Il Dio li Benedice
[Gentle reader, nota bene this post has footnotes. Grazia! -Ed.]
The big hand was on the four I think, and the little one in-between the one and two when I finally snapped and unleashed a parabola of curses at the four walls of my office. Despite my colorful, inventive phrasing the walls laughed not. I sighed and swiveled to the left, knocking my bottle of water onto the formerly dry carpet. It was one of those days, one of those disgusting mid-week days when nothing seems to go right and the sun either sets so fast one has to walk mournfully through a darkened parking lot at five o’clock in the afternoon, or it sets so slow the day seems to drag on forever, as phone messages and undictated charts pile up on the desk like hay. With an air of frustration I began to ruminate, then like opening a bottle of forbidden perfume I submitted to the ultimate seduction of the self-centered loser. I threw myself the proverbial pity party.
Yes, I confess that I sat there and reviewed all the unfortunate events that had occured that day, letting the lava of self-righteous anger flow out of me, burning everything in its path. My list of complaints were as follows:
I had to get up early to go to Tumor Board, and I was tired. (1)
I nicked myself shaving this morning. (2)
I stubbed my toe getting out of the shower, then almost tripped going downstairs to the kitchen. (3)
My trousers seemed rather snug around the waist - most likely a reflection of the incompetence of my cleaners. (4)
We were all out of cranberry juice and I had to drink orange juice with my oatmeal. (5)
The Wall Street Journal wasn’t delivered, so I had only the local paper to read. (6)
Traffic was ridiculously slow on the highway - all this stop-and-go nonsense, which made it hard to relax. (7)
I seem to be somewhat constipated after last night’s meatloaf dinner. (8)
Dozens, if not a myriad of ill patients awaited me in my clinic - each requesting giant hunks of my precious time. (9)
After a good stewing about I found my thoughts drifting randomly to other topics, and realized that my rant was over. I can’t say that I felt any better after cataloging my bad luck - as a matter of fact I developed an unpleasant, queasy feeling, as if I had cheated on an examination, or kicked the dog. I couldn’t exactly identify the origin of this angst, but figured it would come to me soon enough - like at bedtime, which is a fine time to hold up the mirror and examine the person staring back. This might cost a little sleep, but they say it’s worth it to take a good look at oneself every now and then. One just might find a hidden room, long ignored, bulging from within, with a golden sign on the doorway. Read it out loud and then drift off to sleep in peace, for the sign says “Blessings.”
(1) Of course I’m not complaining. Even if I faked a disability it takes so long to get benefits these days one could die before getting the first check.
(2) Good thing I wasn’t on Coumadin for a deep-vein thrombus!
(3) Clumsy me - you would think I needed a walker, or a wheelchair, not that I would break any bones if I did fall - not after all the weightlifting I do!
(4) Yeah, I know I’m getting a spare tire, but can you imagine how awful I would look if I lost 50 pounds, not to mention what would I do with my snappy wardrobe?
(5) Now that’s part of a nutritious breakfast - especially if you don’t vomit it up twenty minutes after eating.
(6) You know how hard it is to concentrate in the morning, particularly when you’re on morphine around-the-clock.
(7) Gosh, can you imagine what it would be like if you couldn’t drive anymore? What a bummer!
(8) Not that I am wishing for twelve hours of uncontrollable diarrhea, followed by a nice passing-out.
(9) Ain’t it great? I’m still needed in this world! I’m still somebody important, with something to contribute! You like me - you really like me!
Glad the blessings washed all the grumpy off the Cheerful Oncologist.
Comment by Ali — November 10, 2005 @ 7:26 am
Love your blogs, as a eight year survivor of ovarian cancer, it’s great to read the human side of an Onc.
Thanks
Comment by cheryl — November 10, 2005 @ 2:04 pm
yep, every day all I wish for is complete health, and I’d deal with the nicked fingers, stubbed toes, slow traffic, and other small annoyances…and I’d be joyful and grateful beyond my ability to express it.
Comment by Feisty — November 10, 2005 @ 3:44 pm
I hate it when my pants feel tight. I suspect it is the cheap material they are using, but since I believe in personal responsibility I also got on the scale, didn’t much like the news there, and went back to the rule that says I can’t watch TV unless I’m on the treadmill. Another month and the pants will be fine again. Cheap material does that, expand and contract.
And oatmeal really is the best breakfast. I like mine with raisins.
Comment by Bruce Small — November 11, 2005 @ 2:30 am
Women have pity parties once a month. It’s called a hormone swing. We cry for no good reason and then cry even more because of our maudlin mood and the vunerablity of our hormones that make us cry. Sometimes its cathartic. Next time you are having a pity party - try a good cry.
Comment by Jane — November 11, 2005 @ 5:11 pm
You forgot to list among your troubles that your stc manager quit!
Comment by rj — November 16, 2005 @ 5:41 am
When everything has to be right something isn’t..
Comment by jordan — March 23, 2007 @ 12:25 am