Minotaurs in the Labyrinth
I am drinking the morning caffeine at home, from an instant brew in my travel kit. I am surrounded by logs, hospital charts, and old correspondence with relatives, needing to refresh facts, dates, names of culprits, and of benefactors. I feel my blood pressure rise, my jaws clench, my chest about to explode.
On the way to therapy.
I dash out to start the walk to my session. Ordinarily, Alvear Avenue is a street I thoroughly enjoy—except I can’t enjoy it today. I can only see the blurred face of the oncologist who was most harmful to Carlos; I don’t want to remember him clearly.
My anger darkens into a hatred I am not used to feeling. But I don’t mind that today. Dr. Novelli will help contain my feelings.
Dr. Novelli, my voice is powered by anger today. I silenced myself for three years while I was taking care of Carlos. I shut my voice out during my first year of mourning when my heart was filled with acute pain.
Now I am ready to unleash years of indignation directed at wrongdoers—real Minotaurs in the labyrinth of modern medicine.
In the labyrinth we also encountered angels.
Dr. Novelli and I walk through the madness of the medical system. I share with him the malpractice I saw in action, malpractice executed with indifference.
I ranted—not about opioids—but about the ignorance of physicians in prescribing and managing them.” The bizarre ideology of protecting him from becoming addicted. How I obtained marijuana pills which controlled his pain.
The moments of craziness that I kept inside for what seems like an eternity, are feeling more manageable after unloading bricks of impotent anger. I feel an urgency to go home and rest.
After talking freely about the unimaginable, the idea of a quiet celebration seems appealing. I head to Hotel Sofitel. The distant courtesy of a French restaurant suits me well today; the servers remember Carlos from last year.
I order the Campari Carlos used to drink and raise it in his honor. I am wearing a new lightness on my shoulders.