Don’t forget mammograms this month

October is almost over. That means only one more week of being inundated with breast cancer ads. Only one more week of pink everything.
I used to like the color pink. I still do. But I have my doubts that all the pink merchandise this month will have anything to do with curing breast cancer. In my opinion, it has more to do with capitalizing on fear in order to sell stuff we don’t need.
I also believe that mammograms save lives. If you haven’t had yours yet, please do. It was thanks to a mammogram that my breast cancer was discovered last year. As it was in its earliest stages the doctors were able to work their magic. The subsequent mammograms and tests reveal that the cancer is gone and the only side effects are that I am a bit lopsided. That’s a small price to pay for a life.
In researching my genealogy I found that my great-great grandmother died of breast cancer. I wonder if it had been caught early, would she have lived longer? Was that why she looks so grumpy in the only picture I have of her? There is nobody alive who can answer that question.
My mom also had breast cancer, although it was her heart that eventually killed her. She had a mastectomy and took pills for years after her surgery. For the rest of her life she was convinced that the cancer had returned. No amount of reassurance would persuade her otherwise. Of course, she was also convinced that the mammogram gave her the cancer in the first place.
There is no evidence that is possible. But what we believe isn’t always backed up by facts or science. Reason doesn’t always play a part in feelings.
All this pink leaves me uneasy. It is a glaring reminder that if I hadn’t gotten that mammogram, the cancer may not have been caught early enough to be just a blip in my life. If I had put it off, what was an easily correctable problem could have morphed into something far more dangerous. If I had foregone mammograms completely, it could have spread and eventually killed me. As such, pink has become a symbol of mortality for me.
I’d rather forget the whole thing. I would like nothing more than to avoid the entire month of October and all the reminders of last year. No pink shirts for me. No pink ribbons. No reading endless stories about brave women who have survived. No feeling guilty that I haven’t signed up for any charity event that proposes to find a cure that doesn’t involve the surgeon’s scalpel. No more pink anything is my wish.
Once all the pink products finally disappear from the stores, we only have to endure a short time until the election is finally, blessedly over. Then we can begin preparations for the holidays. The stores are already full of Christmas items. A few lonely turkeys and scarecrows are tucked behind the Halloween costumes, pumpkin flavored everything and spooky decorations. But, for the most part, the store shelves are filled with the glitz of Christmas and pink breast cancer merchandise.
Then when I get finished ranting about pink, I notice that one of the weigelas is blooming. Soft, pink and white blooms cheerily adorn the branches. I give up. October is pink month. Get your mammograms. Buy something pink. Find a cure.