Forgot that it was the October issue... so there were several breast cancer stories inside. (just great...) I start to read the first one on the train...and the tears would not stop flowing. My life is nothing like the writer's yet.. I completely felt and understood every thing that she wrote. And it made me wonder if my words about my story were having the same effect on other people.
She was a white woman, married with two small girls... and her story about preparing for her 3 year old's birthday party was simply priceless. It was a well-written story and I'm grateful that O magazine shared it because it was a turning point for me this morning.
A lot of you have mentioned that I should turn the blog into a book. And even a few of you were surprised that I write pretty good (writer's joke... I write well, not good). I love to write. I have been constructing stories since I was a little girl and I will probably continue to write -- hmmm, I was going to say into my old age but -- until I can't do anything else. But writing is a tricky thing... it is simple and convoluted at the same time. Whether or not this blog becomes something tangible remains to be seen. But even if it doesn't... I will continue writing it until (and beyond) the day that I learn that I am cancer-free.
After reading that powerful article and reflecting (as usual) on my own stuff and my own issues with having cancer... I have realized that I'm sick of pink ribbons and platitudes. I'm sick of breast cancer and fundraisers. I'm tired of reading stories where women feel forced to be brave and strong, for their kids, their spouses/partners, their families, their work colleagues... I am tired of all variations of super-woman that we put ourselves through.
Breast cancer sucks. I make no bones about it. I am not apologetic that I even have it. I am angry. I am sad. I am scared. But I'm even more scared that I don't feel that I have time to breathe. And when I read other women's writings/thoughts about it -- I hate that they feel the same way.
There are statistics that say that 1 in 8 women will have breast cancer before they die.
1 in 8.
How outrageous is that? Count out 8 of your friends... one of them will have breast cancer before you have the opportunity to fully flesh out all the nuances of your lives together. And if you're black, you are more likely to die from breast cancer than women of any other race.
I am going to plan a party for the month of October. I don't know what the theme will be -- but it will have something to do with breast cancer. But it will also have something to do with living out your dreams too.
Something like...
My life matters and this is what I want to do with it.
