As always, these are my own opinions and reflections and should not be considered medical advice.
Grief has been a particularly relevant topic for me in recent months — not because of death, which is how grief is most often understood, but because of loss of a different kind. It has brought me back to the time when I was first diagnosed with panhypopituitarism — a diagnosis that came with its own profound grief: the loss of life as I knew it before.
I imagine many of you can relate.
I remember sitting in my doctor’s office, hopeful that all the testing I had gone through would finally bring good news. Instead, I was told that my pituitary gland was functioning at an insufficient level, that the condition was incurable, and that I would require life-sustaining medication for the rest of my life. My initial reaction was shock. Then denial. And then, I cried.
It all began with what was thought to be a benign tumour on my pituitary gland that produced excess prolactin — the hormone responsible for lactation during breastfeeding. At first, the tumour responded to medication, but over time it became resistant. Unfortunately, having chronically elevated prolactin levels made me infertile, and I had hopes of becoming pregnant in the coming years. Because of this, surgery was recommended.
I went into surgery hopeful — believing I would come out tumour-free and healthy. Instead, the opposite happened. I became sicker. I was left with a lifelong, potentially life-threatening condition — one that directly affected the very reason I had undergone surgery in the first place. Because my pituitary gland no longer functioned, the hormonal communication to my ovaries stopped. I was no longer ovulating. I was back at square one.
These are just some of the ways my condition required me to grieve.
Many of you may recognize pieces of your own story here: loss of fertility, dependence on medication, daily functioning that is suddenly limited or unpredictable. These are not small losses. They are devastating realizations, and it is completely normal to grieve them.
Although grief is often seen as something negative, it actually serves an important purpose. Grief helps our minds and bodies cope with dramatic, life-altering change. It is part of the process that eventually allows us to reach acceptance.
The Stages of Grief
Expressing grief isn’t only about momentary emotional release. It helps us move through what are commonly known as the five stages of grief, first described by psychologist Elisabeth Kübler-Ross: Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, and Acceptance.
Denial — “I can’t believe this happened.”
This is a temporary phase of avoiding reality and not yet fully taking in what has happened.
What it’s doing: protecting you from being overwhelmed all at once. Denial allows reality to be absorbed in survivable doses.
Anger — “Why me?”
This stage often comes with frustration, resentment, and a deep sense that what has happened is unfair.
What it’s doing: anger is your system saying, “This cost me something.”
Bargaining — “If I just try hard enough…”
This is the search for a way back — to who you were, or how life used to be.
What it’s doing: the mind’s attempt to undo the loss and regain control when the body suddenly feels unpredictable.
Depression — “My life is smaller than I imagined.”
This can feel like exhaustion, sadness, or a desire to give up.
What it’s doing: this is where the loss is fully felt. You are facing the truth that some things will not be the same — and that hurts.
Acceptance — “This is my body now — how do we live together?”
Acceptance does not mean liking or approving of what happened.
What it’s doing: your identity begins reorganizing around reality rather than hope for reversal.
It’s important to remember that grief is not linear. You may move back and forth between stages, revisit earlier ones, or experience several at the same time. In many ways, this is simply the mind’s way of coping with profound, life-altering change.
I hope this perspective helps you reflect on your own experiences, normalize what you may be feeling, and validate losses that are often invisible and deeply lonely.
Take care, Zebras. 🖤