seeing pink

it is that time of the year again. skyscrapers in philadelphia are decked out in pink lights. nfl tough guys are wearing pink shoes and gloves. everyone is aware, unless they are living under a rock under the ocean under the polar ice cap, that october is breast cancer awareness month.

perhaps you sense my mild discontent.

let me be completely clear: breast cancer, like all cancer, is a horrible thing. it impacts nearly every single one of us. it is a terrible, vicious disease. it kills women. it puts unbelievable stress on loved ones and patients. i agree with these statements whole heartedly.

however, let me be completely clear: according to the lung cancer alliance,

lung cancer will kill nearly twice as many women as breast cancer in 2009. it will, in fact, kill 437 people a day this year.

today, the research funding per cancer death for breast cancer is $27,500. the research funding per cancer death for lung cancer is $1,250. this is a decrease since 2005.

in 1971, the five-year survival rate for lung cancer patients was 13.2%. today, nearly forty years later, that survival rate is only 15%.

20% of women diagnosed with lung cancer HAVE NEVER SMOKED.

again, perhaps you sense my mild discontent. nearly three years ago, in december 2006, after three rounds of incredibly toxic, incredibly debilitating chemotherapy, i found myself sitting in a waiting room, nervously awaiting the CT scan that would tell me whether the afore mentioned chemo had been doing its job in shrinking the tumors. it was less than a week before christmas. there was a small tree in the corner of the waiting room. it was covered in lights. and pink fucking ribbons. it made me lose the holiday spirit for the afternoon, and i believe i was one of the most jolly people in the world that christmas. despite my circumstances, i felt hopeful in a way few people understand or comprehend. it is different when you are facing down death on a daily basis. i was looking forward to christmas with my family, new year's with my friends, skiing, my hair growing back, and being finished with chemo. but those pink ribbons stopped me in my grinch-less tracks. why wasn't that tree covered in all different colored ribbons? didn't the people there know that all different types of cancer were being looked for upon their machines? didn't they know they could decorate a tree in yellow ribbons and address all cancers? everyone's fears and hopes? that day, i stopped wearing pink. i threw it all away. i wear yellow now, in the hopes that one day, funding can be on a level playing field for all cancers. that one day, the first thing someone asks a lung cancer patient isn't "were you a smoker?" but instead, "how are you doing today?" or a simple "wow, i am thinking about you".

many more women survive breast cancer than there are lung cancer survivors each year. this makes the breast cancer army loud and rambunctious and incredibly supportive of one another. recently i have been thinking about how the machine was started; how can i do the same thing for lung cancer? because as long as i'm here i need to fight. i need to spread the word. i need you to help me spread the word, too. join me.

recently, i have been part of a class that includes breast cancer patients along with all sorts of other cancer survivors. we are all strong, loving, spunky, thoughtful, scrappy women. we could fill a lifetime times a million with all of our passions, our strengths, and our battles. it feels really good to be part of a group. it feels really good to hear about successes, and even about fears. already i have learned much about the human spirit, even more than what i have learned on my own in three years' time.

but really, i imagine what we could all do together in fighting all cancers. it would knock your socks off. pink, argyle, striped, whatever.