am I not brave?

2016 has been a rubbish year so far.  Many of my idols from my youth have died: Lemmy, David Bowie, Glenn Frey.  I could go on.  Then at the end of January the comforting voice that was there throughout my life was lost: the presenter and broadcaster Terry Wogan succumbed to cancer.  Terry was always there in the mornings on the radio and seemed an ever present on my television.

I read some articles today on his passing.  One thing they had in common was their commendation on his bravery for keeping his cancer diagnosis and prognosis a secret from all but his family and closest friends.  And I echo those sentiments.  The cancer community, no matter how large, is just that.  A community.  A community of people united by whatever strain of cancer they have.  And united by their struggle to live with it, its symptoms, its complications, its treatment and its consequences. 

But this got me thinking about my own diagnosis.  Or to be more accurate, how I’ve handled it and continue to deal with it.  Yes, I feel an affinity with the cancer community.  I am a part of it.  In fact, and you might find this strange, I am proud to be a member of it.  And a number of very close friends are fully paid up members too.

But me?  Personally?

Well, I’ve never felt that I’m battling or fighting cancer like many sufferers do.  Does this mean I am not brave?

I live with the fact that my next blood test or bout of bone pain might reveal that my cancer is back.  This frightens me.  Does my fear mean that I am not brave?

I know that due to side effects I have experienced, some avenues of future treatment are not open to me.  This really concerns me.  Does my concern mean that I am not brave?

I sometimes cry because my life as I knew it, along with those of my close family has been shattered by myeloma.  Do my tears mean that I am not brave?

And, more relevantly, I decided to tell everyone who was interested about it that I had cancer and indeed to write about it openly and frankly on this blog.  Does this openness mean that somehow I am not brave?  Or to be more precise, not as brave as someone who has kept it secret?

Of course it doesn’t.

The rationale behind my openness (and believe me it was not a decision I took lightly) was that if I could reach just one person going through the hell that living with the pain and uncertainty myeloma is, and then let them know that they can still have something like a fulfilling life and most importantly retain a sense of humour, then it was justified.

But more importantly every cancer sufferer needs or deserves to know that however they choose to deal with their illness, however open or private, fearless or frightened they are about it, they are no more or less courageous than any other person facing up to it in their own personal way.

I don’t see myself as being brave.  I see myself as just someone who has cancer and is never going to get better.  I accept that I’m going to experience periods when I’m relatively healthy and periods when I am going to be very, very ill.  Moreover, I accept that I can no longer do many things I used to enjoy.  I try to deal with all of this with dignity.  But sometimes I can’t - and I curse my luck, moan, complain and cry. 

But trust me, this is OK.