#pinktober

It’s pinktober- the time of pinkwashing and a false sense of awareness of breast cancer. A time when companies profit off this horrible disease. Did you know breast cancer is the most marketed cancer? Did you know most of the time it’s mere cents going to cancer research? Did you know that even with all the advancement in treatment the number of women who die every year has remained constant?

Breast cancer is not pink or pretty. It’s not harmless. It’s not a “good type of cancer”

All the marketing has done more harm than good. It has made a horrible disease looks easy. It has downplayed the trauma of having your body ripped apart. It’s made people think it’s more treatable than it really is.

Did you know catching it early doesn’t mean a lot? That 1 in 4 women diagnosed with earl stage breast cancer will later be diagnosed with stage 4. That metastatic  breast cancer is not treatable?

This is a small part of what my breast cancer looks like.

It was fear and tears.

It was feeling like I could’t breathe.

It was crying myself to sleep almost every night.

It was making hard choices.

It was advocating for myself.

It was PTSD.

It was going from ok to barley holding it together in an instant.

It was thinking that maybe all I have done for my kids and all the love I have for the wouldn’t matter because they wouldn’t remember me anyways.

It was planning my funeral.

It was mourning the loss of a very special inmate part of my body.

It was tears rolling down my face as I lay on the operating table knowing I would wake up with no breast.

It was anxiety at being alone after surgery because they didn’t communicate clearly to my partner.

It my heart breaking every single time some asked me why I decide to cut all my hair off.

It was being humbled at the amount of people that wanted to help.

It was being angry that people who work with breast cancer patients day in and out still said the wrong things.

It was relief when my lymph nodes came back clean.

It was breaking down in tears at m first chemo, reliving every one of the 18 rounds of chemo I had for bone cancer.

It was being to weak to walk to the bathroom.

It was injections to help boost my blood count that almost gave me horrible joint pain.

It was being in so much pain I had to be held to fall asleep.

It was running my hands through my hairs and clumps falling out.

It was my kids saying good night from the door because they had colds and couldn’t be near me.

It was snuggling in bed with my children because it was the only way to spend time with them.

It was relying on friends and family.

It was my daughter and I having our breastfeeding relationship taken from us.

It was relief when the PET scan came back clean.

It was anger at having to do this again.

It’s is worry at every follow up appointment.

It’s that my son asks “did they find any new lumps or bumps” with anxiety in his eyes.

It’s my children knowing far to much about cancer.

It’s worry that I passed in this BRCA mutation to them.

 

You really want to help women with breast cancer?

Donate to places like http://www.metavivor.org

Find the women in your community going through this and help.

 

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