Balls and Walnuts
more than you ever wanted to know
Pink ribbon blues
I’ve been following the Breast Cancer Awareness Month controversy with more than a doctor’s detached interest. Blue Gal’s discussion (follow that last link) led me to ThreadingWater’s site, where TW has posted a number of thought-provoking articles on the politics of breast cancer:
Like I said, I have more than a detached interest here. My mom had breast cancer when I was three, and while she survived, it’s safe to say the experience changed her life — all our lives — and not for the better.
I am who I am in part because of my mother’s breast cancer. And that means my son is who he is in part because of my mother’s breast cancer. I really don’t think I’m being overdramatic in this assessment; I can see the effects of the disease percolating down the generations.
I don’t think I have ever felt detached about breast cancer. In becoming a doctor, we acquire calluses, we learn to keep an emotional distance between us and our patients. I’ve written about this in the past — the fact that empathy requires a degree of fakery; that true empathy, empathy of the quality and frequency required by a doctor, would burn us out in a week. Yet cancer in general, and breast cancer in particular, gets under my skin. The calluses wear thin. The distance seems to vanish.
Nope. No detachment here.
Today, one of my dearest friends, a woman whom I’ve known for thirty years, was diagnosed with breast cancer. So, yeah, it’s hard for me not to take breast cancer personally.
Please, no expressions of sympathy for her (I don’t think she reads my blog) and definitely none for me. I’m doing what little I can for her . . . and, meanwhile, Karen and I are looking at one another with new eyes.
Love each other, people. That’s all I really want to say, and I wish I could say it a whole lot better.
D.
I’ll second all of that. We just passed the first anniversary of the death of my best friend, and I truly believe love is the only thing that kept me going. I will not offer sympathy, but I will think good thoughts both of your ways. And yes, I am one of those people who believe that it makes a real difference 🙂
This is a very complicated issue. The politics, I mean, not cancer. My father died of cancer, and it’s not a pretty or a nice way to go.
Chris and I used to race dragonboats. The local events have been partly hijacked by the pink ribbon campaigners to the point where we, not incompassionate people, say ‘enough already, we GET it’.
Cancer is a terrible disease. I think that if I had the necessaries to go through med school (and I didn’t, and don’t) I’d have gone into cancer research.
Thank you, Renee.
Dean, I don’t know if I ever mentioned this on the blog, but I came within a hair’s breadth of being a cancer researcher. My PhD is in cancer biology but my research was largely basic molecular bio/developmental bio. In ’96, though, I had the choice between a relatively low-paying cancer research post in North Carolina, working under a guy in whom I had enormous respect, or a better-paying teaching job in Texas. The pay difference was enough that I took the Texas job, because I wanted the best life for my family. Good intentions, I think, but I still wonder if I made the right choice.
Well, it’s no secret that the death of my aunt from cancer changed me forever, and perhaps not for the better.
My aunt was my role model: the black sheep of the family who raised Arabians in her back yard. When she was 45 she was diagnosed with a virulent Malignant Fibrous Histiocytoma of her shin and ankle. Her right leg was amputated, and she spent the next year in chemo. After breaking three ribs vomiting, she died before her 46th birthday.
It was so damaging to me that I now have a very hard time empathizing with the bravery of cancer survivors. (That’s just me and my jealousy.) There’s a morality in the larger advertising/political campaigns which very much disgusts me. The ones who died were not as brave? The ones who had stage 1 cancers are more worthy of surviving than those with stage 4? Some cancers, like MFH or fibrosarcoma, do not respond to treatment–what then?
I just object to turning disease into a political movement. It’s too emotional. (Besides which, heart disease kills more women than breast cancer–I don’t see a Heart Disease ribbon on anyone’s lapel.)
This all makes me sound very mean, I’m sure, but really, I’m just very emotional about the whole thing. Which makes me get angry at the cereal boxes at the supermarket, when they try to convince me that I should feel a ceratin way about a certain issue in our larger society. Or that I should expect to be made to feel guilty for thinking that pink ribbons are dumb.
Because if it were up to me, the cereal boxes would all have a picture of my aunt on them to remind us that compassionate people are lost to us all the time, and that it’s up to us to keep that compassion going into the next generation.
I just object to turning disease into a political movement. It’s too emotional.
precisely because it’s emotional, life and death, cancer and it’s cure can easily be turned into a selling point for corporate America. Komen is a victim of its own success in many regards. I read an article about “how to make sure your money goes to breast cancer organizations” and it had quotes from three different breast cancer organization executives, all pulling executive salaries, I’m sure. There’s a new book out called Pink Ribbon Inc. which talks about the successful marketing of breast cancer as a charity. Worth a look. (thanks for the linky love, and the great writing and high-impact personal perspective as usual, Doug. xo)
Ok, no sympathy but I will send good thoughts too and wishes for a fabulous oncologist for your friend. May I add 2 more words – sentinel node!
I call the Pink politics, The Pink Machine – the big business of cancer. I recognized it even when I was getting treated for breast cancer. I can’t stand any sort of politics particularly the kind where you are fearful your health is held hostage. I was offered an angel, a pink rhinestone piece of jewelry and other various and sundry items to wear while I was bald as cue ball from chemo – like a walking advertisement. Now adays every few months, various places dun me for a donation to some sort of breast cancer fund. I tell them I already gave.
My best, very best friend in the whole world had breast cancer, and last month she was pronounced cured. In remission. No more cancer in her body.
I am SO happy for her and her family. My wish is that all breast cancer stories end like this.
Doug, thanks for the links to threadingwater and thanks to you and your readers for their heartfelt and honest responses to this complicated issue. I have already lost one parent to cancer and may be in the process of losing the other. My life these days is very much wedded to the world of medicine, hospitals and health care issues. Spending so much time in a medical center in this month of breast cancer “awareness” feels like walking into the maw of the pink beast. I think it’s worth remembering that corporations are not altruistic, and their multi-level involvement in the breast cancer awareness campaign is designed less to make us “aware” and more to make us “forget.” There’s a another blog entry percolating on this and if I manage to get a day free of bedside care, I’ll write it.
Peace & love – TW
Thanks for coming by, TW. Yup, I have a great gang here. I don’t often have such heavy stuff to discuss, but when I do, they’re here for me.
Thanks, everyone.
[…] What might have been By Walnut Antecedents here and here. […]