‪No, I Won’t Drop My Fucking Anger, Thank You.

A couple of years ago while trying to find a surgical endometrial excision specialist, I was prescribed a drug to suppress my hormonal cycle (thereby giving me a couple of months with less pain while I tried to setup surgery). The drug is a known breast cancer trigger and I was considered higher risk as my mother also had it, but the doctor felt it was a calculated risk worth taking. After a year of chronic, debilitating pain I was happy to have an option of any kind. But after decades of erroneously prescribing hormones for the endometriosis, (hormones cannot cure it and will only ever make it dormant, trust me or do your own research), there have been a lot of things in my body that could not treat endometriosis but could give me breast cancer. So here I am, about a year an a half recovered from my wonderful, healing endometrial excision surgery and deep in trying to cure this extremely aggressive stage 3 breast cancer. Oops

Every medical professional I meet tells me: “You have to drop your anger.”
Me: “Thanks, that never occurred to me. Now I’m happy I have breast cancer and I definitely trust you with my health since you began by attempting to delete my feelings like I’m a malfunctioning robot.‬”

Well, I don’t say that. I thank them politely and inside I feel my anger grow to encompass their stupid asses too. ‪What do they expect? I try, I go home and I repeat their berating of me until I’m overwhelmed with guilt about the anger and so so unhappy over the ravaged state of my failing body that I can’t stand up. Chemo already feels like it is killing me because (partly) it is. How will feeling guilty about my instinctive emotional response to this help?

My medical cancer treatment is quite standard, I believe. Surgery on the 14th of February (hah!) to remove some large tumors, along with the whole of my left breast and all of the lymph nodes under my arm. I am told this will lead to lymphedema problems in the future, which will be compounded by the radiation which will follow the months of chemo in August and September. (That’s something they do a lot; tell you to worry about something you have no control over, without telling you what it is, so that when you look it up they can tell you off for daring to ask questions. It is some kind of hilarious denigrating game, incidentally designed to remind patients that they’re powerless.) I am trying to do exercises to help but I’m told that once they do radiation, a lymphedema will be unavoidable. Sometime after that I’ll have the healthy breast removed (because that is how bad chemo is; I would rather cut off a happy, functioning erogenous zone and replace it with a numb, fatty knee-thing than have to ever go through chemo again. Right now I’m so scared of more chemo that I’d probably cut my head off and live in a jar if they said it’d help! I’m not saying death is preferable because that isn’t finite and chemo is. But that’s probably the only way in which chemo is better I guess…

Chemo is a beast. Every 2 weeks I submit to treatment that will take me to the edge of death and then spend the next 2 weeks struggling to get back to some kind of human existence. I can only manage incredibly basic, simple things. The chemo impacts everything. Sometimes my insides were liquid, like boiling oil fighting to get out of me. At times I feel beaten about the body and legs, or smashed in the head. My limbs don’t quite respond the way they should so movement and communication are tricky. For a while food tasted like disgusting poison, and it made me feel nauseous. Stomach aches are a constant, as is my runny nose (a symptom of the fact that internal mucous membranes are being broken down so completely). Then there are the symptoms of the white blood cell boosting medication after each chemo. Sometimes, often actually, all of my skin feels on fire. One day it’ll be the back of my neck, another it’ll streak down like flames along my thighs, it’s always moving so I can’t get used to it. My eye muscles are affected and I have a hard time reading. There is intermittent deep, hard, dull pains in my bones. Lately I’m starting to get numbness in my feet and fingers, possibly the beginning of neuropathy which I must monitor closely or it could become permanent. There are endless other symptoms, my port was installed too near the skin and is constantly threatening to burst out. The tissue expander which moves and grates inside my chest wall like sandpaper (it is an unanchored temp fake tit to keep the skin ready in the empty one in case I want to do reconstruction). My gums bleed, my skin is grey, my hair is almost gone and every time it falls out it hurts. My nails are turning black, a precursor to the terrifying nerve death I’m meant to be looking out for…

We haven’t even touched on the creepy practices of the hospitals in trying to overcharge me and then lying about it because they know I’m too sick to challenge it. This is certainly not helping with the trauma and fear.

There is so much going on, none of it is good. So let’s take a step back and examine this compulsion these people have with me eradicationg my anger. Because there are other things I could feel; pain, misery, hopelessness, fear, exhaustion, mourning, a complete lack of hope… I am well-versed in these feeling and the only place they will lead is down. If these idiots want me to kill myself, by all means berate me for my righteous indignantion.

Alternatively, they could do their job and treat my body and my person with respect. They could assume that I have come to them to treat a physical problem and they could find out what lies behind any perceived anger by simply listening instead of attempting to impose their own narrative upon me.

‪And that is why I draw patterns of swearing. The patterns help soothe the multiple layers of ptsd (the desperate need for order and calm) and the swearing gives me an outlet for all these useless bastards who purport to help while berating me.‬


‪As an addendum, I’d like to point out that unless you’re trying to incite anger, you can’t force anyone to change their mood. That’s all got to come from within, the best you can do is support. Everyone steers their own ship, so maybe just let them know that they’re doing a great job and get out of way.