The day of my CT and Bone scan I spent about 5 hours at SCCA. It was a hard day. I remember needing multiple warm blankets because I was involuntarily shivering constantly. I was alone in the waiting room between scans because I’m hard headed and didn’t need anyone with me. Younger than everyone else in there. Wrapped in those blankets with my best brave face sipping the contrast fluids.

I met an older woman in the bathroom. Her face looked like mine did in January. No brows or lashes. It hurt me to hold eye contact. I didn’t want to look like that, I didn’t want to look too closely at the cold hard reality. She started talking to me about her chemo curls. I told her I started next week. She asked what kind of cancer I had. When I replied “Breast” she looked at me and said “you’ll be ok” “Breast cancer is the best cancer”

At the time it seemed slightly reassuring. “you’re lucky to have caught it early!” is what everyone said. However, I knew it was already a very large mass and I had lymph node involvement at the very least. I was there that day to discover if it had metastasized to my bones or vital organs, giving me a swift death sentence at age 41. I didn’t feel “lucky” to “just have breast cancer” but maybe she was right?

Now? Now I don’t find it reassuring. Now? I’d shoot her a dirty look and say there is no such thing as a “good cancer”. Over 41,000 women die each year from breast cancer. You consider that ‘good”? Pardon me ma’am, but you’ve lost your fucking mind.

It IS true that my cancer is the most highly funded cancer there is. Almost double of any other cancer. Why is that? Perhaps because one in eight women get it. A staggering statistic. Breast cancer is the second leading cause of death in women. That’s a lot of moms. A lot of wives. A lot of daughters. More YOUNG women than you might think. In fact, young women have much worse prognosis odds than older women. It’s a lot of loved ones lost. A lot of kids growing up without their mom. The amount of money poured into the research of breast cancer is a direct reflection of that impact.

There is nothing “good” about it. 30% of early stage breast cancer survivors will have a relapse. Most of the time the relapse is no longer in your breast. Now there are breast cancer cells in your brain. bones. the liver. lungs. Guess what that means? Now it’s not so fucking lucky, is it? The average survival at that point is less than 3 years.

The pink washing doesn’t help. The “pink warrior sisters” (never, ever call me a fucking pink sister. I will cut you.) The Susan G Koman foundation and “save second base”. The pink EVERYTHING. They make breast cancer look cute. Sparkly and girly. I cringe at the mere sight of a pink ribbon now. I want to my ram my car into anyone with a pink license plate. It’s not cute. It’s cancer.

Those of us with breast cancer know the truth. It’s chemo and surgery, endocrine therapy and radiation oh my. It’s scans and anxiety, sleepless nights, fear and crippling exhaustion. It’s emotionally supporting those around you because you’ve always been the strong one. It’s running on empty trying to keep afloat as everything about you is slowly ripped away.

The CEO of Susan Koman foundation makes $684,717 per year. They contribute 20% of their donations to actual breast cancer research. The rest? marketing. pink washing. F*ck Susan Koman. Fuck Pinktober.

Do me a favor – if you ever consider donating to breast cancer, put your money where it’s not spent on pink ribbons.

Donate to Metavivor. Breast Cancer itself doesn’t kill until it goes metastatic. Every week I see another young woman in my facebook and instagram groups hit with a stage four diagnosis. This is when breast cancer kills. This is where we need research and fundraising.