As we wind down the end of October and Breast Cancer Awareness Month, I’ve heard a number of complaints that go so far as to say we should just forget Breast Cancer Awareness Month altogether because of all the pinkwashing.
What is pinkwashing? When corporate jerks slap a pink ribbon on a product or service to increase the likelihood it will sell during Breast Cancer Awareness Month, but little money, or even none, is actually forwarded on to the non-profits working to cure breast cancer or support those battling this disease.
Pinkwashing is infuriating. It turns my stomach that these corporate creeps are using my crisis to make a quick buck.
But let’s not throw the baby out with the bathwater.
In the seven months since my diagnosis, I’ve met so many women, both here in Seattle and out on the interwebs, who found their lump in October. They found it because of all the chatter, all the pink, all the hype caused them to pause and take a second look at their own breasts. Breast Cancer Awareness Month saves lives.
I recently attended a lecture on breast cancer where I learned, among other things, that the most exciting advances in all of cancer research are happening in the field of breast cancer. Life expectancy is improving every year. Komen for the Cure is second only to the US Government in funding this research. That means all those walks and all those fundraisers really are saving lives. So thank you to all of you who walk or donate. You are making a difference.
The Pink Daisy Project and the Young Survival Coalition also receive a large percentage of their funding during Breast Cancer Awareness Month. Rather than focusing on research, these organizations help women with breast cancer endure until we find a cure.
Both of these organizations have had a huge impact on my life. Imagination does not do justice to the financial and emotional devastation of a cancer diagnosis. When I was buried under a never-ending pile of housework that added up during treatment, and digging through the couch for change to buy diapers, the Pink Daisy Project took care of the practical concerns that come with battling cancer. They hired a house keeping service to help dig me out of the mess, and sent me grocery gift cards to buy the necessities of life. Each woman is helped in a way that meets their specific needs. They helped one young woman who was losing her battle with cancer to get family portraits before she passed away. It breaks my heart to think how much those photos meant.
The Young Survival Coalition (YSC) is saving my sanity. There are so many issues that come up for young women battling cancer that might be different for the 60 year old woman with breast cancer: parenting, early menopause, more aggressive cancers, higher mortality, sexuality, reconstruction, dating, marriage, fertility, pregnancy, and adoption just to name a few. Many YSC members were told by medical professionals that they were too young to have breast cancer. You can get breast cancer as soon as you hit puberty, and it is the leading cause of cancer death in women between the ages of 15 and 54. In addition to functioning as a support group for young women battling breast cancer, YSC is working to educate the public and the medical community about the growing number of women diagnosed so young, to encourage earlier diagnosis, and to better represent young women with breast cancer in the sample groups for medical trials.
Ending Breast Cancer Awareness Month would seriously impact the ability of these organizations to fund their good work. Sure, there is a buttload of money going into the pockets of corporate jerks that are just using us. But don’t let the fact that these corporate buttheads exist undo a good thing. Educate yourself. Take a close look at what you are buying. Does it just have a pink ribbon attached? Is there more information available about where the funds go – and how much? Remember even a penny is “a portion of the proceeds.”
Pay attention to what you are buying and Think Before You Pink. But lets keep Breast Cancer Awareness Month around for a while. We still need to cure this disease.
I spent a little time in the hammock this summer, even more time on the couch. I have always loved the languid, laid back, mellow qualities of summer. But as much as I love this season, I’m usually ready for it to end about this time of year.
As the sun sets on summer, I’m looking forward to fall. The season of back to school has always connected with ideas of fresh starts, forward motion, and momentum for me. This is the time of year when we buckle down and focus. We re-establish routines, and get serious about getting things done.
My last does of Taxol was truncated after just a few minutes, so it’s been a month since I received a full dose of chemo. The unscheduled break is over, it’s time to restart this seek and destroy mission against those cancer cells. Tomorrow I go back in and we will start a new type of chemotherapy. I’m ready to get back into the swing of things and make some progress in this battle.
Shortly after I was diagnosed with breast cancer, my baby lost two pounds. The breast had to go; I had to quickly wean a baby who was interested in eating nothing but breast milk. This weight loss was nearly as traumatic for me as the cancer diagnosis.
Then, I connected with the Young Survival Coalition (YSC) and met a group of women who understood exactly what I was going through. These women knew from experience how difficult it can be to balance treatment with parenting.
The Young Survival Coalition is an organization that supports pre-menopausal women who have breast cancer. Why a group that focuses just on the younger women with breast cancer?
Breast cancer in younger women tends to be more aggressive with a lower survival rate, and studies increasingly suggest that breast cancer in younger women is biologically different from the breast cancer that older women get.
Breast cancer is the leading cause of cancer death in women between the ages of 15 and 54.
Because fewer young women get breast cancer, they are not adequately represented in breast cancer research.
We have not yet developed an effective breast cancer screening tool for young women.
Young women deal with different issues than post-menopausal women: effects of treatment on fertility, child rearing, pregnancy after diagnosis, diagnosis during pregnancy, menopause caused by treatment, body image, dating for single women, the list goes on…
I’ve been through a lot in this cancer ordeal. I’m nearly halfway through the chemotherapy phase of my treatment, and that will be followed by radiation. The doctors are working to save my body, my friends at YSC have helped save my sanity. I can’t say enough wonderful things about this group of women and the support they provide.
Ever wondered what a day of chemotherapy was like for a cancer patient? I thought I’d bring you along today, and give you a snapshot of what cancer treatment looks like. I hope its helpful to the newly diagnosed. Obvious disclaimer: of course, every patient’s treatment is different, and each cancer treatment center is different.
6:00 AM
Alarm goes off. I’m supposed to get up and take my pills. I’m on a new type of chemo that requires me to take a pill 12 hours, 6 hours, and 1 hour before the chemo infusion starts (the first pill was taken care of last night). I hit the snooze button.
Again.
And again.
And again.
7:00 AM
Actually get out of bed and take the pill. Oops. Time to get the baby and myself ready to go.
7:45 AM
Mom shows up to take us in for treatment. She even packed me a lunch for my long day. Thanks Mom.
8:15 AM
I arrive at the Seattle Cancer Care Alliance. Mom takes the baby with her for the day. Check in for Port Access. (Instead of having an IV put in every time I go in, I have a port that is installed under the skin near my left collarbone. I know a lot of people hate having the port, but I love it. It’s so much nicer than the IVs and for some reason, getting an IV going on me is really difficult.) After the port access is installed I go around for the rest of the day with these tubes dangling from my chest.
Break into moms lunch while I’m waiting.
9:30 AM
Blood draw for MUGA scan (Multi Gated Acquisition Scan). They take my blood, make it radioactive, and later they will return it to me, then they can track the blood as it makes its way through my heart to determine it’s efficiency. Several of the agents in my chemo are known to cause some heart damage to a small percentage of patients. This scan is scheduled periodically to determine how well my heart is handling the chemo, and whether we need to make any adjustments. This isn’t part of my normal chemo routine.
waiting . . .
waiting . . .
waiting . . .
10:05 AM
The machine that does the MUGA scan is a long narrow bed (generous term) with an arm holding a 2″x2″ tablet that looks something like a small film holder for an x-ray machine. When I lay down, the radiologist attached leads and wires to my abdomen and chest, then another tech came in and they both verified that the blood they are giving back to me, now radioactive, actually belongs to me. The the treated blood goes back in through the port. Then she covered me up with a warmed blanket, they have blanket warmers all over the place here and they are really good about making sure you don’t catch a chill. After covering me up, she help up a wide vinyl loop to stick my arms through so I could relax them and wouldn’t have to hold them in the air at my side throughout the test. Seriously, when I say a long narrow bed, I mean maybe a foot and a half wide, not enough room to rest your arms at your side. The radiologist positions the tablet just above, but not touching, my chest. Then it’s a matter of just laying still for a long time, repositioning the tablet to get another angle, repeat… you get the picture. No pain, just boring laying there and trying not to move – plus I had a bit of a cough, and it was really frustrating trying not to cough.
10:50
Stop by the pharmacy to pick up a prescription – to be honest, it’s a refill of the pills I’m supposed to take 1 hour before chemo because I forgot them at home. I’m really on a roll today. I’m blaming it on chemo brain.
11:00 AM
Take the pills and meet with my Oncologist’s nurse, Martha. I usually meet with either the nurse or the doctor before each infusion. We discuss my symptoms and any questions I might have. I confess I took my pill late this morning, she said it’s no problem at all, I just needed to get the pill in the general time frame. She also said that my blood counts are awesome (yay me!), and my heart is operating well within normal parameters. That’s what I like to hear.
11:30 AM
Check in for my chemo infusion. They give me a pager like the kind you get at restaurants while you’re waiting for a table.
11:50 AM
Pager goes off and I head back to my chemo room (Bay 39 this time) and get settled in. I follow my nurse around, so the bay I’m in depends on the section she’s working in. Joy is so awesome I’d happily sit on a speed bump in the parking lot if that’s what it took to have her do my infusions. Joy orders my meds and then we compare notes on our babies while we wait for the meds to show up (ok, not the whole time, she did check on her other patients).
12:30 PM
Start Herceptin infusion through the port.
Today’s lineup:
12:45 PM
The husband finally arrives. Yay! He tries to be here with me for most of this stuff, but he had a critical class this morning, and I really prefer that he not miss his classes.
2:20 PM
Benadryl and Zantac, pill form. Zofran pushed into the line in the port by hand. These are premeds to help prevent nausea and help prevent an allergic reaction. Now we are getting ready start the real chemo: Taxol. Another nurse came in to verify that the meds and the patient both match the Doctor’s orders. They don’t do this for every single medication, just the really big guns. The nurse also puts on a plastic apron, with full length sleeves and wrist cuffs, before handling these really harsh meds.
2:50 PM
Sent The Husband to procure treats from the Infusion Unit kitchen: specifically mac’n’cheese, and chocolate ice cream. Please no lectures on health food, it’s chemo day.
nearly 3:00 PM
The Husband returned with the ice cream and tortellini with pesto, they were out of the mac’n’cheese. Totally appropriate substitution.
play around online for several hours . . .
6:45 PM
Zoladex: this is a little pellet that is inserted into my abdomen with a needle. The lidocaine shot they give me before hand hurts more than this shot. Then the port is removed and I get a little bandage, and we head out of the building where mom and the baby have arrived to give us a ride home.
Symptoms: The first evening of chemo I usually feel great. The meds they have been giving me to combat nausea are awesome, almost no nausea at all. The biggest side effect for me has been fatigue. It’s just really hard to stay awake sometimes, or to get off the couch at any time. It sounds counter-intuitive, but exercise does help with fatigue. Generally the symptoms accumulate through the course of the week. Tuesday is more foggy than Monday: Thursday and Friday I’m much more exhausted than Wednesday. It’s interesting that there is such a long (several days) delay between getting the chemo and when the symptoms hit their peak. I’m curious to see how my symptoms will change with the Taxol. Many people I’ve met say the Taxol was easier for them to tolerate than the AC I was on before, although there were a few that had a more difficult time. I’ll report back next week with an update.
And for those of you who have been anxious to see a picture of my bald head:
If you have any questions about cancer, treatment, symptoms, side effects, or how I’m dealing with it all, please feel free to ask in the comments. I’m happy to answer questions.
And if there is anyone out there who has just been diagnosed with cancer, I hope this post will be helpful for you. Hang in there. Bear in mind that every treatment plan is different, and everyone experiences and tolerates their treatment different. I found that most of the worst case scenarios my imagination conjured up were much worse than the reality when I finally faced it. I hope the same is true for you. Best Wishes.
Ginger helps more than anything when chemo brings on nausea. My mom came across this ginger cookie recipe while watching the Barefoot Contessa on TV. She made up a batch last night, and they are perfect.
Real ginger flavor, plenty of spice, soft, hearty.
If you’re looking for a treat to whip up for a friend who is pregnant or going through chemotherapy, this recipe is where it’s at. Not too sweet, a powerful punch of ginger, and hearty enough to provide a sense of settling without sitting heavy after you eat one… or four.
All that said, these are wonderful ginger cookies for everyday as well. They’ve become a staple in our home, and in our lunchboxes, too.
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