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It's all the rage these days to grimace mockingly at stores full of pink products every October... to roll one's eyes at pink ribbons hung on walls and mounted in car windows. People love to talk about "pinkwashing" and question how big of an impact a penny per yogurt lid will have in the fight against breast cancer. Your neighbor Bob asks "Why do we make such a big deal about it? It's a disease. Where's the love for people with lung cancer? What about people with heart disease? Why don't we wallpaper downtown with whatever color ribbon they use for ... I dunno, cirrhosis?"
In some ways, the movement fighting breast cancer has been a victim of its own success. People get jaded by constant reminders that breast cancer is an awful disease, blah blah blah blah blah, isn't it wonderful that these brave women and men are fighting it with such spirit and courage, blah blah blah. Everywhere they look there're pink-ribbon products for sale, people Racing and Walking and Bowling and God Only Knows What For A Cure®, and there comes a point where they just want to say "SHUT UP ALREADY, I GOT IT, YOU'RE SICK."
Imagine for a second that your co-worker knocking on the door is asking for donations for the fight against ... skinned knees. Or the common cold. You'd want to say "oh come ON, people! People get skinned knees. People get colds. CRY ME A RIVER."
Yeah, that's sort of the situation that we sometimes find ourselves in when we talk about breast cancer. We're up against "awareness overkill". People are sick of the whole subject.
What good has all this "awareness" accomplished? Why do people like me keep right on walking and fundraising and, yes, wearing pink, and yes, hanging big illuminated pink ribbons in our living room windows? Why do we keep on acting as though there's something special about breast cancer, something that sets it apart from other diseases, cancers and otherwise?
Go back in time 25 years. Imagine that you're a woman who's discovered a lump in her breast. Imagine that your doctor is poorly informed about breast cancer treatment options and is ready to order a radical mastectomy without even considering other treatment options. Imagine that your family acts ... embarrassed about your cancer. Imagine that none of your friends feel comfortable discussing it. Imagine that people take you aside and ask you to just refer to it as a "female cancer" and not specify further exactly what part of your body is afflicted. Imagine that your insurance won't cover your treatment. Imagine that your employer lets you go when they find out that you're sick. Imagine that you're treated by everyone around you as though you've done something shameful, as though you've got a big scarlet "C" on your forehead. Imagine that your husband is unable to cope with the situation and asks for a divorce because he "just can't deal with it."
That's what life was like for many, if not most, women diagnosed with breast cancer just a few years ago. And in some respects, that's how it still is.
Some women still find themselves out of a job because their employers are not willing to deal with them taking time off, unpaid or otherwise. Women still find themselves ostracized by "friends" and fellow employees and people at church because breast cancer's come a'knocking, as though it's either contagious, a horrible disgrace, or both. HMOs find reasons to terminate health coverage when a woman is diagnosed with breast cancer. Want cites? I can provide them.
Many women of my acquaintance have gone through absolute hell in their battles with breast cancer... and not all of it's caused by the cancer. Friends they thought they could count on were suddenly not around. Phone calls have gone unanswered. Husbands have packed up and moved out. It's hard enough to keep your spirits up when you're up against a potential death sentence. Imagine how much harder it must be when your entire social network and support structure decides it doesn't want to be reminded of its own mortality and vamooses.
And this is the year 2012, people. If, for some women, it's that hard, still, in this day and age, imagine what things were like 25 years ago, before the Pink Ribbon Revolution had begun raising awareness, and eyebrows?
I regard the women and men of my acquaintance who wrestle every day with cancer as heroes. Not because they chose to get sick, because they didn't. But because I'm impressed as hell by anyone who can endure chemo, and radiation, and disfiguring surgery, get declared all better, only to wake up one morning and guess what's baaaaaaack? And go through the whole thing again. AND do so despite the jaded, breast-cancer-was-so-yesterday detachment of American society at large.
These women and men are heroes. They deal with crap the likes of which I can only imagine. And that's why every year, several times a year, you'll find me standing in a big crowd of people, all of us wearing gobs and gobs of pink, holding shoes over our head as survivors of breast cancer march tearfully, or proudly, or both, in front of us.
Each time I go off to a Susan G. Komen 3-Day walk, I never really know what I'm going to encounter on my sixty-mile, three-day journey. It may rain, it may be bakingly hot, it may even snow. I may walk with others, I may walk alone. I may end the journey feeling strong and happy... or I may finish limping, feeling sad and injured. But no matter what crosses my path, I know how every 3-Day journey will end: with a parade of survivors of breast cancer marching together into the Closing Ceremonies while I, and thousands of other walkers and crewmembers around me, hold a sneaker or running shoe in the air to honor them... to say "I walked for you."
We veteran walkers don't exactly go out of our way to tell new walkers and crewmembers about it, coming as it does at the end of a weekend full of challenge and fatigue: "You're gonna walk sixty miles, you're going to go pee in a whole bunch of port-o-jons, you're going to drink so much sports drink that you're going to sweat purple, you're gonna sleep in a pink tent, you're gonna get blisters on your blisters ... oh, and at the end, you're gonna stick your shoe up in the air." It's not really the sort of thing that you get by just getting told about it. You have to experience it.
That's why the very first time I attended closing ceremonies, at the Washington DC 3-Day in 2008, I found myself holding a cheap plastic sandal in the air during the parade of survivors. No one had told me about the whole shoes-in-the-air ritual, so when I found myself with about 90 minutes to kill between finishing the route and the start of closing ceremonies, I grabbed my gear bag and changed out of the hiking boots I'd worn all weekend and slipped on ... day-glo yellow and black sandals. Yeah, I felt just a tiny bit silly when I looked around and everyone was holding up their stinky, smelly, sweaty, well-worn-in sneakers and there I was, like a dork, sticking a Flip-Flop up in the air.
But no one laughed and pointed. I think they could excuse me for being a bit footsore and for having changed into something more comfortable. I had just walked sixty miles in support of women and men everywhere fighting breast cancer. If I wanted to hold up a Flip-Flop, then more power to me.
Since that fall weekend in Washington I've held up my sneakers (or, in one case, a heavy steel-toed boot I'd worn while spending the weekend collecting 3-Day garbage as captain of the Route Cleanup crew) 10 more times. And it never gets old. I'm honored to do it every time.
Many 3-Day participants cite it as the most evocative, moving, emotional part of the entire weekend... and that's just the walkers and crew talking. If you're a cancer survivor, and you've born your cross in silence... going through radiation and chemo and surgery and endless trips to and from the doctor... and now, finally, people... THOUSANDS of people... are saluting you and your struggle and your courage and your bravery... it's little wonder that many survivors are openly sobbing as they parade through at the end of Closing Ceremonies.
The tradition dates back, apparently, to the early 2000s, in the early days of the 60-mile breast cancer walks. No one's quite sure, apparently, who held up the first shoe, but it's hard to imagine the 3-Day ending without it. And it's not necessarily the same in every city: when I walked in Minneapolis/St. Paul in the summer of 2010, I was surprised to find that every walker just knew to drop to one knee as they raised their shoes on high. (I didn't mind this, although I was wearing a kilt and had to be ... careful as I knelt down.) And I'm given to understand that each year at the Michigan 3-Day, the assembled walkers hurl the roses they're given as they finish the walk into the center ring. Roses raining down on the survivors from all sides! (The roses are generally the thornless variety.)
I've asked survivors their impression of the shoe salute and I've never found anyone yet who's said "Yeah, that gets old after a while."
We often say that life on the 3-Day is life as it ought to be: full of support and acceptance and without judgment and without negativity. I'm sorry that there are still those who regard breast cancer as something to be ashamed of, and I'm sorry that there are so many people who "can't handle cancer" and turn their backs on loved ones and friends in need. And I'm very very very grateful for those who go the extra mile to support their wives and mothers and daughters and friends and co-workers... their heroes who refuse to give up and give in.
So if you at times find yourself a bit awareness-weary and think it's time we shifted our focus to another disease, something less ... well, intimate... think twice. We've come a long way, baby -- but we've got such a very long way left to go.
In some ways, the movement fighting breast cancer has been a victim of its own success. People get jaded by constant reminders that breast cancer is an awful disease, blah blah blah blah blah, isn't it wonderful that these brave women and men are fighting it with such spirit and courage, blah blah blah. Everywhere they look there're pink-ribbon products for sale, people Racing and Walking and Bowling and God Only Knows What For A Cure®, and there comes a point where they just want to say "SHUT UP ALREADY, I GOT IT, YOU'RE SICK."
Imagine for a second that your co-worker knocking on the door is asking for donations for the fight against ... skinned knees. Or the common cold. You'd want to say "oh come ON, people! People get skinned knees. People get colds. CRY ME A RIVER."
Yeah, that's sort of the situation that we sometimes find ourselves in when we talk about breast cancer. We're up against "awareness overkill". People are sick of the whole subject.
What good has all this "awareness" accomplished? Why do people like me keep right on walking and fundraising and, yes, wearing pink, and yes, hanging big illuminated pink ribbons in our living room windows? Why do we keep on acting as though there's something special about breast cancer, something that sets it apart from other diseases, cancers and otherwise?
Go back in time 25 years. Imagine that you're a woman who's discovered a lump in her breast. Imagine that your doctor is poorly informed about breast cancer treatment options and is ready to order a radical mastectomy without even considering other treatment options. Imagine that your family acts ... embarrassed about your cancer. Imagine that none of your friends feel comfortable discussing it. Imagine that people take you aside and ask you to just refer to it as a "female cancer" and not specify further exactly what part of your body is afflicted. Imagine that your insurance won't cover your treatment. Imagine that your employer lets you go when they find out that you're sick. Imagine that you're treated by everyone around you as though you've done something shameful, as though you've got a big scarlet "C" on your forehead. Imagine that your husband is unable to cope with the situation and asks for a divorce because he "just can't deal with it."
That's what life was like for many, if not most, women diagnosed with breast cancer just a few years ago. And in some respects, that's how it still is.
Some women still find themselves out of a job because their employers are not willing to deal with them taking time off, unpaid or otherwise. Women still find themselves ostracized by "friends" and fellow employees and people at church because breast cancer's come a'knocking, as though it's either contagious, a horrible disgrace, or both. HMOs find reasons to terminate health coverage when a woman is diagnosed with breast cancer. Want cites? I can provide them.
Many women of my acquaintance have gone through absolute hell in their battles with breast cancer... and not all of it's caused by the cancer. Friends they thought they could count on were suddenly not around. Phone calls have gone unanswered. Husbands have packed up and moved out. It's hard enough to keep your spirits up when you're up against a potential death sentence. Imagine how much harder it must be when your entire social network and support structure decides it doesn't want to be reminded of its own mortality and vamooses.
And this is the year 2012, people. If, for some women, it's that hard, still, in this day and age, imagine what things were like 25 years ago, before the Pink Ribbon Revolution had begun raising awareness, and eyebrows?
I regard the women and men of my acquaintance who wrestle every day with cancer as heroes. Not because they chose to get sick, because they didn't. But because I'm impressed as hell by anyone who can endure chemo, and radiation, and disfiguring surgery, get declared all better, only to wake up one morning and guess what's baaaaaaack? And go through the whole thing again. AND do so despite the jaded, breast-cancer-was-so-yesterday detachment of American society at large.
These women and men are heroes. They deal with crap the likes of which I can only imagine. And that's why every year, several times a year, you'll find me standing in a big crowd of people, all of us wearing gobs and gobs of pink, holding shoes over our head as survivors of breast cancer march tearfully, or proudly, or both, in front of us.
Each time I go off to a Susan G. Komen 3-Day walk, I never really know what I'm going to encounter on my sixty-mile, three-day journey. It may rain, it may be bakingly hot, it may even snow. I may walk with others, I may walk alone. I may end the journey feeling strong and happy... or I may finish limping, feeling sad and injured. But no matter what crosses my path, I know how every 3-Day journey will end: with a parade of survivors of breast cancer marching together into the Closing Ceremonies while I, and thousands of other walkers and crewmembers around me, hold a sneaker or running shoe in the air to honor them... to say "I walked for you."
We veteran walkers don't exactly go out of our way to tell new walkers and crewmembers about it, coming as it does at the end of a weekend full of challenge and fatigue: "You're gonna walk sixty miles, you're going to go pee in a whole bunch of port-o-jons, you're going to drink so much sports drink that you're going to sweat purple, you're gonna sleep in a pink tent, you're gonna get blisters on your blisters ... oh, and at the end, you're gonna stick your shoe up in the air." It's not really the sort of thing that you get by just getting told about it. You have to experience it.
That's why the very first time I attended closing ceremonies, at the Washington DC 3-Day in 2008, I found myself holding a cheap plastic sandal in the air during the parade of survivors. No one had told me about the whole shoes-in-the-air ritual, so when I found myself with about 90 minutes to kill between finishing the route and the start of closing ceremonies, I grabbed my gear bag and changed out of the hiking boots I'd worn all weekend and slipped on ... day-glo yellow and black sandals. Yeah, I felt just a tiny bit silly when I looked around and everyone was holding up their stinky, smelly, sweaty, well-worn-in sneakers and there I was, like a dork, sticking a Flip-Flop up in the air.
But no one laughed and pointed. I think they could excuse me for being a bit footsore and for having changed into something more comfortable. I had just walked sixty miles in support of women and men everywhere fighting breast cancer. If I wanted to hold up a Flip-Flop, then more power to me.
Since that fall weekend in Washington I've held up my sneakers (or, in one case, a heavy steel-toed boot I'd worn while spending the weekend collecting 3-Day garbage as captain of the Route Cleanup crew) 10 more times. And it never gets old. I'm honored to do it every time.
Many 3-Day participants cite it as the most evocative, moving, emotional part of the entire weekend... and that's just the walkers and crew talking. If you're a cancer survivor, and you've born your cross in silence... going through radiation and chemo and surgery and endless trips to and from the doctor... and now, finally, people... THOUSANDS of people... are saluting you and your struggle and your courage and your bravery... it's little wonder that many survivors are openly sobbing as they parade through at the end of Closing Ceremonies.
The tradition dates back, apparently, to the early 2000s, in the early days of the 60-mile breast cancer walks. No one's quite sure, apparently, who held up the first shoe, but it's hard to imagine the 3-Day ending without it. And it's not necessarily the same in every city: when I walked in Minneapolis/St. Paul in the summer of 2010, I was surprised to find that every walker just knew to drop to one knee as they raised their shoes on high. (I didn't mind this, although I was wearing a kilt and had to be ... careful as I knelt down.) And I'm given to understand that each year at the Michigan 3-Day, the assembled walkers hurl the roses they're given as they finish the walk into the center ring. Roses raining down on the survivors from all sides! (The roses are generally the thornless variety.)
I've asked survivors their impression of the shoe salute and I've never found anyone yet who's said "Yeah, that gets old after a while."
We often say that life on the 3-Day is life as it ought to be: full of support and acceptance and without judgment and without negativity. I'm sorry that there are still those who regard breast cancer as something to be ashamed of, and I'm sorry that there are so many people who "can't handle cancer" and turn their backs on loved ones and friends in need. And I'm very very very grateful for those who go the extra mile to support their wives and mothers and daughters and friends and co-workers... their heroes who refuse to give up and give in.
So if you at times find yourself a bit awareness-weary and think it's time we shifted our focus to another disease, something less ... well, intimate... think twice. We've come a long way, baby -- but we've got such a very long way left to go.
