Stupid Effin' Cancer...

It happened again. This morning, I found out that yet another BC sister is reaching the end of her journey. Of course it made me really, really sad, but I also felt utterly and profoundly pissed off. I can't believe another family may have to say goodbye to a soon loved one due to this ridiculously insidious disease. Ugh.

This has been a heck of a year so far. I've lost several friends and acquaintances to this beast and several more to heart attacks and accidents. Still reeling from the news of one untimely passing, a call, email, text or Tweet would come about someone else's. The memorials and funerals have truly exhausted me, but they have gotten me thinking about legacy a lot more than ever.

My reality is this: I am a breast cancer survivor. Since this disease is such a crap shoot (in that no one yet knows why some BCs get gone after treatment and others come back) and there is absolutely no cure for this disease, the chance that mine could come back with a vengence and take me out is very real - even after seven years of being NED. Other than some meories and a few blog posts, what will be left of me after I'm gone? And what will those life left-overs say about me and what I did with my time here on earth?

The friends whom I lost ranged in age from 21 to 65 years of age. Their legacies include their children, their writing, their advocacy and the promise of what life had in store for them had they been here still to live it. They leave behind husbands and wives, children and Internet sisters, girlfriends and parents, relatives and friends who all remembered them "when" - when they were alive and kicking, doing their thing and living life like they'd retire and have grandchildren. Sadly, they didn't. How will the memories of who they were live on?

A few days ago, I was asked to write a bio for a presentation this spring. I was warned that writing about myself can be difficult - which I already knew, but I really had no idea why until I sat down to write this particular bio. Most of the people reading it will know me from the world of martial arts, although the award is for teaching outside the dojo. The truth is that I'm more than just a teacher and a karateka, but if you only see me in a gi or behind the podium in a lecture hall, you'd be none the wiser. The difficulty in writing about all you do and all you are, I found, is all about what NOT to include. Who wants their bio to read like they are a superhero?

But isn't that what we all are? Rachel, Elizabeth, Tim and Mr. Guzman certainly were. Nobody just does one thing all their life - be that world politics, a more mundane day job or heading a fabulous yearly fund-raiser/event - and they were no exception. We're all much more of a multi-faceted entity than how we can describe ourselves to someone we're meeting for the first time.

Today, this super hero is ticked off. It's time to cut the bull and find out what causes this disease so we can find a way to end it forever. It's time to stop the stupid parade of pink crap - and the way BC is feminized and turned into something cute, beatable and oh-such-a-gift. Fuck that. Cancer kills - and despite what you see about early detection, breast cancer is no exception. It's time to start asking where the millions raised each year for research actually goes and time to start asking why Stage IV/metastatic breast cancer gets too little attention and funding when it's taking so many people away from us.

April will mark 20 years since my mom died of brain mets - but in that time, despite the billions raised "for breast cancer" (whatever that means), the death rate for this menace has not changed an iota. That's some serious crap right there...

I'm tired. Tired of sending condolence cards and hearing about folks going to hospice. I'm tired of funerals and memorials for sisters who left us way too soon. I'm tired of the anxiety felt when it's time for a visit to the oncologist for myself or one of my sisters and equally as tired of the cute pink ribbons that trick the public into thinking dealing with BC is as simple as having surgery, undergoing with chemo/radiation and never having to deal with this beast again. I'm. Just. Tired.

I hope you are, too.

Thanks For Being So Narrow-Minded, Komen

By now, the story of Komen's funding pull for Planned Prenthood BC screenings is well-known. Like many survivors, I'm shaking my head over it.

But I am encouraged by the folks who are not only calling Komen out, but donating to Planned Parenthood. Some estimates note that Planned Parenthood has received about $680K in donations in the last 36 hours. That should help cover the $640K lost, I'm thinking.

Although not one person I've seen cheering Komen on for doing the right thing has been able to aptly explain what abortion has to do with breast screenings, the spittle is flying. But most of the comments I've seen after articles, Facebook posts and message boards about this issue seem to be appauled that the Komen would yank funding to an organization that provides so many screenings for so many women without insurance who have no where else to go for them. That so many have taken to giving to Planned Parenthood directly speaks volumes.

So maybe this is the "big thing" we needed to get folks to stop thinking of Komen as an alturistic entity solely about ridding the world of breast cancer forever. Perhaps this will get folks who've walked, run, bought silly pink products and/or otherwise donated to Komen to see that maybe the business side of pink is more important to the agency than saving women's lives.

If this is the issue that gets people to understand that there are other breast cancer organizations out there that really ARE about researching for a cure and helping BC go the way of the dinosaur, it really wouldn't be a bad thing, I'm thinking. And if that's the case, I'm most thankful to Komen. I just hope that they take all those pink ribbons with them when they fade into oblivion.

It's been real, Komen.

Let the Pink Parade Begin

This afternoon, I went to lunch with a few friends. We didn't even get in the door of Panera Bread before being greeted with a pink ribbon - via a sign that let us know all the proceeds from the day's purchases of pink food products would be donated to some sort of generic Breast Cancer organization. How much, what organization, where in the organization (for awareness, education or cure) were not even mentioned. So I asked the manager.

Of course he had no idea, he just regurgitated the few sentences that were probably on the memo he received from corporate last week. When I pressed him for specifics, he admitted he didn't know and directed me to the company's website which "should have all that information," he said.

And of course it did not. Not a word about it - not a pink ribbon or a mention that tomorrow - October 1 - even kicks off BC Awareness Month. So of course I hit the "Contact Us" tab and left a small book about the nature of my problem and why it just ain't cool to pink wash. Maybe they'll respond, maybe they won't. I'll keep you posted...

The Very BIG Business of Breast Cancer

Many of my friends and family know how the site of pink batteries, M&Ms, oven mitts and vacuum cleaners can send me into an absolute frenzy. They get how the parade of silly pink products that happens every year about this time - all in the name of breast cancer awareness month in October - pisses me off to no end. They understand that I have issues with how money is raised and where it doesn't go because I've told them (OK - ranted) about it endlessly. They also know that the mention of Susan G. Komen "For the Cure" makes my eyes narrow and my eyebrows nit really close together - but still, they love me :-)

I've tweeting and FaceBooking about it, but every once in a while, I need help getting the message out. So I'm grateful to Marie Clare for writing an amazing article detailing why we should all think before we pink. Please give it a read and share the link with your family and friends!

Seriously - How Hard Could It Be to Find a Cure?

Tomorrow morning, a friend will be heading in for a biopsy for calcifications that showed up today on her annual mammogram four years after her original diagnosis - this less than a week after a mutual friend of ours died of brain mets. My mom died of brain mets in 1992. Can't tell you how much I hate cancer today...

Now just think for a moment about all the walks and races that have been held and the silly array of pink products have been sold since my mother's original diagnosis in 1988. Seriously - are we any closer to a cure today than we were 19 years ago?

Enough of the bullshit. Enough of the pink perfumes and the beautification of breast cancer - because it's really far from cute, feminine or pleasing to the olfactory system (and anyone who's ever battled this beast or stood beside someone who has can attest to that). Enough ribbons and batteries and baseball gloves and vacuum cleaners already - a CURE is what we really need.

Sure, BC probably gets more attention and funds than any other cancer, yet mothers, sisters, grandmothers, aunts, friends, neighbors and co-workers die every day from it. There's something wrong with that picture.

And I don't want to hear about how multi-faceted BC is. Yep - there are lots of different types of breast cancers - I get that. But freaking pick one already and start there. I don't understand how difficult that is, I really don't.

So I logged onto Susan G. Komen's site to find out if they could help me understand it a little better. I saw from their little pink pie chart that only 25% of what they take in each year is actually allocated for "research and awards" (the "awards" part is supposed to be to local programs that aim to help women, so even less than that actually ends up in the "research" pot, it seems). But a combined 51% for "education" and "screening"? Important, true - but more important than researching a cure? Hmmmm...

And of course, the survivor in me hears a ticking clock somewhere off in the distance. If I ever have a recurrence or a new primary cancer, will there be much more hope than there is now that a cure will be found before I run out of time and treatment options?

I just wish I had more middle fingers to flip at breast cancer and all the bull that goes along with it. Rest in peace, Elizabeth B.

Wardrobe FAIL

For those who don't know, I am a martial artist who spends way too much time in a karate uniform/sweatpants and a tank top to train/teach or when I head to the gym for a date with my old nemesis, the treadmill. As a result, when I do get the chance to dress up in real, live, girl clothes, I usually jump at it.

Last night, opportunity knocked. A black-tie scholarship/awards diner was held in NYC for a karate organization our dojo frequents. Wow - an occasion to wear a swanky dress, cute heels and a little blingy jewelry? I'm there! And thus, my dress hunt began.

The problem was the 3/4-inch wide divot to the right of my sternum left from the removal of a rib during my breast reconstruction. Anything I found that was swanky enough was cut just low enough in the cleavage area that my divot was on display. Just. Great.

But eventually, I found not one but TWO gorgeous dresses for the event. The first was a simple but elegant sleeveless black tea-length dress with a high bodice (just under the bra-line). It crossed in a "V" in the front which made only the corner of the divot visible. The other was an amazing sleeveless/backless wonder that was almost ankle-length. Long, scarf-like pieces of fabric extended from the drop waist to cover my boobs. The idea was to tie them at the neck and let them hang down the back to flow oh-so-gracefully behind me as I entered and exited the room. Dress #2 was HOT! And the divot wasn't a problem because the fabric was wide enough to cover it while still letting a little bit of skin peek through. Wearing a bra was not an option because the back was completely out. Only a very low-riding corset-type bra would have had any chance of not bring seen from behind and I wasn't able to find one that dipped all the way to my waist.

When I stood posing in the mirror with my arms to my side, all was well. But as soon as I moved my arm forward a few inches or above my waist, too much skin was visible on profile - and that skin included the edges of the scars from my IGAP. Hmmm...that could potentially made cutting the dinner chicken I'd be eating, bringing a fork to my mouth to chew it or especially the "throw-my-hands-in-the-air-and-waving-'em-like-I-just-don't-care" dancing I was planning after dinner out of the question.

So off I went to find some kind of under-dress solution. Thought I had my answer with a mini-corset bra that had no back but stuck to the body about mid-way between the armpit and elbow with some kind of re-usable adhesive. I was game to give it a try, but I could only find it in "nude" - which is a euphemism for "day-glow" on a brown girl like me. Grrrr...

Eventually I found and bought invisible two-sided tape designed to stick to the sides of fabric and skin to hold the dress in place, but it only stuck to the dress and not me. $10 totally down the drain...

With the departure time for the event getting closer and me still with hair and makeup to do, I finally changed into dress #1 at the very last minute. Yeah, I looked great (not tooting my own horn here, just sayin'), but what an exercise in futility and frustration...

Wardrobe issues. I know it's a very minor blip in the grand scheme of things, but sometimes, it can feel like a very big THING - and yet another gift that keeps on giving from the cancer gods.

What We Don't Hear About Awareness

Breast Cancer awareness and education programs have always pissed me off. Fellow blogger Anna Rachnel's "What Do You Want?" post explains why better than I ever could.

We love you, Anna!