Wordplay...for Sunday

I recently attended a “Cancer Summit” held in Portland, sponsored by my oncology clinic in concert with several others. I heard several terms tossed about during the many different sessions, but the most important segment of the conference was where we were asked to define, by and for ourselves, some important concepts. Here’s where that session took me. I’m a little anxious to share such private thoughts in a public way, because people are so kind when they commend all of us. I ask only that you read this through to the end…

Courage: Several years ago, Oregon’s Senator Gordon Smith described his son’s mental illness and eventual suicide. He delivered a moving, compassionate speech on the Senate floor, and later detailed his family’s efforts and anguish in The Oregonian. There was no requirement that he do so. To me, this is the definition of courage. Often, a moral choice is involved. Stepping into an arena when no one expects you to, where your only motivation comes from within: offering special insight, thoughts or support to others when little is required.

Bravery: This is when a person, man or woman, takes action when they know that extreme personal danger is imminent. Think of the young people we have stationed in Iraq or Afghanistan. “Grave danger?” asked Tom Cruise in A Few Good Men…”Is there any other kind?” answered Jack Nicholson. Those of us from the Vietnam era heard countless stories of lowly privates bravely heaving themselves onto booby traps or grenades to save the lives of their buddies.

Compare either of these with the parent who sees their child…or anyone’s child, for that matter, climb over the rim of an exhibit at the zoo to get a better look at an adorable, playful pair of (always hungry) lions. Would we stand idly by and “muster up” our courage? Would we look around for others to help? Reach for a cellphone? Perhaps some would. Most of us, however, would hop right over the edge. We wouldn’t waste time struggling over definitions. We’d think of neither courage nor bravery. We’d think of getting the right thing done, hoping we could bring the child to safety. It may turn out later to have been a really poor decision for both the child and ourselves, but hope told us otherwise.

A cancer diagnosis, in my mind, is much more like a child in the zoo than a live grenade or a difficult emotional loss. We could, certainly, stand idly by and wait for the end to come. We could look around and blame others, blame ourselves, and simply hope it goes away. In my mind, though, the best cancer survivors hop over the edge of the lions' den. They listen to the advice of their doctors, they make plans that will assist others, and they adjust their lives if they need to. But stand on the rim and ask “why?” Not much chance of that. They do the right thing. They may be fearful, in my case more for the effect that this whole journey has on others. They may take strength from the courageous label. Most of us, I believe, choose hope.

Certainly, we all define these concepts for ourselves, and just last night I was given the ultimate compliment of being called "brave." I think it is harder to watch the people we love face challenges than it is to hop into the lions' den. I ache when others lose family members, or hear that a child gets in trouble with the law. I worry about my kids driving to work every day. The loving people who watch me go in for diagnostic tests and wait for messages and phone calls must be much more courageous than I. I just jump over the edge, swoop up the child, and do my best to get back before the lions notice. That doesn’t mean I’ve denied the grave danger, it means I’ve made a choice to be hopeful.