![]() ![]() Who gets cancer twice before they turn thirty? Isn’t that like getting struck by lightning twice? Or buying two Mega Millions winning tickets in one lifetime? It’s like winning the cancer lottery. That’s what the therapist said in the one session I agreed to attend four years ago when I had breast cancer.īut now I think my anger is just anger at the possibility that I might have breast cancer again. My anger is supposedly grief wearing a disguise. ![]() I feel anger bubble up inside of me like a bottle of Dr Pepper that’s been rolling around the floorboard of a car-just waiting for the top to be taken off so it can burst free from its confined plastic. The high-pitched squeal of Queen Gertrude, our Abyssinian guinea pig, coming from the living room. I even pulled all the organic milk and juice cartons from the top shelf and looked behind them. I added cleaning it out to my mental list of duties. There was some type of slime that had accrued on the bottom of the drawer. ![]() ![]() I’ve searched the crisper, even digging beneath the wilted celery (does anybody ever use an entire bag of celery before it goes rubbery?). I’ve pushed aside the stacks of Tupperware containing leftovers of dinners that we’ll never eat. I’m standing in front of the open refrigerator, allowing the cool air to escape around my bare thighs. ![]()
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