Farmageddon 2013

Sampson, Susan, Bren, Me, Amy, Linda, Layne, Ann,
Rosemary, Tricia, Leslie, Glenna and Sandy

Last weekend was one of the best I'd spent with friends in a long time. I traveled to a horse farm outside of Baltimore to hang with 11 women I'd "met" on an Internet message board for breast cancer survivors. Before the trip, I'd only met two of them in person.

We came from different parts of the US and Canada. Some of us are urban dwellers while others of us are suburbanites. Most of us are done with active treatment while some of us are not. We are married, divorced and single - with children and without. We all share an affinity for liberal politics and chocolate - but were it not for breast cancer, we probably would never have met each other.

Much of our time together was spent taking pictures, eating and chatting. We talked to each other and we talked via phone, FaceTime and Skype with those in our little group who were unable to join us physically. We also talked a lot about the Zimmerman verdict, the messy art of eating steamed crabs and why tequila is sometimes a very necessary way to bond with sister-friends. Once in a while, a treatment or diagnosis story found its way into the conversation, but it wasn't a real focal point.

The trip was planned for months before we actually got together, and in the interim between all the "Hey, we should get together soon!" and the "What time should we plan to arrive?" talk, our host-to-be got some not-so-good news regarding a cancer progression. While we wondered if it was a good idea to still have our pow-wow or not, our host and her family insisted that we come to enjoy each other's company and take our sister's mind off the news, if only for a weekend. Hence the tequila.

This weekend, after digesting more bad news from our host, another of our sisters and yet another sister's husband, we all seem to be trying to hold on to the energy and serenity our time together created. I can't speak for the rest of the group, but I know I'm having a really hard time with that.

Hearing about anyone having to go another round with this beast is so very disheartening - but when it's someone you know and love, it's much worse. It's hard not to feel totally helpless and ineffective when cancer rears its ugly head again and treatment options and their side-effects start being discussed. For me, not screaming and throwing things has proven to be tough, as has not think of exactly how lives will be altered from the news. Tough to forget that the sneaky bitch that is cancer can reach out and grab any of us again - because it has.

Knowing full well that sugar-coated crap is still just as shitty, I didn't really think we'd be saying "Cheese!" when we posed for group photos. On the count of three, we yelled "Fuck Cancer!" instead.

Fuck cancer, indeed.

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.