Last year at this time I signed up for the 5k walk in the Susan Komen Foundation Race for the Cure. I had recently undergone two surgeries. The first to remove the lump and the second to remove more tissue, including my nipple and areola, in order to get a clear margin. I was healing fast and didn't have any pain or complications from the surgery and I was ready to get some exercise, especially since it would be for such a good cause.
My sisters and a couple of friends met me at a breast cancer awareness seminar at the Rose Garden arena a couple of weeks before the Race to register for the event. At first I was hesitant to enter the race as a survivor because it meant wearing a pink tee-shirt instead of white and I didn't want to be labeled. If others happened to see me wearing a pink tee-shirt at the televised event, my secret would be out. So I took both a white tee-shirt and a pink tee-shirt, just in case.
At one of the seminar booths a woman asked me if I was a survivor and I said, "I hope that I will be." She said, "When were you diagnosed?" I told her that I found out the beginning of August that I had breast cancer, but that I hadn't started treatment yet. She said, "Well, you're here now and you're alive, so you're a survivor."
I looked around the room at all of the women, most of them "survivors." There was a certain sisterhood--like a click or a club into which I was being initiated, but didn't belong. They all smiled and welcomed me and asked me if I wanted to volunteer for this or that or to join a Dragon Boat team comprised solely of breast cancer survivors. All of a sudden I was a member of a group that I didn't feel any connection with and I certainly wasn't going to display my private illness to the world, least of all to a group of women who seemed to be acting strong outwardly when I knew that deep down inside they must be as frightened as I was.
The day of the race I donned my pink tee-shirt and joined my group, which included my two sisters, a niece, my sister-in-law and a few close friends. One of my friends, Pam Brugger, is also a survivor so the two of us led the pack with our pink baseball caps, bright pink tee-shirts and big white athletic shoes. There were literally thousands of women participating in the Race-- a sea of pink and white moving over the streets of Portland. And there were just as many spectators cheering us on with music, shouts of joy and words of encouragement. When I experienced the overwhelming support of those in the race and on the sidelines, who gave up their weekend for the cause, I was moved to tears. I was proud that I was doing something to help protect others from the deadly disease.
But when the race was over and my team and I drove to a lunch spot a few miles away I took off my pink tee shirt because I didn't want strangers looking at me with pity and I didn't want special treatment by the restaurant staff. Besides, pink isn't my color. Yes, it was about me again. I was in total denial.
In retrospect, I am so glad that I joined the Race for the Cure. I realized that it really wasn't about me after all. It was about finding a cure so that other women (1 in 7) won't have to join my exclusive club.
The 2007 Komen Race for the Cure is coming up September 27. Don't forget to participate by entering the race or donating money to the cause.
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