Breast Cancer Sucks, But Remember: So Do All Other Cancers
On a chilly day earlier this month, I went to a coffee shop to pick up hot tea. The barista handed me a white paper cup with a bright pink lid. "Happy Breast Cancer Awareness Month!" she said. "Would you like to donate to help find the cure?"
"No, thanks," I murmured as I grabbed my drink. I felt annoyed. Angry, even. What did my cup of Earl Grey have to do with fighting clumps of cancerous cells, really?
With every pink ribbon I saw wrapped around a tree, each news story on signs to check for breast cancer, every person racing for "the cure," and every spotting of the pink hue on hair products and yogurt containers, all trying to make me more "aware" of breast cancer, I felt more aggravated.
Here's the thing - I am very aware of breast cancer. My friends are aware of breast cancer. My neighbors, coworkers, therapist and hair stylist are too - but it's not the only kind of cancer. And saying that it's the only one that deserves celebrity endorsements or fancy PR campaigns from the likes of the massively powerful Susan G. Komen Race for the Cure Foundation, leaves millions of other women in the lurch.
This past May, I was diagnosed with an extremely rare form of ovarian cancer, a granulosa cell tumor. It was a behemoth - 17cm across - and took surgeons several hours to safely remove from my swollen body. I was left with a massive scar along my belly, and didn't know the first place to seek out support. By its very nature, ovarian cancer unseen, hidden from view. Stories of other women who had freak diagnoses of this kind of cancer at a young age simply did not exist, nor did any quippy merchandise about "ovaries before brovaries."
I can say with all certainty that I wouldn't have known that September was ovarian cancer awareness month, unless I was a newly-minted survivor. And while breast cancer affects the most amount of women in the U.S. - around 252,000 - it also has a fairly good prognosis, with an 80% survival rate, meaning there are a lot of survivors who can raise awareness for the disease.
Because of that, it feels as though my cancer - and all other less conspicuous cancers - are an afterthought.
Breast cancer research had more than $528 million in funding for 2014, according to the most recent data available. Compare that to lung ($254 million), and colo-rectal ($222 million), together the deadliest cancers for women.
Breast cancer awareness is a big business in the fashion and beauty worlds too. You can buy a whole host of items that donate proceeds to the cause, from diamond and sapphire earrings to millennial-pink cashmere scarves. Designer Stella McCartney has a whole line of beautifully delicate lace lingerie, designed for women who have had double mastectomies. But I ask - where are the feminine panties for those who have had cancer-removing surgeries on their lower bodies?
After my own laparotomy, I searched high and low for beautiful high-waisted panties that would sit over my 8-inch incision and not make me look like my great grandmother, but to no avail (I had to settle for bulky C-section underwear, and later, Hanes).
This all begs the question: Why is everyone so obsessed with breasts? There's an entire foundation called Save the Ta-Tas that sells - you guessed it - pink shirts with equally twee slogans like "Keep Them Close to Your Heart." It may come down to the simple fact that it's easier to talk about breast cancer than it is for, say, colorectal cancer (though celebrities like Katie Couric and fashion designer Carmen Marc Valvo have advocated for it in the past).
This all begs the question: Why is everyone so obsessed with breasts?
They're a natural fit for cute slogans and it also doesn't hurt that several A-list celebrities like Angelina Jolie, and most recently, Julia Louis-Dreyfus, went public with their breast cancer battles.
The point isn't that breast cancer doesn't matter, or that we shouldn't try to raise more money to find a cure for it. It's just that other cancers need that funding just as much, if not more so, and not just because there may or may not be a celebrity tie-in or heavily-funded marketing campaign behind it.
We're at an infancy in ovarian cancer awareness - it's still in a fledgling phase where it relies on anecdotal stories of bravery, struggle and unimaginable loss, not multimillion-dollar nonprofits and impressive PR campaigns. In the six months since my diagnosis, I've been outspoken in my treatment, trials and tribulations. For my birthday in August, I requested that friends donate to the Ovarian Cancer Research Fund Alliance instead of throwing a party. But that's just me, and I know it's not enough.
Like body positivity, cancer awareness needs a hell of a viral moment to get people to pay attention - something isn't always an issue until we make it so. We need public figures who have struggled with other types of cancer - from lung to colon to uterine to liver to thyroid - to speak up, for nonprofits to make fundraising and outreach a priority.
And on a micro level, we all need to be more aware and present. This summer alone, I lost a mentor to pancreatic cancer and witnessed a college friend's sister-in-law fight, and ultimately lose, her battle with glioblastoma, a nasty form of brain cancer.
The truth is, any cancer could affect any one of us at any time. No one is ever truly immune, and by realizing the fact that we're all in this together, we can help level the playing field. While some cancers may affect more women, that doesn't mean dealing with a rare cancer should leave you feeling unsupported and feckless.
So with November right around the corner, don't just get ready for Thanksgiving. Realize that it's also Lung Cancer Awareness Month and do your part. Maybe it's donating to help fund research. Maybe it's reaching out to support a friend who's battling lung cancer. Or maybe it's just researching the disease for your own knowledge.
Small starts are starts, nonetheless, and it's only through those that we can make any progress.
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