Ending Pinktober early

I'm not exactly sure why this Pinktober has been so emotionally draining for me this year but it really has and therefore I am opting to end the "celebration" of things pink for October a day early and just call it November in my heart.

I'm done.

At the beginning of October, I changed my facebook profile picture to one of me during one of my chemotherapy visits hooked up to my line. I wanted to give people a quick glimpse into life behind the pink ribbons and such. Maybe that powerful image affected me more than I expected. I don't know. But what I do know is that this month has been an emotional roller coaster for me.

I've been all over the place and not in a good way. I didn't finish my manuscript when I had planned -- I found myself blocked and simply unable to write anymore. I haven't revamped my blog page -- again, I found myself stumped and incapable of making any decisions or writing any copy that made sense. I could go on listing all the ways that I've pretty much been mired into non-movement this month. My blog posts are way down, which means that my numbers are way down, which means that my money is way down as well. Sigh. I've been absent-minded and mentally preoccupied with all sorts of dark  thoughts. I've been smiling on the outside but crying on the inside. My sleep pattern has been interrupted again, the insomnia is back. However, by the end of September I had gotten a hold of my insomnia issues and was sleeping through the night peacefully. Oh well. Now I have to start all over again trying to get things together.

My most recent traumatic experience with losing my purse finally convinced me that my mind is simply in turmoil. It might be because of something else but the most glaring thing that I can think of is... I'm sick of Pinktober. *shrug*  So, I'm flipping the calendar ahead early. I need a fresh start and a wave of new energy to blow my way.

Come on November!! Bring all your blessings and cold air and renew my heart and my mind about this journey ahead of me. Maybe next year I will be in a stronger financial position and I can plan a happy getaway for the month of October.

Breaking the Silence: Inspirational Stories of Black Cancer Survivors

Here's why I still respect and support the Komen Foundation after the Planned Parenthood fiasco

Do you still support Komen?

I know that you've seen hundreds, if not thousands of pink ribbons for breast cancer in your lifetime. I and sure that you know that the pink ribbon is the symbol of awareness for breast cancer.

Perhaps this disease has touched your life -- a friend, a parent or grandparent, maybe your wife or girlfriend, co-worker, neighbor... or maybe yourself. If you're fortunate and very lucky, you only know about this disease on the periphery of your life. Even though my world is filled with breast cancer issues and conversations, I have met and talked with many people who have no personal connection to the disease.

If you've been exempt from watching a loved one crumble under the emotional weight and devastating treatment then please know that I envy you greatly.

This disease is hard and its devastating.

Millions of women around the world are changed forever because of breast cancer. 

We lose our breasts, our hair, our sense of femininity. Sometimes we lose our fertility and our confidence that the world makes sense. Some of us lose our mothers, our grandmothers, our sisters and our aunties. For too many, we watch this disease attack generation after generation of women... with frustrated anger because this ghost seems to be invincible.

We watch helplessly as someone we love shows extreme grace and strength in the face of the possibility of death or a compromised and different life.


So a campaign like this one... with pink ribbons and charitable events and fundraisers and marathons... makes us feel better.  Makes us feel that we are doing something, anything that is helpful. It gives us boxing gloves that help us swing back at an enemy that caught us off guard.

As a survivor, I stand in awe of Nancy Brinker's accomplishment with the Susan G. Komen Foundation. I mean that sincerely. I know that there are many people and organizations out there who feel that the Komen organization has lost its way or isn't doing as much as it could do to change things. But, I don't feel that way. Not now anyway. And here's why...

 

Washington, DC is one of the cities hardest hit with breast cancer cases

I live in one of the most famous (and infamous) areas in the world. Everyone knows that Washington, DC is the seat of power for the entire United States. It is one of the most powerful centers in our known universe. Things happen here that affect the world. And yet... in this most powerful city... black women diagnosed with breast cancer are more likely to die of this disease than our survivor sisters of other races and ethnicities.

The DC metropolitan area has a large African-American community. While DC is a very diverse city, a large part of that diversity is black. For years, the nickname for Washington, DC was Chocolate City... a direct reference to the fact that the city was predominately black. Black and poor to be truthful.

This region also is known for having one of the largest concentrations of middle - upper middle class blacks and some of the most wealthy black people in the nation have their residence here. We cover a wide range of socio-economic levels and professions -- entrepreneurs, government leaders, corporate executives, medical and legal professionals and more.

In other words, we are everywhere, and if I'm honest, it is one of the reasons why I love my hometown so much. But our concentration in this region also serves as a constant reminder now that the disease that stole my breast and wreaks havoc with my emotions, also affects a whole lot of people who look like me. And that frightens me.

I regularly bump into breast cancer survivors and patients as I move about my area. And many of them are women just like me; young black women who never thought it could happen to them. Most of us don't have (or don't know) of a family history of this disease. We find ourselves diagnosed with far more advanced cancer than our counterparts. We often have a strand of the disease that is more likely to kill us and we often have a strand of the disease that is the most difficult to treat effectively. Its different when you're a brown girl with breast cancer.

Its different when you're a brown girl with breast cancer.

Why I respect the Komen Foundation goes beyond my admiration for their ability to build a global movement that literally changed the world's perspective about women's health. My respect for the organization grows when I realize that their work (no matter how you may view it) has an active effect on women (and men) with the disease. Seventy-five percent of the net money (not the gross) that the Komen Foundation raises in Washington, DC stays right here. It goes directly to local organizations that play an active role in helping women deal with breast cancer.

From the Komen Foundation website regarding the National Capital Area Grants Program:

Up to 75 percent of the Komen Global Race for the Cure's net income stays in the Washington, D.C. area to fund breast cancer screening, treatment and education programs through the National Capital Region grants program. Through a competitive application and review process, Komen provides funding to non-profit organizations providing breast health services such as breast health and breast cancer education, free or low-cost screening and diagnostic services, treatment assistance, and patient support program. All local grants are based on the Community Profile, a community needs assessment that identifies and targets "gaps" in breast health and breast cancer services in the Washington, D.C. metropolitan area. We believe the goal to saving lives is through encouraging women to take action to protect their health and to ensure that all women, everywhere, have access to high quality health care when they need it.   See: http://ww5.komen.org/ResearchGrants/NationalRacefortheCureGrants.html

Honor the Promise Gala, John F. Kennedy Center

I had the pleasure of attending the "Honor the Promise" Gala that was held on Friday, October 28th at the John F. Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts. Celebrities in attendance included Kerry Washington, Denyce Graves, Hoda Kotb, Jennifer Beals, Wolf Blitzer, and Betty Ford's daughter, Susan Ford Bales. Everyone was happy and spirited, dressed to the nines and simply effervescent.

Honor the Promise Gala, Washington, DC Kennedy Center 2011

Pink ribbons, pink dresses, pink ties and pink accessories were everywhere. And all of it made me smile. But what really made me happy was learning that the Komen Foundation reached their fundraising goal for this past fiscal year. A whopping $2 million dollars was raised here in the DC area. So, of that $2 million dollars, 75 percent of the net will go to serve the under-insured, uninsured and low-income women (who are likely to be disproportionately black women).

While I don't know how much of that $2 million dollars goes to cover Komen overhead... I do know that $2 million dollars is a lot of money that will go to a lot of reputable and credible organizations to do good work. This year (2011), the Komen Foundation announced a $4.5 million dollar investment in breast health education and outreach programs for this area alone.

Fragmented health care creates barriers to access

Because women in this area have the highest incidents of death from this disease in the nation, the Komen Foundation decided that this area needed more help to educate women about breast health. An analysis done a year ago revealed that our health care system is highly fragmented and this fragmentation ends up becoming a barrier that keeps women from getting the help that they need to fight this disease.

I learned this first-hand during my time in treatment during conversations with other sisters in treatment as well. Women were going from hospital to hospital to get the treatment they needed from different doctors. Hell, I experienced it myself -- though not as badly as some of my sisters in treatment -- when I found myself searching for physical therapists to help me with my lymphedema issues.

Breast cancer treatment has its challenges...

Can you imagine the frustration, the cost and the pressure of having one doctor at one hospital, another at a different hospital across town... getting surgery at a third hospital and then doing physical therapy in, perhaps, a fourth location? Can you imagine the frustration of trying to keep all of this information straight between hospitals and administrations? The chaos of dealing with financial issues? The costs of travelling between locations? What if you have to work?

Just traveling back and forth, is a lot of time away from work. What if your colleagues and your manager aren't that understanding? The impact on your life is severe. And while you are piecing together your treatment options... remember that you are in the midst of treatment that makes you weak, fragile and fatigued. You're frail, vulnerable and highly inconvenienced while you try to get the treatment you need to survive. Now you see why a lot of women fall through the cracks.

If you're not one of the privileged with top-tier medical insurance... you are very likely to be shuffled from place to place. If you are lower income, maybe without a vehicle or reliable transportation... it gets worse. It can all become beyond frustrating.

The push to end "awareness" campaigns hurts disadvantaged communities -- women who often look like me

So, while some of my more privileged and blessed pink ribbon sisters are tired of the pink ribbon campaign and they want to see a push beyond awareness into finding a cure... I am happy that the Komen Foundation saw fit to help the lesser advantaged among us to catch up and catch a break. I am happy that the Komen Foundation realized that a lot of women in my area simply don't know enough about breast health, about treatment options, and that even the medical community needed help to bridge cultural gaps that could be preventing women from getting the help they needed.

In other words, I am grateful that the Komen Foundation saw us here and decided that we were worth their attention.

While I probably won't attend anymore black tie galas (read the details about my night at the Kennedy Center), I will continue to raise money for the Komen Foundation and other local breast cancer charities.

Many days I admit to feeling a bit of pink-fatigue. But I will not stop doing my part for awareness and I will continue to speak out about breast cancer's impact on young black women. My sisters are dying... I have to help anyway that I can. As long as the Komen Foundation does what they can to help other pink ribbon sisters, I'll do my part to help them.

On faith, blood, and being completely overwhelmed

I just got home from a fancy black tie event at the John F. Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts in Washington, DC. I've only been to the Kennedy Center a few times in my life but it is one of the premier event venues in the world. Artists and entertainers from around the globe look forward to participating in shows here. Going to the Kennedy Center for an event is a hugely big deal. When I received my invitation from the Susan G. Komen Foundation to attend the gala this evening, I was overwhelmed and excited. Of course, I would accept the invitation and I was sure that I would have a fantastic time with my date. Although, when I accepted, I didn't have a date in mind. (One of those things that happens when you don't have a boyfriend) Well, after asking a few friends and even my mother... it became painfully obvious that while I was excited about going to the Kennedy Center... I was alone in that excitement and I would be alone on the night of the event. I do a lot of things alone so, it didn't bother me too much. A little... but not a lot.

So, fast forward to the day before the event. I am feeling horrible. I'm flush, not exactly feverish but warmer than normal. I'm crampy. I'm cranky. I'm feeling just yucky. And then... out of the blue... my on again, off again... show up whenever it wants to menstrual cycle decided to make an appearance. That was a bummer. Since my treatment ended and after a 2 year hiatus, my menstrual cycle now is not like my menstrual cycle was before cancer. Before cancer, I was a 3 day girl...light to medium flow. My world didn't really stop when my cycle came on the scene. Now?? I feel like that little girl in the Exorcist. My body doesn't feel like it belongs to me. My head hurts, my back hurts, my stomach hurts. I'm nauseous and tired and achy all over. It is horrible. But the worst part of it all is that my flow is scary now. I am constantly slightly light-headed from the amount of blood that I lose during these horrible days (sometimes weeks) of my new crazy cycle. I used to hear horror stories about women who would lose so much blood during their cycles that they would be rendered useless during that period of time. (no pun intended) So now that it is my turn to experience this type of hell... I tend to simply remain still and quiet and just stick close to home. But... I felt an odd sense of obligation to attend this event even though I didn't want to go alone. I didn't want to wear the dress or the shoes that I had and I just didn't feel well. I went anyway.

The event was lovely. I ended up talking to two very important people who made me realize that there was an issue why this woman with an issue of blood pressed her way to this event. The first person I saw who was critical for me to talk to was a fellow pink ribbon survivor and blogger, Stef Woods. http://citygirlblogs.com/blog  If you don't follow Stef, please do because she totally rocks! Stef wanted to discuss some new initiatives that she's interested in pursuing regarding women of color and breast cancer. So of course, I was all in. I mentioned to her how overwhelming the evening had been, how I didn't want to come and I was ready to go until I saw her and then *click!* just like that, I realized why I was there. I prepared to go home after she and I finished talking because I felt that I must have accomplished my mission and my cramps were so hard that I felt faint. A few moments later the lovely lady who had been sitting to my left very quietly, introduced herself and we began chatting. Turns out... she was the Deputy Ambassador to Ghana and a dedicated fundraiser for Komen Foundation. (smile) I breathed a prayer to God in thanks for this connection to Africa because my heart has been so drawn to that continent for so long that I knew sitting beside her was not luck or good fortune but a sincere blessing. She and I also shared a laugh about how much we didn't want to be out tonight -- it was cold and rainy and our beds really were calling to us but we both felt a compulsion and an obligation to show up and to represent for the millions of women and men who suffer because of this disease.

Imagine the horror I felt when I stood up to leave -- fancy shoes in hand, comfy ballet slippers on feet -- and I look down at my chair and realize that my friend was wrecking havoc and I was bleeding profusely. I excused myself to the ladies room, fleeing with my purse and my shoes in my hand. Thankfully, the bathroom was empty when I got there and I went to the farthest stall and sobbed. I was in pain. My cramps were horrible, I was bleeding everywhere and all I wanted was to get out of that very beautiful, very fancy event and go home. It was just before 11pm. I called my cousin and wept and cried because she would understand. I fix myself up, gather as much of a smile as I could and proceeded to leave. As I stood outside, I was thankful that the Kennedy Center is such a fancy place that they have a standing taxi line and I wouldn't be subject to flagging a cab on a corner in an otherwise very quiet part of the city.

Even though I sometimes feel like a fancy girl... trying to hail a cab in DC after dark is a great reminder that all things are not equal and racism is real. Cab drivers in this city do not like to pick up black people. Especially black people who live beyond the borders of the "acceptable areas" in the city. I am a black people who doesn't live in the city at all. I live outside of the city in the suburbs and its a nice ride from downtown DC. Ten to twelve minutes in the freezing cold and rain, I've been struggling to stand on my feet, to hold back tears, to not curse out the 2 inconsiderate women who butted in front of me in line to talk to their friend with not so much as a backwards glance to acknowledge my pretty brown face. *shrug*  I'm used to it and yet, the sense of entitlement still makes me pissy and angry. But, my "issue of blood" was a far more pressing issue than the rudeness of two 20-somethings who acted as though just being at an invitation only event by one of the most prestigious charities was a privilege that perhaps only they should have been able to experience.

Finally, it is my turn to get in a cab. I tell the driver where I'm going, he simply continues on his phone call. When he hangs up, I tell him again where I need to go and the best and fastest way to get there. I ask him whether he accepts credit cards and he says no. I ask if he would mind stopping at an ATM on the way so that I can have enough cash to pay him. He says sure. Less than 10 minutes later, he stops in front of a Citibank and I slide across the seat to exit and run into the bank to get the cash I need. My mind is preoccupied and I leave my shoes and my purse on the seat, while I grab my phone and my wallet. Two minutes later -- because the machines were down and I couldn't get cash at that moment -- I step out the door and he's gone. He's gone. HE'S GONE!! I scan the street, I don't see him. I tell myself that perhaps he had to move around the corner so as not to hold up traffic -- yes, it is 11:15pm in a business area but I'm grasping at straws. But... he's gone. Nowhere to be seen.

My knees buckle just as the rain starts to fall. I'm tired. I'm alone. I'm in pain. And now... I have no keys, no ID, no fancy shoes and no purse -- which means that my issue is about to become a huge problem. So, the tears fall. And fall... and fall. After several attempts (read -- 20 minutes on hold), I finally get through to the cab company to report that one of their drivers had stolen my purse. Yes, stolen. Because there was no reason for this man to take off and leave me. I was not belligerent. I was not rude. If he did not want to take me to my home, all he had to do was say so and I would have gladly gotten out of his vehicle and gone my own way. But he said nothing and he left a fare -- which is against DC law -- stranded. After freaking out with the stupid guy at the cab company, it is now 45 minutes later and I'm cold and scared and still alone.. but I still feel awful and weak and lightheaded because my issue of blood has about another 20-30 minutes before I'm going to have a problem. Again. I can't think straight so I call my cousin. I try to call a girlfriend who is better versed in DC cab-ology but she's asleep. I call a friend who is working in the area because after flagging down 10 cabs... I realize that fur coat or not, diamonds earrings and all, gorgeous gold and pearl necklace be damned... at the end of the day... I am a bald-headed black woman who lives beyond the boundaries of the "acceptable" areas of the DC metro area. No one wants to take me home. I have money to pay. They don't care. When they stop... which is about every 5th cab, they don't want to take me where I need to go. I call my friend and he's working and not due to get off until 1:00am. That would be 2 hours after I left the event. I am cold. I am cramping and I'm about to have an issue... with my issue of blood. *Once again, breast cancer is the gift that just keeps on freaking giving!*

I call my father and he agrees to pick me up. It takes him an hour to get to me. I've now been crying, praying, rocking... and running in and out of the bank's ATM area trying to flag down other cabs from the same company when I can... for two hours. I'm mad. I'm sad. I'm pleading with God to just touch that man's heart and have him respond to the request to return my things. None of the above work. My feet are soaking wet because the little ballet shoes that I packed in my purse were canvas... and it rained tonight. Cold feet. Cold hands. No purse. No shoes. And no way to get home.

What a wonderful night. I feel very grateful that I was invited to attend this obviously big deal event. But I'm pretty sure that I won't be going ever again. So, let's count up the costs of the evening:

Spent: $30 to get to the Kennedy Center from my home.

Lost:  one vintage leather clutch given to me by my mother (cost: priceless)

Lost:  one passport

Lost: One pair of too cute Betsey Johnson silk dress pumps

Lost: one set of house keys

Lost: one extra cellphone charger

Lost: one pair of pink ear buds

Lost: *deep sigh* All of my Bobbi Brown makeup and Nars lip glosses (yes, I carry my makeup with me in case I need to reapply)

Lost: (and probably gone for a long time) My faith in accepting that people have compassion at all

Gained: A reconnection with a totally awesome pink ribbon sister

Gained: one more beautiful event at the gorgeous John F. Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts

Gained: a wonderful connection to a very nice lady from Ghana -- a place I have wanted to visit for many years.

I think that before I go to sleep -- and I see percocet in my future -- I will pray for God to soften my heart because right now... I'm pretty much feeling like... pink ribbons be damned, this Pinktober has been on my last good nerve for the past 28 days and I cannot wait for November 1st to get here. I'm done with all this foolishness around pink ribbons while we skip over the hard parts about this wretched disease. I'm sick of being nice. I'm tired of smiling when I want to cry. I'm mad as hell that there isn't a cure. I'm disgusted at the disparities in treatment for minorities, research for minorities and I'm tired that people don't get it. Sitting at a table with people who were more excited to snap pictures in their pretty dresses and tuxedos because they were just happy to be someplace that "just anybody" couldn't get invited to was just about more than I could bear.

IT'S NOT ABOUT THAT! Its not. Its not. It is not about that.

I believe that if I have faith the size of a mustard seed that I can move a mountain. Right now... that's all that I have. Mustard seed faith. Faith that I will be restored with my things. Faith that people will start to wake up and realize that this disease is so much more than pink ribbons. Faith that people will have compassion simply because what they do affects other people. But I don't have a lot of faith right now. I have it... its just not abundant and overflowing. But the mountain that I am believing will be moved is the belief that showing up to a society event with celebrities makes you a change agent. I am going to pray for a softening of my heart and an increase in my faith.

And I will be calling the Yellow Cab company of DC a whole bunch of times this weekend... hoping to find my stuff because I simply cannot afford to replace what I've lost. I just can't do it right now. And I need my ID because I have to get on a plane in about 10 days. To follow my dream which will allow me to continue to be a change agent in this struggle against this wretched disease. Please pray with and for me.

Dating post-cancer stinks, but my friends make it better

Newsflash:  Dating stinks.

I swear, some days it feels like I've been on this single-go-round for 100 years. It is ridiculous. 2011 was supposed to be my year of trying new things, expanding my dating horizons and being open to finding love no matter where or how it showed up.

*gas face*

So, with that mindset I have accepted dates with guys that I wasn't necessarily very attracted to initially, but who seemed like decent people. And to be fair and honest, I've met some interesting and relatively nice people this year. But, no love connections. The other day I had yet another missed opportunity/messed up connection with someone and the weight of the disappointment just made me so tired. I mean, I literally just got weak. My knees buckled a little bit and I just went to my room and got in the bed. Normally, my reaction would be to get really angry or very sad. To walk outside and scream to heaven... something like that. But, none of that happened. This time, when the disappointment hit... I just felt weak. 

(confession: I did get angry the next day)

A couple of months ago, I had a really very interesting and inspiring conversation with a male friend. He is someone that I went out with for a short time some years ago, but we didn't quite work. Years later, thanks to Facebook, we settled into an interesting friendship. This particular friend is now a newlywed and I have never seen or heard him so happy in all of the years that I've known him. *People in love are just too doggone cute and their excitement is infectious*  I don't remember what prompted our conversation but he proceeded to tell me the story of how he met his wife and about their romance. It was a very touching story. While he was talking about them... I felt like he was reading my mind. Long story short, he and his wife met on a blind date. And neither of them really wanted to go on the date. But it turned out to be the best thing they ever did. A year later, they were married.

Now, had I seen this story on Lifetime or the Hallmark channel... I probably would have yawned and flipped the station. But because I knew how cynical this man had become with dating and I know how hard it is in this city to connect with good people... I was really encouraged by their love story. He told me his story to encourage me to remember that every bad date, every bad relationship has a purpose. Unfortunately, he also told me that I won't realize why until I meet the one. But when I meet the one, there will be no denying that he is for me and I am for him. That story has stuck with me and encouraged me when I've felt like completely giving up.

To be very honest, I'm still struggling with how I see myself. Some days I feel pretty confident and consider myself really blessed and happy. But most days, there comes a moment when I wonder...."is this it?" and I'm wondering whether or not a life without romantic love is what I have to look forward to. Usually just as I get to a point of fatigue and start feeling like the pitiful cancer-girl, I'll talk to one of my male friends and they remind me that dating woes are not limited to breast cancer survivors named Nicole. They encourage me to keep trying and to stay open but even better... they remind me that I am not damaged goods and I don't have to keep treating myself that way.

These friends are so encouraging to me as I regularly make them laugh or infuriate them with my complaints and tears and giggles about how tired I am of trying to get this dating thing right. I love my male friends (and relatives) because not only do they constantly remind me that despite how I may feel on any given day, I'm still a good sister... but they remind me through their lives that there are good brothers out there. And that is encouraging.

The end of the year is swiftly arriving and I am again reminded that God's schedule is never on my time. I don't know if I'm getting this dating thing right or wrong. Or if there is even such a thing. But I do know that I will keep working on just being open to meeting the right guy. I believe that he's still out there. Somewhere.

Pinktober 2011 is giving me the blues

I was looking forward to October this year. Sort of. But now that its here, and halfway over I might add... I have to admit that I am sorely underwhelmed. In fact, I'm feeling downright funky about it. Pink ribbons everywhere I look. Sigh. Parties and fundraisers and celebrations... sigh. All I can think about is sitting in chemotherapy for hours hooked up to an IV.

On Facebook, I changed my profile picture to a picture that shows me hooked up to my chemo line. I feel that Pinktober is important. I think that it is important that people become aware of this disease and how wide the impact is. However, I really need people to remember that behind the pink ribbons and charitable events... are women and men who are struggling with this disease. People who are facing devastating choices in an attempt to save their lives. For those of us who do survive and then progress on to have wonderful and fulfilling lives... I know that very often we make this look easy. Know that its not. Its simple to brush aside the thoughts of the downside of breast cancer. And to be frank, I understand needing to do that. Focusing on human tragedy isn't pretty and who wants to run around feeling badly all the time?

But I wanted to say to you today... while you're going about your life purchasing pink items for your kitchen and your bathroom... grabbing pink ribbons to pin on your shirt collar... please remember that behind each ribbon is a human being. And more than anything they need your prayers and your support.

I remain fixated and hopeful that a cure for breast cancer will be found in my lifetime. I pray for a cure every day. I hope that you too will pray with me for a cure.