Well look who decided to stick her head out of her hidey hole, like the Punxatawney Phil of breast cancer.
Much has changed since you last heard from me. Let’s start with the ex-husband in the room… Yup, I am getting divorced. 0/10 stars, do not recommend. Did you know that married women who have had cancer are 18% more likely to get divorced than if their husband had cancer? Don’t get me started…
So I am beginning my Renaissance. But not in the Beyoncé way of an exorbitantly
wealthy and talented woman. More like borderline impoverished and crying 17% of my waking hours. It’s totally great, I am super fine (read-between-the-lines).
Due to my eh-em, change in circumstance, I had to get a big-girl job fast, to attempt to
support my family. In this case, employment meant wearing a headset in a sea of cubicles selling, wait for it… paper.
You heard me. I used to sell diamonds to Gwyneth Paltrow on Fifth Avenue. Now I sell tri-fold towels in bulk over the phone. Did you know that- and this is a statistical fact- 35% of women in America over the age of 55 are named Terrie, Terri, Sherri, Sherrie, Sherry, Tami, Tammie or Tammy? I talk to them all day about their annual usage of cartons of 92 brightness paper, so I am the authority on this. End of discussion.
As much of a seismic lifestyle shift as this is, I am not ashamed in any way. I have good insurance and a paycheck that almost covers my mortgage. Hey, you’ve got to start somewhere when you’ve been off the corporate market for a while. Speaking of
markets, don’t even get me started on the dating market… I can only handle writing
about one sizzling hot trainwreck at a time.
My new place of business is hosting a Breast Cancer Day next week. One of my
colleagues shiftily found my blog and made a call to arms for me to return to the page (keyboard). And since it is October, I have chosen to accept my place on the high altar of breast cancer-dom. Whether we like it or not, us breast cancer survivors have to assume the ready position, to represent our kind as the country cough uses us as walking, talking billboards for the pink agenda.
Am I coming across as a bit harsh on Breast Cancer Awareness month? You betcha. And for good reason. Did you know that less than 10% of all funds raised during October, under the guise of breast cancer awareness, go directly to breast cancer research? And worse, of that 10%, only 2% goes to research for metastatic, Stage IV disease? This is what we in the industry (by industry, I mean me and my cancery folk), call pinkwashing.
Since I last posted, ChatGPT has really popped off, so I decided to ask her (ChatGPT is obviously a woman) what the definition of pinkwashing is. She says:
“Pinkwashing is a term that describes when companies or organizations use the color pink or symbols associated with a cause to give the impression of support, but don’t actually follow through.”
As you walk around this month you must have noticed pink balloons in the grocery
store, pink stickers on your fruit, heck, even my son’s football team wears pink socks. Now listen, those boys look extremely cute in the pink socks, but what damn good is that doing me? Are those magic pink socks, that if I were to put them on would lessen my chance of recurrence? Did the Dollar Tree they came from give $.04 to a cancer charity? Get real.
So let’s talk about what we can do this month that won’t entirely piss me off. For
starters, please do your research before buying something pink. Ask questions and
demand answers. If you participate in a breast cancery activity under the guise of
fundraising, hold the host accountable for where the funds are going. Think about
making a donation to a cause that will make a difference (see a few I love listed at the bottom of this post).
If you have the knowledge, you can also be an advocate. You can ask your mother,
sister, friend, deli clerk, if they have had their mammogram or are performing monthly breast exams. This is where I have to remind you all that ‘breast’ is not a funny or taboo word. It is a body part just like your elbow or earlobe. In fact, I would argue that an earlobe is indeed, funnier than a breast. I will concede that ‘nipple’ is actually a funny word, but hold your laughter cause some of us don’t have a full set anymore, and that ain’t funny.
And listen to me closely when I say, if you choose to wear pink for absolutely no reason other than a weak attempt at solidarity, at least look cute. Put some effort into it. What I am trying to say is, ENTERTAIN ME. It is the least you can do, honestly.
If you have a breast cancer survivor in your life, and believe me, you do, think of
something sincere to say to them. Understand that yes, their active treatment may be over, but they are likely on some kind of continuous drug therapy that makes them physically and mentally miserable. And no matter what they may portray, they carry the invisible weight of their disease with them everywhere they go.
With every job application I submitted a few months ago I had to click the button that acknowledged that I have a permanent disability, as a person who has had cancer. A permanent disability. Treatment ends, but cancer never does. Do right by us this October, this year, every damn day. Make responsible choices with your funds and time. Know that we walk among you looking like mere mortals, but don’t let that human form fool you. We are survivors.
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