A Cautionary Awareness Tale

On October 31, as I distracted myself with Halloween’s glory, I asked myself: “what do we become aware of this month?” Lots of Facebook posts ask that question, I asked it on Twitter I think. So much sound and fury in October, but does anyone learn anything? I think not.

I forced myself to remember the days before diagnosis. I know I never thought all the pink rah rah crap was great–that’s just a core trait of my personality. But what did I know about breast cancer, and the awareness push, before diagnoses?

This is a tough question to answer. I’m not sure I fully know the answer. I know I absorbed the “early diagnosis/screening” messages. I knew enough to ask for a mammogram earlier that the suggested age (40 at that time), but I still regarded breast cancer, any cancer, as an older person’s disease despite knowing actual patients my age. I asked for a mammogram because I knew I had a higher risk with family history-my aunt had just been diagnosed for heaven’s sake. I knew about ribbons, especially red ribbons (AIDS) and pink ribbons. Did I know October was “awareness” month? Maybe–but it did not “click” with me until the late 00’s.

The incident that made it click with me–well, I’d buried it. I was working in for a non-profit arts organization. Doing film exhibition with local community organizations. In the summer of 2008 or 2009 I began working with a women’s business group. My point collaboration person was suggesting topics for me to find films for our October event. I remember her telling me October was Breast Cancer Awareness Month.

I remember being surprised by that–what a dumb month for such a thing! Let me explain. As a lifelong resident of a beach town/resort area, with my first post-college job being in retail, I had a list of hard and fast rules and truths. Painting October Pink was stupid in my mind. Lots of local “runs” took place in April/May/June anyway–wasn’t spring better for Pink? I’ve lived my life by the ebb and flow of tourist traffic. Panel season, or off-season, events were in a strict path. There was the Greyhound rescue dog weekend, Jazzfest weekend, Seawitch, etc. in October. Where I worked, the annual film festival was the second weekend of November. I had no time for anything else–October was full of deadlines in preparation for this main event–a time of no sleep, no fun, no nothing. I measured these things in amounts of car traffic (for my work travel) and the likelihood of whether I could schedule an event and get any butts in seats during those event weekends (likely not). BCAM had maybe a marathon in one beach town–but there was always a marathon each weekend (bikes the worst, as they interrupted traffic the most, adding to my work travel time). I had no time for breast cancer, awareness, or a month of it . But sure, if I could find cheap film to exhibit about it, I’d see what I could do (this was before the release of Pink Ribbons, Inc.).

I don’t remember what films I exhibited–none about cancer I’m relatively certain. I moved on, forgot about this, got cancer, and now I remember it.

But here is the other thing I’d submerged, and am just now dredging up–a sort of painful memory.

I skipped the main event in 2010, having just been diagnosed, and preparing for the Red Devil. In 2011, I returned, managing over 1,000 volunteers for the annual festival, among other things. I had completed chemo in January of that year, radiation in the summer. I was still doing Herceptin every 3 weeks and my hair was curly and short–just returning. I was exhausted and felt horrible. I ran into the women I’d coordinated with for that event of a few years prior. She laughed and asked why I’d cut my hair so short (I’ve always worn it long). “I had cancer,” I replied curtly. She laughed for half a second then sobered up when she saw I was NOT laughing. “Breast cancer?” she asked. “Yeah,” I grunted.

So here was this person, so into “The Cause” but what did she really know about breast cancer? Breast cancer was a thing to worry about–but a thing that happened to other people–not ones we knew, not ourselves. Breast cancer was a thing to promote because an audience “cared” about it. But not “real”.

I realize now how much this informed my view of BCAM–this ignorance. It’s something to care about, to SHOW care about, but it always happens to someone else.

Until.

This is likely part of my disconnect with such hollow shows of “solidarity” of “Support”. Those things are meaningless to me.  The Pink events–they have little to do with What Really Happens.

I hold no ill will toward this woman–how could I? I was just as ignorant, just as “that won’t happen to me.” I don’t even remember her name, or the organization, and don’t feel motivated to research it. It doesn’t matter. It was just a memory that popped up Monday, unwanted, as I tried to get ready for tricks or treats.

My point is: October and BCAM, those are just “things to do”, the way we do other “holiday” things: buy candy for trick or treaters, buy a turkey and fret about ignorant relatives, succumb to shopping holiday madness, and make the obligatory weight loss New Year’s resolution.

And that is what I hate about October as Breast Cancer Awareness Month: it has become a rote obligatory motion we go through–not real.  Except to those of us who had the dumb fortune to get breast cancer.

And this is what needs to change.

 

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You’re A Mean One….

My fave piece of holiday wear.
My fave piece of holiday wear.

I have not been able to write and post lately. The final two months of the year are busy for a pet sitter, what with all the client travel. I’m so tired, when I sit down at any point and get online, the only thing I want to do is find Vines of animals mewing or barking, to entertain the pets I’m sitting. I really need to start making Vines of my own of my pets reacting to the sounds emanating from my devices.

The other reason is of course, I’m a Cancer Curmudgeon. This time of year CancerLand blogs are filled with posts about gratitude and joy, still alive in the face of cancer. I AM grateful to be alive after cancer, and grateful to be super busy right now—for the money, and the distraction that keeps me from focusing on my anxiety. 2014 has been my year of fear, and if I just keep moving, I don’t think too much. So I move.

It’s just that my blog is mostly an outlet for my rants, complaints, gripes, etc., and this time of year does not seem to be a good time to post such things. So I don’t. But that does not mean I have not found things that annoy the hell out of me.

I worry my curmudgeon-y-ness has made me incapable of seeing the good in anything. My ability to grouse even in the season of good cheer makes me think, oh man, what if I’m The Grinch?

I’ve found myself at odds with so many articles I’ve read about cancer lately. News tidbits that so many folks seem to rally around just piss me off. I do not like anything anyone says about breast cancer at all—whether they support the rah rah Pink stuff or criticize it. I don’t like Pink’s message, but I cannot seem to even agree with those trying to counter it! I don’t like anything—what is the matter with me?!! I am the worst breast cancer patient ever!

OK, maybe not. I’ve been doing some soul searching, thinking about why I blog, what I hope to achieve, etc., lately. I know I cannot offer counsel or advice, only a testimony of cancer as I see it, with the idea that if anyone sees cancer in some of the same way, they are comforted they are not alone in their views that are not exactly the “norm”. Because during and after treatment, I often thought, “am I the only one that thinks…”, I sought out blogs and began one of my own. I am the Cancer Curmudgeon, no more, no less. I notice whenever I tend to gain a few followers on social media, I lose a few. Guess I should post warnings about the nature of this blog and my attitudes more frequently. My only message is: if you think this, I thought so too. There are times I disagree with everyone, and everyone will disagree with me. “Oh well, whatever, never mind” (do I really need to list the source of that quote?). I hope that is enough for some.

Lovers of Dr. Seuss’s “Grinch” (the book and the 1966 cartoon, not that horrible Jim Carrey/Ron Howard film) know The Grinch finally learns the power/magic of Christmas, joins hands with the citizens of Whoville, sings that silly song, and carves the roast beast. So maybe being The Grinch is not all bad. I’ll likely never start holding hands and such in CancerLand, but I am capable of growing my heart—I hope that comes through in all of my grousing.

Maybe this post is just a roundabout way of saying: look out, more grousing to continue in 2015!