On Bravery

“You’re so brave.” “ I’m amazed at your courage.”

I’ve been hearing sentiments like these ever since I got diagnosed in May. They are certainly meant as compliments, and I accept them in that light. But they have puzzled me as well, because my immediate inner response has always been, “But all I did was get sick!”

Bravery to me connotes some sense of making a choice, especially a choice that is unpleasant or has some personal cost. Brave people run into burning houses to save children. They are the ones who help others off a damaged aircraft. Brave people face up to bullies and say, no, this is wrong. They could choose to walk away with their lives intact, but they don’t. They choose to help others, to save lives, to right a wrong.

So how does treating an illness fit into this perspective? It doesn’t, really. There are choices – don’t have surgery, don’t have chemo – but their costs are, in the end, greater than not taking action. Making the choice to accept treatment just feels pragmatic to me, not brave. When you learn you have cancerous tumors throughout your abdomen, trust me, all you want is to Get. Them. Out. Now.

Surgery might seem daunting, so I can see how it might seem brave to willingly undergo a major operation. As it happens, I have more experience as an observer of surgery than most people. My high school Senior Project involved shadowing a medical student 24/7 in her surgery rotation. This would surely not be allowed these days, but I pretty much had free roam of the operating rooms and saw a variety of surgeries. I went on rounds and became familiar with the processes and procedures of recovery. None of this helped me know what recovery would feel like, but it demystified everything.

Perhaps, by being brave, people mean that I faced up to my cancer. I haven’t shrunk from using the word or explaining my situation. I was forthright with my fourth-grade students about needing surgery (although, in the end-of-year circumstances, it was agreed that I should not disclose the nature of my illness to them). I’m choosing to share the experience through this blog. Maybe this is bravery. I think perhaps it’s bravado. Take a peek into my mind in the wee, dark hours of the morning and you will see plenty of fear and anxiety.

And yet … As I go through chemo, I begin to understand what people mean. Although I’ve made the distanced, pragmatic choice to treat my cancer, two of every three Fridays I have to make the genuine choice: do I show up? Understand that at this point, with three cycles under my belt, when I contemplate the next chemo session I feel physically ill. The times I’ve thrown up have been in anticipation of or during chemo, not as a result of it. When I get close to the Infusion Center, every fiber of my being tells me, No! Don’t go there! It takes an effort of will to get out the door for each session (as well as considerable prodding from David!). So perhaps this mind-over-gut choice really is bravery.