Dammit!!!!

It's 9 a.m. Wednesday, Dec. 28. In the surgeon's exam room I'm wanting to get this show on the road. Let's decide what type surgery I need, do it and let me get on with my life. Back to work, back to normalcy. The surgeon walks in, introduces himself and starts talking about my cancer. CANCER? What do you mean by cancer? Are you talking about my nonmalignant mass? I have cancer? Yes, this is the first time anyone has told me I have cancer. I was told it was a nonmalignant mass. My body felt like it was on fire. My wife was crying. No, dammit, I was told I didn't have cancer. You're telling me I have to tell my Mother, my children, my sister, my friends that I have cancer? After telling them I didn't? Damn you!!!!! Go straight to hell you #@%$er*&%#er!!!! By day's end, I have a second and third opinion. It is cancer. No doubt, I'm told. I also have a team of five doctors and a datebook full of appointments. My oncologist is upbeat. I'm young (49), she says. I'm strong, she says. I look so good on the outside to look so bad on the inside, she says. I'm numb. They can't operate, she says. So, is this going to kill me? "You're not going to die tomorrow," she says. What a comfort (dripping sarcasm on my part). The plan is to kill the monster that is raging in my chest. I tell my oncologist I was told it was a dead mass. "It looks very much alive to me," she says. Please, I pray, let them kill this monster.