What the human being can adjust to is amazing. Two weeks ago I was devastated at being diagnosed with breast cancer. Now I’m ready for my surgery. The tumor has to come out so the healing and the treatment can begin.

That doesn’t mean I’m not angry at having to go through it. Because I am. It doesn’t mean I’m not scared stiff. Because I’m that, too.

I’m looking at a rock sitting next to my computer. It’s painted with a pink ribbon and the word “courage.” I chose this rock among several on the breast care coordinator’s desk when I was at the hospital. It spoke to me as courage is the theme of my novel, The Still Voice. Years ago, when I began the research for my story, I was visiting a neighbor who handed me a book. “You’ll find this interesting,” she said, “as you’re questioning how the very young can be so daring as to stand up to their government.”

The book was called Conscience and Courage: The Rescuers of the Jews during the Holocaust. Its author is Eva Fogelman. There were a number of articles that interested me in that book. One in particular noted that, in rare instances, a young person has a keenly developed sense of justice. More likely, the youngster has an older role model in a parent or sibling. My character Sophia’s role model is her much older brother Max. The bond between the two is one I love because it is drawn from my mother’s relationship to her brother, who was twenty years her senior.

I was motivated to write The Still Voice because of family stories I’ve heard throughout my life. I’d heard many as a young girl living in Germany, and more when I visited in 2007. The stories do not grow richer over the years. They gain an added perspective. I suppose when I reach the age of ninety-four, like my aunt Maria in Germany, the year I had breast cancer will have better perspective. Right now, I can’t put how I feel about it into print. This is not a profane blog.