There is No "Battle"

In recent years, there has been a dramatic personification of one’s reaction to life events: we are expected to “combat” each untoward occurrence, and project our bravery onto the scene. If I had broken my leg, you wouldn’t be rooting for me to “fight” the broken bone, but when I say have I breast cancer, suddenly, I’m expected to “win the battle.”

Valor ensues when a choice is made against one’s own self interest; it could be a life or death situation, worthy of an epic poem, or maybe just standing up to ignorance, prejudice or injustice. That’s being brave.

This whole cancer thing is really more of a hostage situation: there are no real choices, just an escape plan.  

Don’t get me wrong: I greatly appreciate your support, but it’s all just a painful slog through necessary crap to accomplish an end: just like sitting in rush hour traffic on the 405 to finally get home. It's all perspective. In the end, I’ll have remarkable décolletage, along with new awe-inspiring character depth and insight.

So save your pink ribbon crap for someone who needs it. I’m just doing what needs to be done.