Pink October is a Scam

I HATE Pink October. I mean, I really really really HATE it. Like, I have to bury my seething rage all month long until we get to Halloween, when I can finally unburden my rage with fistfuls of peanut M&M's and a to-go mug of “mommy juice” while I smile and candy-up the adorable neighborhood trick-or-treaters.

I’ve had breast cancer TWICE – five years apart. I’m an experienced breast cancer survivor. I’ve gone through lumpectomy, radiation, mastectomy, breast reconstruction surgery, physical therapy, and more hours on the phone going back and forth with insurance agents than I did talking to Shayla Mason all of seventh grade. And let me tell you, we talked. A LOT.

Survivorship is For Suckers 

Let’s just start with the term “survivor.” I HATE that word too. It makes it sound like I should look or feel or be a little deranged, sunburned, and haggard like Tom Hanks in rags on a desert island talking to a coconut.

Like, if I look “normal” am I still a “survivor”? If I kept my hair or my breast(s) or can walk or drive by myself, am I still 100 percent a “survivor” or do I only get partial “survivor” status? Like what does this word even MEAN??? I’ve heard “thriver” tossed around, but that has its own set of issues.

What if I’ve survived but am on the struggle bus, working through a bunch of side effects? I’ve survived, I’m okay, I’m back to daily living, but also not exactly thriving. Where is the IN BETWEEN WORD?? Because it takes SO MUCH FREAKING TIME to get your life, your body, yourself back from breast cancer. I should know – at the time I got there, I was diagnosed with the second one.

The Tyranny of Pink 

Next, let’s talk about the SEA OF PINK you see everywhere in October. I used to LOVE pink – I was a PINK girlie. My bridesmaids wore pink, I was thrilled when I learned my firstborn was a girl and dressed her in pink everything. She and I fell in LOVE with all the “Fancy Nancy” books and read them for years. I am so very mad that breast cancer stole pink away from me.

And in the month of October, there is a never-ending sea of pink EVERYWHERE. The fountains turn pink, and the buildings flash pink lights, sports teams don pink jerseys and helmets, and streetlamps hang pink flags. It’s as if cancer is rearing her ugly head back, laughing, poking her finger at me, and singing “neener neener neeeeener, Pink is mine – you’ll never get it ba-aaack!” and then spitting in my face. She’s a nasty bitch, that one. She’s taken years off my life AND my right boob - AND she got my signature color too. What an asshole.

So. Much. WASTE. 

There have been a fair number of investigative reports on the “pinkwashing” campaigns where businesses spend so much time collaborating with non-profit organizations to create a bunch of co-branded pink crap like mugs, shirts, yogurts, cookies, bracelets, ball caps, and jerseys. It’s just a bunch of cheap junk that will ultimately end up in a landfill.

The amount of time, energy, and materials it takes to imagine, produce, and distribute this pink stuff is such a monsterous waste. Ultimately, the cost to create it means that (a) the final item is hugely overpriced, and (b) low margin, not leaving much left to donate to the breast cancer cause that it was designed to support in the first place.  

If you want to support the Komen Foundation or Cancer Action or American Cancer Society or Gilda’s Club (ALL fabulous non-profit groups!), it’s far better to just write them a check than to buy an overpriced trinket that will ultimately end up in a landfill!

Perspective is Everything 

I don’t mean to sound ungrateful. I AM grateful – for SO many things. Truly – I am grateful that I had insurance agents to call, that my treatments were covered, and that I had an incredible support network led by my stalwart husband, family, and tribe of best friends (aka “Squishes”) around me. I even had the opportunity to take my two breast cancers plus four other cancers, (oh yes, I’m a six-time cancer SURVIVOR, BTW) and turned it into a thriving business to turn cancer gifting into functional gifting.

No matter how lucky we survivors are, and no matter how grateful we are to be past the misery of daily treatments, surgery, oncologist appointments, and radiation burn ointments, the fact remains that PINK OCTOBER SUCKS. And all 31 days will bring it all back in a visceral way. 

I genuinely just want to move on with my life and not think about the time when my breasts didn’t belong to me. I still cringe at the memories of a time when I had to share them with a team of doctors, nurses, and therapists. (There were times I thought I should just walk around topless – what was the point of wearing a shirt if everyone needed to feel me up?!) It’s not a good headspace to be in – and it takes a lot of mental energy to get back out of it.

Hence – I’ll be needing some peanut m&ms and mommy juice, stat.