Day 6 – 40DOW – another stage, perhaps.

In Old Norse the raven was a popular symbol and represented the power and wisdom of the mythological god Odin who would strike fear into the hearts of even the bravest warriors with his two fearless ravens sitting on his shoulders.

Me Hello again, 3:00am. You kind of suck for me right now, though I recall the days when you were fun and I was much more invincible.

I’ve moved into the next stage. Or is it another stage?
It happened the second I hung up on the last person in my inner circle.
The very second my finger pressed the hang up button.
I felt stupid and ridiculous for all the crying and sad.
This is stupid, I thought to myself.
You’re trying to get attention, I scolded myself.
You are making more out of this than it deserves, my inner voice admonished.
I felt ashamed for my tearful calls and emails to these people who mean a lot to me. 
My brain rattled off a list of the reasons that supports its claim that I am swimming in ridiculous.
There was a tiny voice telling me this was all OK. These are scary new words and it’s ok to be scared. But tiny voices are easily shut down.
Is this denial? Acceptance? Are there even progressive emotional states after a diagnosis like this, like the stages of grief?
I know I am not going to die, so why all this fuss? Is it really all that ridiculous that I want my mother and aunt with me, even if this causes them even bigger inconveniences? That I want to monopolize their time and play paper dolls with them, like I used to do when sick and at home as a child.

I always loved paper dolls from other cultures

And the vestiges of anger are poking through in those who mean well and tell  me what to do, or discount my thoughts on what I know may be my treatment options. This is my damned body, not yours.
Is there an angry denial phase? Am I really angry? Am I in denial?
I hate that as my body recovers from the cone biopsy, the aches and pains tease me into thinking that the cancer has taken control… that it has, in a blind rage at the attempt at its excision, rallied like a fire breathing mythical beast and waged a war inside me that I am slightly oblivious to and thereby allowing to grow with wild abandon as I navigate the days until my oncology appointment.
I decided that if it should have a name that somehow the notion of carrion should be involved. I have decided to invoke the ancient Valkyries of my genetic past, the ones that were ravens that became the ears (thought) and eyes (memory) for Odin, that cleaned up the battle fields by eating away at the carrion that resulted.
I want those ravens to remove my carrion and bring me the wisdom to do it bravely.

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