Jordan Cannon: There is Always Laughter

I couldn’t believe the laughter in the room. How did these two young patients know they were facing death before thirty years old and still manage to laugh?

Over eight weeks during the summer of 2021, I worked as the genetic counseling intern with Greenwood Genetic Center (GGC) at the Greenville office. I had many new experiences, including living alone for the first time, learning how to cook for one (that is a tangent I won’t begin here…), and working a full-time 8 to 5 job. The best experience I had, though, was witnessing patients’ resilience and the innate tendency within all of us to move forward and find happiness even in the midst of extremely difficult circumstances.

For some context, during the fall of 2020, my mom was diagnosed with early onset Alzheimer’s. She was 45 at the time. Of course, my family and I have cried and struggled to grieve someone who is still alive, but after the first few months, we adjusted. We learned how to grieve in stages and how not to look at our ever-more-frequently-forgetful mom as someone who is dying.

Every time I took a step back from our situation, I was amazed.  I thought to myself, “My family is awesome! We are rock stars for working through something so impossible and remaining joyful.” I had no idea interning for GGC would change my perspective entirely.

In May, I moved to Greenville and began working as the genetic counseling intern. In essence, my role was to observe genetic counselor/patient interactions and keep a logbook of every case. Many of the cases I observed during my time there involved young children with severe genetic conditions, so most of my days as an intern were emotionally impactful. However, one case in particular had a profound effect on me.

The case involved two young siblings both diagnosed with Friedreich’s ataxia, a genetic condition that affects the nerves of the body and leads to trouble walking, slowed speech, and shorter life expectancy. One of the siblings was older and farther along in progression, while the younger sibling still looked and seemed like a completely normal preteen.

The two siblings came in – one in a wheelchair, the other walking. We sat down, and there was immediate silence. It was obvious the patients were uncomfortable sitting down to discuss this condition that consumed their lives, and I found myself at a loss for words. 

I began to feel a pit grow in my stomach, along with a profound feeling of sadness and loss. I couldn’t pinpoint where these feelings were coming from at first, but eventually a realization dawned on me: the younger sibling, currently still able to walk and talk, has to live life watching the older sibling slowly succumb to a condition they both have.

Eventually, the parent that brought them in made a joke to break the ice. Both of the patients looked at each other like, “Are we allowed to show emotions here? What do we do?”. The genetic counselor began the visit asking typical questions about health, and when he reached some of the more uncomfortable questions, one of the patients began to giggle. The patient’s speech was already beginning to slow, so most of the communication came by way of facial expressions and nods. The laughter, though, was universally understood.

Pretty soon, both of the patients, the parent, and I were cracking up, like some secret joke had just been made. Each of us felt unspeakable pain in different capacities, only able to be let out through guttural laughter. The genetic counselor asked if outbursts of laughter occur frequently among the patients to which their parent replied, “When there’s nothing you can do, sometimes all you have is laughter. It’s how we survive.”

Immediately, the atmosphere of the room changed. No longer were we dwelling on a condition. Our sole focus was laughter and moving forward. I realized in that moment that my family is not unique in our awesomeness. We aren’t the only people who have experienced hard times and managed to find laughter through the tears. It is human nature to find joy even during some of the hardest moments of life.

This was also the moment that I realized genetic counseling is exactly the field I need to be in. A bond had formed between me and the patients that can only be felt by people who have experienced something similar. We have a thirst for life and an appreciation for small moments that is completely unique to those who know what it’s like to watch someone fade away. As a genetic counselor, I want to help patients and their families through that transition from, “Oh my God. How can this be happening to us?” to “How lucky are we to still have life left within us?”.

While there were plenty of learning moments and educational aspects of the internship I could tell you about, the knowledge I gained from the story above is by far my favorite thing I learned. Life isn’t easy, and you see some of the hardest parts of life when you put yourself into a field with genetic disorders, yet I know it is where I am supposed to be. We all have a journey to follow, and if I can be a small part of family’s journeys learning about and recovering from a difficult diagnosis, I will be completely fulfilled.

Jordan Cannon is a biology major with psychology and chemistry minors, expecting to graduate in May of 2023. She interned at the Greenwood Genetic Center Greenville office for eight weeks during the summer of 2021. She is preparing to apply to graduate school for genetic counseling in the fall of 2022.