Over time, I have learnt to become blasé about the scars that cross my body; so am always quietly taken aback at the reaction of others upon seeing them for the first time. Not that there is ever a flicker of revulsion; rather one of sympathy intermingled with a mild curiosity.
There is inevitably a mention of 'bravery' and of 'having been through the mill'; but for me, nothing I did was brave...... rather everything I went through was down to sheer bloody mindedness and the natural urge for self preservation. Bravery is something else, a purer driving force, belonging to those who risk their all for others on a daily basis.There is nothing brave about putting your life into the hands of caring professionals who are infinitely equipt to keep you alive..... that is the only sensible option.
My scars, as a fellow cancer sufferer so eloquently put; are the tattoos of an incredible journey, which act as a testimony to the amazing healing powers all our bodies possess.
So by all means ask me about the scars, my journey, and how it was for me.....but don't ever call me brave.