My friend, Beth, and I have a standing date to speak at 8:00 a.m. every Saturday morning and have had this date for probably the past 35 years. Neither one of us remembers how this ritual began, but my guess is that since we were both working moms and had little time to connect, we established a time every week that was “ours.” What started as convenient way to “check-in” has become a highlight of my week. The longer we know each other and how we think and feel, the deeper our ability to connect. We rarely, if ever, connect any other time, and if we do, it usually begins with the caller stating, “everything is okay…just have to let you know something.” We have tried (unsuccessfully) to solve the problems of the world, we have supported each other through untenable situations, and we have celebrated achievements and happy times together. We were speaking last week and lamenting a situation, and Beth reminded me that there is so much that hits us in life, and some deal with hard times better than others. As she said, “it is not what happens to us, but how we handle it” that makes all the difference.

I can remember calling Beth one Saturday morning at 8:00 as Bruce was driving me to the Emergency Room at the Medical Center where I was a frequent patient with a virulent infection, compounded by a bowel obstruction, fever and agonizing pain. Bruce told me to save my energy for what was ahead of me, but I told him that if I didn’t call Beth, she would worry. I had to let her know what was happening. Similarly, when her husband, Larry, was at the end of his life, we spoke that Saturday morning as she was gathering things to take with her, as she took him to the hospital for the final time. Yes, we are that close in many ways, and we have done our best to help each other handle what has been front of us countless times.

Pondering how we handle things brings me to the concept of bravery. I don’t believe that some people are simply born brave, while others are not. I believe that until we are out in a situation that requires bravery, it remains dormant, waiting to be called into action. My first major bowel obstruction led me to become aware of bravery I didn’t know existed. There was no choice for me…being afraid wasn’t going to help me focus on surviving. Connecting with my incredibly powerful desire to be there for my family and life with them enrobed me in a suit of armor that helped me to fight harder than I had ever fought before. There was no option…fear versus bravery…I knew which one had to win. Not only for my survival, but to make it easier for those I loved.

Over the years, during countless hospitalizations, I saw bravery in the halls every day. People pushing poles with tubes attached to parts of their bodies that until then did not have holes, families motivating their loved ones to take one more step toward a return to health, “please take one more sip of soup for nourishment,” one cajoles their family member. 

Watching the door of my hospital room as a new person approached always brought with it the need to call upon my bravery. I didn’t know if that visitor was bringing bad news about my recent labs or checking to be certain my television was working. The need to quell fear, resurrect bravery a constant throughout hospital stays. Fortunately, having my wonderful support system always helped to tip the scales in my favor. Seeing Bruce’s face, that of my family and friends, my doctors who helped me remain strong by empowering me with information and choices all contributed to my return to good health. I am so grateful for my ability to let go of my fear, cultivate my bravery and most of all, be so appreciative for a huge dose of good luck!

 

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