Last week, some dear friends from my former career life got together for a reunion in New York City. It’s probably ten years or more since I’ve seen some of them. We keep in touch sporadically. Mostly through facebook, but some news can’t be announced with a status update or brief tweet.
Sharing a breast cancer diagnosis is one of those things. So, that bit of information never made its way to those old friends of mine. What would be the point? I never see them. We no longer share the stuff of everyday. They’re not involved in the minutiae of my life. Is there an etiquette rule requiring all old friends must be notified upon receipt of life-altering crappy news?
Turns out the timing wasn’t right and I couldn’t attend anyway, but if I had gone, I knew I wouldn’t tell them. I would have pretended to be the young woman they think they know.
Breast cancer doesn’t belong there. It doesn’t belong anywhere, but especially there. In a dingy bar filled with past memories. Surrounded, not by people currently in their forties, but by the idea of who we used to be in our twenties and thirties.
I’d leave that reunion soon enough to re-enter my current world, but at that gathering, cancer would wait outside the door. Lingering in the shadows for a few hours. Non-existent for the moment. While I would be whom I once was. Back in the days when I was more carefree…before it found me.
In a city farther south, another group of friends gathered for the National Breast Cancer Coalition Advocacy Training Conference and this group couldn’t have been more different from the first.
Here were women I’ve never met, but spend time with everyday. Whose words and work I admire. Whose thoughts I connect with. They gathered in Washington to fight for something I also believe is worth fighting for.
At this event cancer walked right in. Discussions of breast cancer were not only welcome, but encouraged. It took center stage and was the sole reason these women came together. They were not only happy to talk about it, but giddy, enthusiastic, and inspired by it.
It is NBCC’s goal to end breast cancer by 2020 and all conversation centered on making that a reality.
At last, an exciting mission, empowering when embraced. For too long it seems we were stuck in a sea of pink, hearing of changes, wanting to believe advancements were being made. Needing to believe optimistic statistics when in actuality, approximately 40,000 people still die from this disease every year.
About as many as two decades ago.
That’s not advancement. That’s not change. That’s a number hidden so far down in a sea of pink we barely see it, but deep within ourselves, where the scary thoughts thrive, we know it’s the truth. Pink awareness is not enough.
The people attending this event heard the conversation shift. They refocused on facts, and with a concrete goal in sight discussed how research, combined with action and dedication could have the 2020 eradication deadline within our grasps.
Social media was at its finest as bloggers tweeted from their workshops. I couldn’t absorb the information fast enough and want to thank Uneasy Pink, The Cancer Culture Chronicles, The Accidental Amazon, Pink Ribbon Blues and Women with Cancer bloggers, just to name a few, for taking time to spread the inspiration around.
If I had to choose a place to be that weekend, it would have been there in Washington, beside this group of incredibly motivated women. Dragging cancer to the center of the room for all to see. Believing, it was now possible to kick the unwanted guest back out…never to be seen again.