This is not Pink

Welcome to October! And, we all know what that means. That’s right, it’s time for pink, for the grandmother of all “awareness” campaigns, it’s breast cancer “awareness” month. As an aside, October is also liver cancer awareness month, but I guarantee that we won’t see any emerald green ribbons wrapped around trees or on lapels.

For the next month, the world will be festooned in pink ribbons, a veritable tidal wave of pink will send those gold (childhood cancer) and teal (ovarian cancer) ribbons from last month spiraling to the depths of the awareness ocean. Did you see a yellow or teal ribbon on a box of cereal in September? No. Well, then, it’s time to ask why. I am sure that when I head to Shop-Rite next week, I will see plenty of pink merchandise. There will be “awareness days” at baseball and football games; there will be golf events for a “cure” and plenty of races or walks for a “cure.” Here’s the thing, though.

There is no cure for breast cancer or any cancer, for that matter.

I’ll let that sink in for a moment.

There. Is. No. Cure.

Ribbons and “awareness” don’t change that fact.

Is cancer treatable? Absolutely. Many people are treated successfully, go into remission, and continue to live their lives.  Am I one of them? I’d like to think so. I’ve had cancer. Twice. I had Hodgkin’s lymphoma, diagnosed when I was 14 in 1981. So, I was a member of the childhood cancer club, long before the gold ribbon thing. I was diagnosed with breast cancer last year when I was 49. It was caught early during my annual mammo and ultrasound. My treatment was successful. And yet, and yet, I don’t pretend for one single moment that this can’t change. It’s insidious, cancer. 

One in three breast cancer patients has metastatic or Stage IV disease. That means that the cancer has spread from the breast to someplace else. It can happen any time; it can be an initial diagnosis or can be diagnosed months or years after completing treatment. It can happen even if the original breast cancer was caught “early.” No one knows why this happens. Almost no one survives metastatic disease. If you know someone who has died from cancer, that person died from metastatic disease. Yet, notwithstanding that one-third of all breast cancer patients will be diagnosed with metastatic disease; according to Metavivor, only 2 to 5% of all money for breast cancer research is dedicated to metastatic disease.

This year, if you want to make a difference in the fight against cancer, please consider supporting organizations that actually are putting dollars to work to find a cure or that are providing direct support to cancer patients. Ask the important questions: Where does the money go? Who does the money help? Use Charity Navigator to verify a charity’s accountability. Here are some ideas:

·      Metavivor: www.metavivor.org
·       Living Beyond Breast Cancer: www.lbbc.org/

·      Young Survival Coalition: www.youngsurvival.org

·      Pink Warrior Angels: www.pinkwarriorangels.org

·      Remember Betty Foundation: www.rememberbetty.com

If you know someone who was recently diagnosed or is in treatment, and you want to help, but are not sure how or what to do, may I suggest offering specific support, such as an offer to come to treatment, go for a walk or go out for coffee; to help with grocery shopping or laundry following surgery; and, of course, meals always are appreciated (as long as you clear taste preferences which can go wonky during treatment), as are cards or notes. I saved every single one that I received. They still make me smile.

If you want to splurge, then consider these great companies and organizations, all started and run by survivors:

·      AnaOno Intimates: A lingerie and loungewear company designing exclusively for those who've had breast reconstruction, breast surgery, mastectomy or are living with other conditions that cause pain or discomfort, www.anaono.com.

·      Survivor Moda: The ParkPuff™ Seatbelt Pillow for Breast Cancer Survivors, www.survivormoda.com.

·      Diva for a Day: Nominate someone to be a “Diva” and she'll have a beautiful, restorative day, www.divaforaday.org.

·      Fighting Pretty: “Pretty Packages” are care packages intended to empower women battling cancer to feel strong, beautiful and fierce, www.fightingpretty.org.

Cancer happens. Cancer sucks. Cancer kills -- too many, too young, too soon. 

We need to come together to make a difference. 

We need to move beyond the ribbons.

We need a cure.

Our lives are depending on it.

In Memory Of --

Nan A., Breast Cancer
Patrice B., Pancreatic Cancer
Ted B., Liver Cancer

Bob C., Prostate Cancer

Champagne Joy, Breast Cancer

Lorraine M., Breast Cancer

Peter M., Brain Cancer

Jim O., Throat Cancer
Thomas W., Pancreatic Cancer

In Support & Honor Of --

Erica A., Breast Cancer

Mark B., Prostate Cancer

Lorry B., Breast Cancer

Steph B., Breast Cancer

Karen B., Breast Cancer

Liz B., Breast Cancer

Chiara D., Breast Cancer

Lauren D., Breast Cancer

Dana D., Breast Cancer

Gina D., Breast Cancer

Peggy G., Lymphoma

Karen G., Breast Cancer

Dana H., Breast & Ovarian Cancer

Maureen J., Breast Cancer

Tom K., Melanoma

Mary K., Breast Cancer

Nancy L., Breast Cancer

Melanie L., Breast Cancer

Shea L., Lymphoma

Lori M., Lymphoma

Peggy M., Breast Cancer

Brendan M., Hodgkin's Lymphoma

Laura M., Breast Cancer

Diane M., Breast & Lung Cancer

Susie M., Breast Cancer 

Nora M., Ovarian Cancer

Mike M., Bladder Cancer

Christie O., Breast Cancer

Rachel P., Breast Cancer

Maria R., Breast Cancer

Cassandra S., Breast Cancer

Jen S., Lymphoma

Joanne W., Breast Cancer

Karen W., Breast Cancer

Return

It's funny how my garden bloomed and faded, while I was away. I was only gone for a few days to delicious, sunny Florida, where I visited John, my Godfather. 

Looking at John was like looking at my past, straight at my dad. John could be him, except for his eyes. John’s eyes are clear blue, like his mom’s, my dad’s sister. My dad’s were hazel, like mine. John’s eyes light up whenever he laughs, a deep resounding Shields laugh, just like my dad’s did. It made my heart sing to hear that laugh again.

Katie Heath

Back in New Jersey, I walked my front garden, the sky's grey uncertainty hung above me. The early Narcissi, spring's sulfurous heralds, have faded, their desiccated heads drooping to the earth, like crepe paper streamers after a party. Yet, the stand of Katie Heath daffodils, creamy white with a pink corolla, lingered at my weathered, white garden gate, causing me to pause, a wistful smile passing over my face as I thought of my Kate who was only eight when I first set those bulbs in the ground 12 years ago now. I stretched, eyes closed, and inhaled the Miss Kim lilac's honeyed spice filling the air around me in the fading afternoon mist. 

I walked my side garden. A solitary tulip startled me, growing through the tangled branches of the pink azalea that blooms every year in early April, our silent memorial to our little one lost so long ago. I did not plant the tulip there. Some critter must have decided that this tulip bulb, no doubt a tasty morsel, needed to be placed somewhere special for a cold winter’s day, but returned to its rest, foregoing its hunger.

Fairy Wings

I walked my shade garden. A thick red-orange carpet of Epimedium or fairy wings, their blossoms like miniature orchids, has grown under the fringe tree. Far from the small patch it once was, it has spread further and further, finally bumping against the creeping Jenny, who, like my sister, will have none of it.

My circle complete, I cleaned out the fountain, now burbling away on the patio. 

I filled one planter, the lovely lady, with Irish moss. I hope that, as it grows, it falls in front of her face like Celtic curls.  

Gardens and memories, aren't they just? They bloom, fade, and return, like lost laughter and lilac's sweetness on the breeze.

To sleep, perchance to dream.