Making Strides

I made strides today with some co-workers who’d formed a team for the event.  Team Katy, in fact.

The American Cancer Society sponsors lots of “Making Strides Against Breast Cancer” this time of year.  I hadn’t given it any thought, but a colleague at work asked if she could name the office team after me.  Sure, I said.  Then I realized that meant I would actually have to go to the event and walk with them.  Oh, well, no bike ride for me this Saturday morning.

There are many women who have been treated for breast cancer who loathe the pinkwashing of the disease, and I can understand that.  I can’t help but wonder how much of the profit from the sale of pink-filled Oreos is donated to breast cancer prevention and research.  In my experience, breast cancer has not been fluffy pink tutus, wild pink wigs, or fluorescent pink fairy wings.  For me, breast cancer has been a red scar where my breast used to live.  A red, painful radiation burn on my back.  Nevertheless, the people at this morning’s event were celebrating life and doing their best to contribute, and I was touched.

Jerry and I walked next to a very nice woman who was still wearing her wig while she was waiting for her post-chemo hair to sprout.  Of course, we shared our cancer stories.  Hers included a lumpectomy, no node involvement, a choice whether or not chemo was given (“I wanted the extra insurance,” she explained), and a short course of radiation.

When we got home I pulled my sweaty tee-shirt over my head and dropped my wet brassiere, one side filled with a couple of pounds of silicone, on the washing machine.  I surveyed the wreck that is my torso.

To Jerry I said, “I would like to just talk with someone whose breast cancer was as bad as mine.”

Jerry said, “My breast cancer was as bad as yours.”

“My lover is mine, and I am his.” Song of Solomon 2:16


4 thoughts on “Making Strides

  1. Gotta wonder how your Jerry says such wonderful things to you, while my poor Alan, who loves me probably just as much, can *never* seem to find the right words!

    My younger son now, he called me one day to ask if he could borrow my car, and I texted back to explain I (bald, steroid-faced, and almost sans brows and lashes) was at a makeover session with a friend to make me look beautiful. “Mum”, he shot back, “You ALWAYS are beautiful!”. 🙂 I love that boy!

    So when I arrive home, all made up, and truthfully a little nervous, DH is there. He looks up, and seeing me, says “Oh, you’ve got eyebrows!”
    I went upstairs and cleaned the whole lot off.

    Next day, I was still upset, and decided I should tell him how disappointed I had been. I mean, he is evidently not a mind-reader! I also told him what our 21 yr old son had said.

    To my horror, he burst into tears. I held him, he held me, and we cried together for a while, and apologized to each other. Since then he has paid me so many compliments I feel like telling him to “give over!”, but he is trying, bless him. He is going through all this cancer stuff, every step of it, with me, and I really cannot ask for more!

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