Adulting 101: Redirect Your Anger

Since I am ensconced in my home these days, as are most of us, I have time to keep track of various "wars" on the interwebs.  I don't normally participate, because a)nobody appears to be actually listening to anyone else; b)nobody seems to be actually speaking for themselves, just repeating what someone else told them; and c)there's a lot of poop-flinging.  I am not a fan of the poop-flinging; if you can't make your case without resorting to name calling and whatnot, your argument is weak.  But some people do derive enjoyment of the poop-flinging.  

I have noticed a trend.  A ridiculous trend, where people are becoming angry at the wrong things.  People are angry about having to wear a mask in public, even though it has been proven to save lives.  People are angry about having to acknowledge that yes, a black man was killed in front of their eyes on television by a white police officer.  People are angry that statues of people they never cared about in the first place are being moved.  People are angry that they can no longer enjoy pancakes the way they used to.  All of this anger seems to be directed toward a nebulous "other".  It's all someone else's fault.  Someone else has done this.  

No. 

If you choose not to wear a mask in public because it inconveniences you, and you take COVID19 home to a loved one, that's on you.  It's not some nebulous "other"; YOU made a poor decision, and there is a consequence.  If you are unhappy about pancakes, or statues, or a flag that was never official, ask your self what you're truly angry about. Maybe that anger is truly directed at yourself, for not noticing these issues?  Maybe that anger is a defensive anger, reacting to anything that might upset your comfortable world.  

The first reality that an adult must face is that nothing occurs in a vacuum.  You are responsible, either by your actions or your inaction, for things around you.  You are responsible for your behavior.  You are responsible for your ignorance.  You can deny that responsibility, but it still exists.  Acknowledge it, like an adult.  Then redirect that anger.  Be angry about the lack of social justice.  Be angry about income inequality.  Be angry that there are children going to bed hungry.  Then get off your butt and do something about it.  

The Battle Begins: The Prequel

I found a lump.

After years and years of routine self-checks, I found a lump.  At first I wasn't too sure. Maybe it wasn't really a lump.  Maybe it was one of those, "only when you're on your period" lumps.  Or one of those fibrocystic lumps that disappear after a few days.  I had a mammogram not too long ago, a completely normal mammogram.  It's probably nothing. 

Except it was still there a month later. 

This time I was a little concerned.  The lump seemed bigger, grape-sized, and it was tender, as it sat there in my left breast.  Still, my mammogram had been normal, so I waited a couple of days, and then I called my doctor and made an appointment for last Thursday.  

My doctor has been with me for more than twenty years, and we've been through a lot.  He entered the room with his usual handshake, and told me that we had to stop meeting like this.  People would talk, he said.  I laughed and told him that it wasn't my fault that I was lumpy.  He examined my breast, and pointed out that there were actually two lumps close together.  Then he sent me immediately over to the radiology clinic two buildings over, so I could have a sonogram. 

It's probably nothing, he said.  Cancer doesn't usually hurt. 

So I went to have my breast sonogram. I lay there in the darkened room and watched the screen while the tech moved the wand over my chest. A dark shape loomed among the gray shapes on that monitor, and I could see it.  So could the radiologist, who immediately ordered me to have another mammogram.  Then they wanted to do a sonogram of the right breast as well, because they had pictures of that one from last year. All were sent for review by a radiologist as I sat in the waiting room in one of those weird gowns.  At this point, I was sending joke texts to one of my friends while I waited, wondering if the tech was going to buy me dinner after all this picture taking.  That was when the tech came out with a card and told me to call a different office to schedule a biopsy. 

As they say, shit just got real. 

So Larry and I took this past Tuesday off and I went to have a biopsy.  It was cold in the room, and they didn't use nearly enough lidocaine to numb the area the first time.  The biopsy needles are very long and it sounds like a staple gun when they take the sample.  After the biopsy, the radiologist inserted markers into the mass, as well as a lymph node that looked suspicious.  Markers are inserted in case the tumors try to leave town, I guess. Than I had another mammogram, with all my gauze and tape still on.  I was sent home with the knowledge that they would be calling before Friday.

They called me the next day. 

I was at work, of course, and when I looked at my phone, I found two messages asking me to call.  It was urgent, both messages said.  I sat in my car, alone in the parking lot of the elementary school where I work, and I called.  My own doctor was on vacation, so the on call doctor had the joy of telling me that the mass in my breast was malignant.  He was referring me to a surgeon, he would send all the records to this person, here was the phone number so I could call and make an appointment.

And then he told me to have a nice day before he hung up.  

WOE: Sending the Souls

Picture prompt:

Source: flickr.com via Tina on Pinterest

"Hurry up!" I heard someone call as they ran past my open window. "You will be late."

Buttoning my shirt, I grabbed my scroll and raced out the door.  The air swirled with crisp leaves that chased us down the street to the wide, green, expanse known to everyone as the Launch.  A small crowd had already formed, and the Guides were having difficulty handing out the umbrellas in the crush.  I knew that it was one umbrella per person, and I fidgeted as I waited in line, anxious that I would not be able to get one. I did not want to wait another year!  A somber Guide finally handed me an umbrella, and I released the breath I had been holding as I went to stand on the Launch with the others.

Today was the day.

I wrapped my scroll around the curve of the umbrella handle, and as I waited for the call of the Guides, I thought of my father, the soul I would release today.  I thought of my anger over his suicide, my incoherent rage at his inability to face life.  I had held onto that anger for years, tethering my father's soul to the earth as punishment for his abandonment of his family.  Of me.  It was my right to do so. Tethering the souls to the earth was the traditional punishment for suicides.  After so many years of anger, however,  I finally understood that my own anger would kill me, my own form of suicide.

I had to let go of my father's soul so that I could live as he never had the courage to attempt.

The sound of the Guide's prayer rolled over me, a wave of forgiveness.  The Guides moved through the crowd as they sang, stationing themselves at intervals to help those who were unable to place their scrolls.  Woven into each scroll was the soul of a loved one; not everyone was as eager as I was to say goodbye, but there would be no going back for any of us.

Today was the day.

The prayer ended. All of us snapped our umbrellas open, and as one, lifted them above our heads.  Let the winds guide all souls home, came the call, and the crisp fall wind gently lifted our umbrellas.  The souls rose, weightless, high above us, pulled by an unseen hand, until we could see them no more.  I felt the invisible cord, the one that held my father chained to me for so long, give with an audible snap.

I could hear the sounds of sobbing around me, but my heart felt too light for tears.