Deirdra Harris Glover
MC Contributor/Staff Writer
October is Breast Cancer Awareness month, and nearly every fountain in town is dyed pink for the occasion. Pink ribbons adorn every available lapel. Everyone wants to participate, and retailers aim to please, offering hats, ties, jewelry, home goods and even t-shirts emblazoned with inspirational or slightly provocative slogans. People run, bike, and raise frequent flyer miles to raise awareness and funding for charities.
In our “pinkwashing” of October, are we eroding the the hard facts with awareness stunts? Are we running for the cause, or are we running from the uncomfortable work it takes to be entrenched in the fight against cancer?
One in three African-Americans will be diagnosed with cancer in their lifetime, according to the American Cancer Society’s “Facts and Figures for African-Americans 2013-2014.” One in five will die of it. Breast cancer is on the rise, supplanting lung cancer as the most prevalent cancer discovered among African American women.
While breast cancer is highly unusual in men, nearly two in 100,000 African American men will be diagnosed annually. Because it is so rare, these men often suffer in silence for fear of others’ responses.
Breast cancer was once a topic broached only in whispers in some families.
My grandmother was diagnosed when I was nine years old: everyone knew she was sick, but no one wanted to talk about it. A few years later, in the heat of an August kitchen, she reached deep into her shirt and flung a breast prosthesis across the room. She showed me her mastectomy scar, not to scare me, but as an act of defiance. She didn’t want me to be unprepared. She didn’t want to live a lie.
I learned my great-grandfather had died of breast cancer that spread throughout his body. Ten years later, I lost my mother to a similar progression of aggressive cancer. I wondered when it would be my turn to die.
As soon as genetic testing for breast cancer susceptibility was available, I fought to be tested. Fourteen years of gnawing worry dissolved when I received my results: it was highly unlikely I would go through what my maternal family had to endure. There is still a chance I could get less common forms of cancer, and while I am vigilant, I no longer live with fear in my heart.
These days, nearly everyone knows someone who has fought breast cancer, and there are targeted treatments that help patients fight the disease more efficiently. However, it’s still an incredibly stressful situation for patients and their families.
I charge you to directly impact the lives of people you know who are fighting cancer. Mow a lawn or bake a casserole. Sit with someone through their treatment. Send a card to your aunt. Truly listen to someone talk about their disease without offering platitudes: acknowledge how hard it is, and offer your support.
Pink commerce may elevate awareness, but it is no substitute for your honest, loving presence.
