What's Going On: Why it’s time for me to be angry

Cancer.

Metastasized.

Incurable.

Untreatable.

Terminal.

These are some ugly, ugly words. Words you never want to hear ever spoken about a friend or family member.

Those words have kept me awake at night the last three weeks since my sister found out the breast cancer she beat a few years back has returned, uglier than ever.

Her liver is covered with tumors, and the cancer has spread to her lymph nodes, and maybe her bones.

She’s 41.

She’s my baby sister and I’m nowhere ready to say goodbye.

Which is why I’m angry. 

In fact, I’m angry at a lot of things, like nice people.

They are the ones who ask you, not necessarily knowing anything is out of sorts, the dreaded question “How are you doing?”

As the angry person in the conversation, my gut tells me to respond with something like “Terrible. My sister was just told by her doctor her cancer is now terminal. Did I mention she’s 41? She is. How are you?”

Of course though, I don’t say that. The most biting retort I’ve responded with is “do you want the easy or the hard answer,” and only people I’m truly comfortable with get that.

Typically, it’s the standard “oh, just fine,” all the while I’m clenching my fists, gritting my teeth and using all my willpower to keep from cursing the unsuspecting, smiling person in front of me.

Platitudes. Clichés. Whatever you want to call them, they make me angry as well.

“Hope for the best, prepare for the worst.”

“Take it one day at a time.”

“Today is a gift from God, that’s why it’s called a present.”

Here’s one: “SHUT UP AND LEAVE ME ALONE!”

And then there’s my favorite, “We will keep you in our prayers.”

Maybe it’s my own guilt, but that one really gets under my skin for the simple reason I know at least some of the people who say that are flat out lying. I know it. They know it.

And its not that they intentionally won’t pray for my sister, it’s just that they don’t pray period. But it’s the nice thing to say, and it gives the person who isn’t directly involved something to say that makes them feel better in an uncomfortable situation.

But that empty gesture doesn’t make me feel better, and it certainly isn’t going to help my sister.

If you are going to say you’re going to pray for my sister or my family, you better do it. It’s not a meaningless phrase I throw around; at least not anymore.

I’m mad at the doctors and all their seemingly worthless tests that didn’t catch the cancer’s return sooner. 

I’m angry there is a drug out there in the clinical trial phase my sister may or may not receive. She won’t even be told if she’s receiving the placebo or not. 

What/who I’m not mad at is cancer and God. I’m not sure how I could be mad at a disease. It seems the equivalent of getting mad at winter because it’s cold or getting mad at a rock for being hard.

It is what it is.

More importantly, I can’t be mad at God. I’m not going to argue or complain about what’s fair and what isn’t, and why my sister doesn’t deserve to go through this a second time. Complaining to God about a close family member being treated harshly seems kind of pointless when you consider what his own son endured. 

The last three weeks, I’ve reminded myself of the prayer we all learned as children that includes the line “God’s will be done on earth as it is in heaven.” It’s easy to say, but it’s not so easy to accept, or believe.

In reality, we want our will done on earth, on our timetable, under our terms, and when I say we, I mean me.

I want my sister better, and I don’t want her to suffer like she did before. I don’t want her to lose her hair, to spend hours upon hours laying on a cold bathroom floor after puking, or rushing to the emergency room because her fever spiked.

But God isn’t a vending machine nor is he Santa Claus. I don’t get to make a wish list, insert my coins into the slot, and pull out whatever I want.

And since I know that, I realize I’m acting like a selfish child, demanding only what he wants even if its what’s best for my sister … or so I think.

That self-reflection so far has only served me one purpose: to make me even angrier, albeit at myself.

But I have to get over that. I can’t stay angry for several reasons, the least of which is no matter how terrible this is, I can’t go crawl in a hole and block out the world. I have children and a wife who count on me, not to mention a job, as well. 

I have to keep living, yes, one day at a time, all the while praying for the courage to keep going, the peace to accept God’s will and the faith that he will take care of my sister. 

If I’m lucky, I won’t even yell at a nice person.

No promises. 

Gregory Orear is the General Manager/Editor of the Red Oak Express and Glenwood Opinion-Tribune. He can be contacted at publisher@redoakexpress.com.