“You’re wearing pink,” my friend said, fingering the sleeve of my shirt.
“It’s October, Nancy.”
“For breast cancer,” she said softly, then more sharply: “How many pink shirts do you have?”
A couple of years ago I wrote of the two women, my best friends, who lit the fire of awareness in me of the devastating effects of breast cancer. One of those friends is Nancy, though she does not know the extent of my emotional commitment to her survival.
October is National Breast Cancer Awareness Month. In observance of that, the National Football League’s recent October games featured players and officials wearing pink-colored gear (though the pink penalty flags had few fans). Twice this month, in pursuit of grease, I have been a customer at fast-food drive-up windows. At the first I was asked to “contribute $1 for breast cancer awareness.” I agreed, and when I drove to the pick-up window, the woman who took my money looked at the big pink ribbon emblazoned across my t-shirt and said, “I would have been mad at you if you had said ‘no.’” At my second “grease-run,” the talking box asked if I wanted to “contribute $1 to breast cancer.” Not, “breast cancer awareness,” but “breast cancer.”
The number of organizations advertising, displaying and selling pink merchandise has grown dramatically. In my local gas/convenient store, there is a display devoted entirely to pink merchandise. But I wonder if the displays of pink have taken away from the message. The sales of pink ribbons and merchandise are intended to be a call to action, to stimulate a discussion about the dangers of breast cancer.
My niece wrote a “Crackbook” post that she called “Check It Out.” During a monthly BSE (Breast Self Examination), she found a lump and did nothing to investigate it. The lump grew larger and she scurried to her doctor. All was well, but she wrote this:
“I will continue to do my monthly self-exams, I will talk about it, and I will be the first one in my (Doctor’s) office every year, boobs out and ready.”
The American Cancer Society’s website posts that in 2013, “an estimated 232,340 new cases of invasive breast cancer (are) expected to be diagnosed among U.S. women.” In combination with 64,640 cases of “in situ” (in place) breast cancer, “39,620 … (are) expected to die.” Their 2013-2014 charts of breast cancer incidence and mortality rates shows that in Indiana, non-Hispanic white females have an incidence rate of 118.1 (per 100,000 of population) and a mortality rate of 23.6. African-American females have an incidence rate of 117.6, and a mortality rate of 31.6; Hispanic females have an incidence rate of 70.9, with a mortality rate of 8.8.
Breast Cancer Awareness Month is not about pink merchandise. It is about our family and friends, the people that we want to keep in our lives. Ultimately, it does not matter how many (nine) pink shirts I have, nor how many pink flags are thrown on the football field, nor how many pink iPod cases are sold in the convenient store. What matters is our education, our understanding and advocacy, and our desire to keep safe those we love. My niece understands the risks and rewards; my aunt knows this, as do my two good friends.
The American Cancer Society will send you “Five Tips for Healthy Breasts” — watch your weight, exercise regularly, limit alcohol, avoid or limit hormone replacement therapy and get recommended mammograms (or as my niece might say, get “boobs out and ready”).
It’s October, Nancy, and I am glad you are here.