence that changes a whole life. It was now clear that it was cancer. A disease that everyone must be afraid of. And no one remains to catch this moment or to take away fear despite this diagnosis.
Shortly afterwards, another doctor arrived. She would have to come back on Monday. Something had to be removed from another place because it was suspected that the source was there, and that was all.
No explanation. No clarification. No „What does this mean for you now?“.
Just a note for the weekend, which she was supposed to read through and sign. And then home again. The other problems were still there. The sodium level. Her chronic anemia. The iron deficiency. Everything was in the findings. Everything was visible. But nothing was really addressed. Nothing was explained.
On Monday she came back for the next operation.
And from that moment on, everything just felt like a cycle that nobody really understood.
The sodium problem was suddenly no longer an issue. But the potassium was now too low. My mom was therefore given infusions. Then another one. Then another. Then new ones again. One value was corrected, then it was too high. So something had to be given again to flush it out. Then it was too little again. So again something against it. It went back and forth. On and on. And again, no one explained why this was happening at all.
My mom didn't know what she was getting. Not why. Not what is happening to her body right now. She was connected, disconnected again, moved again. And at some point she was suddenly told she had to go on a other station.
Not because she was getting worse, but because certain things were not allowed to be done on this ward and a medication that was supposed to help against this derailment could not be administered here. So she was transferred so that she could be monitored there to ensure that her values didn't „go in the wrong direction“ again. It was complicated. I was there that day and asked in detail what it all meant and the doctor couldn't really give me an answer. I was there every day and often had so many questions, to this day a lot of them are still unanswered. remained open.
Then it went on...
The result of this Operation was there again on Wednesday. She found out on Thursday.
But before anyone had even spoken to her, she received a text message. Confirmation of appointments:
Oncology.Radiation outpatient clinic.
Still before she even knew what she had, she already knew that she was going to have radiotherapy. That chemotherapy was planned. The conversation afterwards was brief. The operation was actually in vain. Nothing was found there. The assumption now is CUP (Cancer of unknown origin) syndrome.
Nothing more. No explanation. No pause for thought. No „We'll take time for you now“. In fact, a consultation had already been arranged the previous week for this Friday. BUT!
The planned consultation on Friday was then simply canceled.
And then my mom was sent home. But at that point, she still didn't know what illness she had. And that's what hurts the most. Not just the diagnosis itself. But the path to it. This feeling that nobody really stops for once. That no one is really looking. That nobody really explains. That you just work.
From appointment to appointment. From infusion to infusion. From sentence to sentence. And somewhere in between, you lose yourself. Perhaps because there is not enough time. Maybe because the system doesn't allow it otherwise.
But when you experience it, it doesn't feel like a system.
Then it just feels like you're in one of the most vulnerable moments of your life and no one is really there. And what remains is not just fear of what is to come. But this deep, quiet feeling of not having been seen as a human being along the way, even though you have just been told that you are carrying a potentially fatal disease.
And what we didn't know back then:
That was just the beginning of an incomprehensible rollercoaster ride of emotions.
In the meantime we have April 2026 and sooo much has happened that I want to tell you about it in several parts.
If you have experienced something like this, please get in touch - you are not alone!
