Anger

Being a lifelong atheist, I'm not angry at God. I'm not angry at fate either. So many others have survived this disease and worse. The fates have been relatively kind to me, I think. I wasn't born a starving child with HIV in Africa, or with Down's Syndrome, or childhood leukemia. I wasn't locked in a cellar by my father and forced to bear his children for 25 years. There are far worse hells on earth.

I am angry at my tumor. It's like an alien creature curled up in my body. I want it OUT. I'm angry at it because I had to cancel my conference trip to Budapest, a snowboarding weekend in Les Arcs, and a sailing trip to Texel. I missed World Pillowfight Day and a Guitar Hero Party. I'm trapped here in Amsterdam for the next 6 months with nothing to look forward to than my next chemo treatment followed by 3 days of writhing and crying in the bathroom. I miss my hair already, even though it hasn't fallen out yet. And I'm angry that this cancer may have ruined thai food for me forever. I enjoyed it last night, but made the mistake of throwing it up in the bathroom sink instead of the toilet, so now the sink is clogged and I still haven't been able to get rid of the sour stench.