Coragem
The Medal of Courage: When Someone Recognizes the Strength You Had to Find
A small sticker affixed to a white blazer on the last day of radiotherapy sessions.
There are moments in our lives that, when viewed from the outside, seem very simple.
A photograph might show a smile.
A small sticker might appear to be just a sticker.
And a final session might seem like merely the closing of another chapter.
But no one truly knows all that lies behind that moment unless we tell them.
And perhaps that's why I want to tell the story of the Medal of Courage.
Because on that day, when it was placed on my white blazer, I wasn't just receiving a small symbol.
I was reaching the end of a phase that had demanded a great deal from me.
The Fear of the Unknown
Before receiving the Medal of Courage, there was fear.
The fear of the unknown.
The question that so often ran through my mind:
> “What's next?”
I didn't know how my body would respond to radiotherapy.
Everything is very different when you know the application is painless, but you also know that your body is receiving radiation and that, in some way, it will respond to it.
I needed to stay strong.
And I also needed to take care of my body.
Sessions would begin at 6:50 AM.
So I created a routine for those 15 days.
I would wake up at 4 AM.
I'd do about 40 minutes of physical activity and then get ready to go to the hospital.
I'd arrive around 6:15 AM.
And it was in the first session, my very first time, that I had to make a choice:
I couldn't let fear take up all the space in my mind.
I needed to shift my focus away from negative thoughts.
It was then that I clung even more tightly to my faith.
I thought:
> If God had already done so many good things for me throughout this journey, He would do it again.
And I repeated this to myself.
Every single day.
During every session, I recited the same verse:
> “No eye has seen, no ear has heard, and no human mind has conceived what God has prepared for those who love him.”
That's how I entered.
That's how I faced those minutes.
And there was a certainty that accompanied me:
> God would do it again.
10 Minutes and 47 Seconds
The session lasted 10 minutes and 47 seconds.
Ten minutes and forty-seven seconds.
It might seem short.
But, for me, each session carried an entire story within it.
And everything went very well.
Without any complications.
I continued to take care of myself.
After the sessions, I would walk about 17 minutes to the subway.
Later, I discovered that this movement was also beneficial for the body after radiotherapy.
But I learned something else:
when I got home, my body needed to rest.
And I respected that.
There were 15 sessions like this.
Fifteen mornings.
Fifteen times waking up at 4 AM.
Fifteen times choosing not to feed negative thoughts.
Fifteen times putting my faith ahead of fear.
Fifteen times repeating:
> God would do it again.
My War Ritual
In addition to caring for my body through physical activity, I also created a routine to care for my skin.
It was during this period that I discovered Avène micellar water, which I used after the sessions.
And, about three hours after radiotherapy, I applied Cicaplast by La Roche-Posay.
That became my ritual.
My war ritual for that phase.
I wanted to do my part.
- Care for my skin.
- Care for my body.
- Care for my mind.
- Care for my faith.
And the result was wonderful.
My skin remained very good throughout the entire period — and today, looking at it, I'm still impressed by how well everything went.
I know that each person responds differently and that care needs to respect the guidelines of the team monitoring each case.
But, in my experience, that care was part of how I navigated those 15 days.
I did my part.
And God did — and continues to do — His part.
The Strength That Sustained Me
Courage didn't appear all at once.
It was built along the way.
Each day I had to keep going.
Each moment I had to believe.
Each time I chose to keep looking forward.
I stayed firm.
I remained strong.
But today, looking back at everything I've experienced, I know where this strength came from.
It came from God.
It is to Him I give honor for everything I have lived through and for everything I have managed to overcome.
It was God who sustained me.
It was He who gave me the energy to continue.
It was He who renewed my strength.
It was He who made me believe I could get through each stage.
And I proclaim this to the four winds: until now, God has sustained me.
Therefore, when I speak of courage, I also speak of faith.
I had wonderful people by my side. I was welcomed, cared for, and supported by professionals who made a difference in very important moments.
But I give God the glory that belongs to Him.
Because it was in Him that I found the strength to stand tall.
And Then Came the Medal of Courage
On that day, I had just finished my last radiotherapy session.
As happens at the end of this stage, I went through the medical consultation.
During that period, I had the privilege of being accompanied by Dr. Lucas and Dra. Osanna
On that day, it was Dra. Osanna who was with me.
As we chatted, we spoke about that moment, about life, and also about my work, about design, and about the things that are part of me beyond any treatment.
Until she told me:
> “I have a gift for you.”
She went to a small door near the examination table and took out a sticker.
A medal.
The Medal of Courage.
I was wearing a white blazer that day.
And she placed the medal on it.
I was very moved.
Very.
Because, to an outsider, it might have looked like just a small sticker.
But, to me, it wasn't.
A Small Gesture. An Enormous Meaning.
That medal represented the courage I had to find throughout that journey to stay strong and believe that I could get through each stage in the best possible way.
And I did.
That moment represented the closing of a very important chapter.
But receiving that medal made me realize that perhaps I was only looking at the end of a phase, while that small symbol invited me to look at the entire path I had traveled to get there.
That's how a small sticker gained such a significant place in my memory.
I didn't receive it simply as a prize.
I received it as a gesture of affection, care, and recognition.
Dra. Osanna is a very affectionate, loving, and attentive person.
And I believe that gesture was a delicate way of recognizing something that, often, those going through a difficult situation need to hear:
> “I see how courageous you have been.”
The Story Behind the Medal
It was only later that I discovered that this small Medal of Courage carried a story I didn't yet know.
I learned that the initiative had been conceived by Dra. Osanna as a way to recognize patients who reached the end of that stage, but that the idea didn't fully progress as it had been envisioned.
It's a story I still want to learn more about.
I want to hear from her how this idea was born, what she imagined when she thought of that small symbol, and what that medal represented to her.
But one thing I already know.
I know what it represents to me.
People Are Also Part of This Memory
During the radiotherapy sessions, I was very well cared for.
And when I say that, I think of all the people who were part of that stage.
Every professional, every act of care, every piece of guidance, every gesture of welcome was important.
But this article is not about listing names or roles.
It's about the Medal of Courage.
And about what it has come to represent to me.
The radiotherapy department became a very special place in my memory.
There I met incredible people, who made that stage more human, more welcoming, and, in many ways, lighter.
They are people I will carry in my heart forever.
Because, when we are going through important moments in life, we don't always realize, at that instant, the impact that a gesture of care can have.
Sometimes, a word.
A smile.
Attention.
A kindness.
Or even a small sticker placed on a white blazer.
Today, When I Look at the Medal...
Perhaps that's why I cherish this medal so much.
It reminds me of that day.
Of the last session.
Of the white blazer.
Of Dra. Osanna.
Of the people who were with me during that phase.
But, above all, it reminds me of myself.
Of the woman who was there that day.
Of the woman who believed.
Of the woman who had courage.
Of the woman who kept going.
And, whenever I look at that small medal, I don't just see a sticker.
I see a story.
A story of courage, care, faith, and encounters that made a difference.
And perhaps that is the true power of small gestures:
they can last much longer than the moment they happen.
For Anyone Going Through a Difficult Phase
If you are undergoing treatment or facing any difficult moment in your life, there might be something you can't yet see.
Perhaps you are just trying to get to the next day.
To the next appointment.
To the next step.
And that's okay.
But I hope that, at some point, someone else will be able to look at you and recognize what perhaps you yourself are not yet able to perceive:
your courage.
Because, sometimes, we need someone to remind us of the strength that exists within us.
I had that moment.
It was on the last day of radiotherapy sessions.
And it came in the form of a small sticker placed on a white blazer.
My Medal of Courage.
And today, when I look at it, there's something I know and want to proclaim to the four winds:
> UNTIL NOW, GOD HAS SUSTAINED ME.
And perhaps that is the greatest courage I carry with me: to continue believing, to continue walking, and to continue trusting.
Because I know where the strength that brought me here came from.
And I know that God will continue to sustain me.
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- #radiotherapy
- #breast cancer
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- #true stories