Bravery

"You're so brave."

I hate it when people say that. I honestly do. As I'm lying in my hospital bed, surrounded by white walls decorated with drawings and letters from family and friends, I know that there is nothing more insulting than somebody remarking upon how brave I am.

Bravery. What bravery? Bravery is defined in Webster's dictionary as a quality of spirit that enables you to face danger of pain without showing fear. Bravery is going into a frightening situation willingly, knowing about possible consequences, but still going in regardless.

Me. Brave? I didn't choose this. I never would have chosen cancer for myself. Bravery? I'd put anyone else in the world in this position if it would mean I could be free from it. That's not bravery. That's extreme selfishness. I'm the biggest example of a self-serving asshole if I ever saw one.

I'm afraid. Terrified. Cowardly, even. I'd rather spend an entire day hiding under the covers than look at another X-ray of my slowly dilapidating body. That's what we call cowardice, ladies and gentlemen. Quite the opposite of bravery.

Though, I always found it funny that the people commenting on my bravery are always ones that have never been in such a situation as myself. And they always say it with this sad, pitying smile, too. Hah. Easy for you to smile and tell me how brave I am. You're not the one with an IV drip constantly inserted into your arm. You're going to go home tonight and have dinner with your family. You'll probably grow up and go to college, settle down and have a family of your own, make a career and then retire to a life of motor-homing around the country. Me? I'll barely make it to graduation. And try getting a date when you're bald and terminally ill. I'll never get laid.

But, hey, maybe I am brave. After all, I could have offed myself months ago when I was first diagnosed (not like I didn't try, or anything...), but, here I am: wasting away in a hospital bed instead. Then again, that could be stupidity, not bravery. Honestly, who wants to draw out a sickness like this? What's the point of it?

All I'm saying is, despite what everyone says to me, I know I'm not brave. I know I didn't walk into this hospital ward thinking, "Lucky me, I've got seven months to live-- better make the most of it." I know that if they put me on Oprah for the Make a Wish Foundation, I won't be one to smile, hold my thumbs up, and say, "Afraid of death? Nahhh..." I'm going to be the one crying my eyes out and screaming that I don't want to die. Yeah. That's why my parents refuse to write Oprah about my case.

But, like I was saying, bravery is the last word I'd use to describe any trait of mine. Brave and strong of heart aren't the words that come to mind when my nurse asks me how I'm feeling. I swear, the next time somebody comments on how freakin' brave I am, I'm going to look up from my hospital bed, out of my now hollowed, tired eyes, and stare at them openly as I whisper with contempt,

"Bravery's got nothing to do with it."