This morning I discovered, from WordPress, two blogs that offer us help when we’re stumped for a daily post. This is not often my problem, as you may have noticed I sometimes post multiple times in one day… I’m sorry if this is against the rules… I just post when I feel it. Of course, the other side of the coin is, I sometimes don’t post on the weekends or on holidays. I often just have too much going on, involving too much moving around, to sit down in front of the computer! You’re so kind to be patient with me.
For this reason I don’t feel the need to sign up for the Daily Post Challenge, although it’s a nice idea. I do, however, appreciate their starter topics everyday. If a blogger were to have writer’s block, then, there’s a blog for that! I liked a recent topic I found and will respond to it shortly.
First, though, I wanted to tell you about the next daily blog helper. This one is called A Daily Challenge, and the challenges offered are not reading challenges (whew! daily?!) but more like life challenges. Trying one of these tip-of-the-day style challenges would give one something to blog about, is the idea. I’ll hold that one in reserve.
At A Daily Post I found this topic interesting. It asks us to “describe a time when you witnessed bravery: a) in your profession b) with your own eyes c) in someone you admire.” An answer to option a) immediately came to mind. I remember telling the Husband and later parents and who knows who else this story, because it touched me.
I work in a cancer hospital, and I see all sorts of things go on, many of which are not pretty. I see a lot of inspiration and bravery and helpfulness; I see people do good. I also see people behaving in silly, inconsiderate, rude, or nonsensical ways. (I work at forgiving or understanding these behaviors, because gosh knows what people are going through. I do hope we could all maintain enough humanity to be kind to our fellow humans when we’re sick, but who am I to judge? never having been through something this painful.) I see a certain amount of disfigurement and physical unwellness; it took a little practice at first not to blink. I confess that the first time I saw a woman with obviously only one breast, it startled me. (The use of prostheses clearly saves us bystanders from a certain amount of embarrassment; but I think it was brave of that woman to walk around in her body without apologizing.) So, I see a lot of things, happy and sad, loving, brave, and sordid. I try not to judge and I mostly succeed in not bringing it home with me.
However, I saw something, oh, several months ago that sticks with me. I was walking down a hallway, headed to lunch. A youngish couple was walking down the hall, the father pushing their teenage daughter in a wheelchair. (Old enough to have a teenage daughter, but still quite young by cancer-hospital standards.) The girl was hunched over the vomit tray in her lap, with a towel pressed to her mouth. I couldn’t see her face in this position, but something about the set of her shoulders told me she was in pain. Her parents were chatting cheerfully about what the rest of their day held.
This moment in time took my breath away. Such a simple thing. Was it the patient’s youth? I don’t think it was; I do see young patients (much younger than this one) and it’s very sad, but that’s not what made her family special. I think it was her parents’ cheerfulness, their pretense that things were normal and okay. The impression I got from their demeanor was of such bravery. This couple is presumably having their lives torn apart by what’s happening to their daughter and the extreme pain she appeared to be in. And their response was to normalize it and be cheerful. I imagine that this is a special service they’re doing for their daughter. It might be easier to cry and moan and descry the unfairness of it all; but this is the last thing their daughter needs from them. To me, this was a moment of extraordinary bravery and unselfishness, a favor done for a child by her parents. I’m doing a lot of interpreting here; but I saw what I saw. This is what the vignette spoke of to me.
pagesofjulia 
Leave a comment