Pink… Not the Answer to Cancer
A heartfelt thank you to all those who participated in runs for a good cause and to create awareness! I imagine each individual who organized or ran, walked or participated in raising money for awareness was driven by a desire to make a significant impact in their way. Whether supporting a loved one, championing a cause, or contributing to the search for a cure, your commitment is commendable. I had the privilege of participating in several rewarding runs and walks, believing that together we were making a meaningful impact. However, it wasn't until I received a cancer diagnosis and delved deeper into understanding it that I began to see the broader picture. I now know firsthand the immense challenges the body endures during the healing process. The moment of diagnosis pushes us to our limits emotionally, physically, mentally, and even spiritually, leading us to question, "Why me, God? What did I do wrong?"
Suddenly, our interest in change becomes profound. When cancer threatens our lives, we find ourselves relating to it for the first time. I skipped right past stages one and two, receiving my first diagnosis at stage 3. It hit me like a punch in the stomach, and every single day afterward was an onslaught of tough decisions.
I vividly recall July 19, 2006, when I received the diagnosis of stage 3 breast cancer. Seated in my oncologist's office, I listened intently as he conveyed the unsettling news. As I slowly peeled the label off the water bottle the nurse had given me, I contemplated if I could remove it in one piece. The label displayed a pink ribbon with the familiar slogan, "Run For The Cure." In that moment, I thought to myself, "Oh, my God, this can't be good; there's still no cure."
I reflected on the family members I lost to cancer and came to realize the extensive impact this disease has had on over twenty family members and countless friends. As I navigated my own battle with stage 3 cancer, I received the conventional treatment recommendations of chemotherapy, surgery, hormone blockers, and radiation. Respecting the choices my family made for their own cancer treatments, I knew they were following their oncologist's guidance. Unfortunately, I encountered complications after surgery, contracting a severe staph infection that took months to heal. Consequently, I was unable to undergo radiation or chemotherapy due to my weakened state. Instead, I explored alternative healing therapies such as ozone, IV vitamin C, Laetrile, ultraviolet light, enzymes, bio frequency, and alkaline water.By May 2008, my oncologist delivered the news that my lab results showed the cancer was in remission. However, "remission" felt inadequate, almost like a temporary respite or an anticipation of its return. Since 2011, I prefer not to use the term "remission" for my stage 4 condition. It contradicts my belief in complete healing, which I fervently pray for. The word "remission" always felt unsettling, as if I was merely biding my time for the cancer to reappear. My dad used to emphasize to us that words empact us. Hate, Love, Hope ,Faith, Healed and then there are the words that keep us fearful.
In 2010, my world came crashing down when the biopsy confirmed stage 4 breast cancer recurrence in my sternum and lungs. Despite undergoing radiation, I was unable to undergo chemotherapy due to a recurring staph infection, which left me too ill. My UCLA doctor grimly predicted I had only 3-12 months to live, a terrifying prospect that words cannot adequately express. I will attempt to convey the depth of my feelings, though it is a complex matter that deserves attention, particularly for those with loved ones battling cancer. I concealed my struggles during that time, pondering whether others did the same to portray strength and courage. This led to relentless waves of panic and anxiety that I kept from others; the idea of mortality was unimaginable, as I was simply unprepared.
As summer transitions to autumn and leaves start to fall, you realize you won't see it again once the season is gone.As an autumn leaf gracefully descends to the ground, a bittersweet feeling arises. The overwhelming presence of the Susan G Komen pink phenomenon in every store throughout October becomes increasingly frustrating. May this month swiftly pass, sparing those battling breast cancer from the emotional turmoil provoked by well-intentioned gestures from loved ones. They may not fully grasp the impact of presenting gifts adorned with SGK's pink ribbon, unaware of the anxieties surrounding biopsy results and ongoing treatments.
It's a complex dilemma. Although gratitude is expected when receiving a gift, we often overlook the profound impact it can have on survivors, who know that a definitive cure remains elusive. The significance of "pink" can vary for each individual. Yet, every October, there seems to be an automatic assumption that women undergoing treatment are strong enough to appreciate the intentions behind Breast Cancer Awareness Month. I believe that the essence of this cause has somewhat been overshadowed by the focus on celebration and raising awareness, even through items like booby cupcakes or lollipops.
The sight of these treats deeply affected me, as it reminded me of the pain and suffering caused by breast cancer. The thought of someone consuming a treat shaped like a breast filled me with disgust. I acknowledge that I am sensitive to this issue. In my opinion, while the intentions behind Breast Cancer Awareness Month may be good, it can be incredibly challenging for women who have experienced breast cancer, as well as their loved ones, to navigate through a month filled with pink merchandise in stores. Instead, I would have preferred a single day dedicated to raising awareness for breast cancer. This would have made it easier for those who are triggered by constant reminders to cope with their emotions. Ultimately, what truly matters is being cautious and considerate towards everyone affected by this disease.
When you receive a stage four diagnosis and are faced with the reality of your own mortality, it becomes clear that the focus should not solely be on "saving the tatas" or "boobies". How did the SGK Foundation overlook such a crucial aspect in such a significant way? For those battling advanced cancer with only a few months to live, traditional moments like Christmas take on a newfound sense of finality. As I observed the Christmas lights and listened to the familiar melodies, I couldn't help but feel the weight of the passing year. The doctor's words from 2010 echoed in my mind, reminding me that my time was limited.
During those precious months, farewells became a common occurrence. Expressing the emotions I felt is a challenge that still eludes me. Each conversation with someone I hadn't seen in a while carried a somber realization - our paths were unlikely to cross again, as my existence would soon end. In these moments, we recognize the value of the aspects and individuals we often take for granted.
In September 2010, when the doctor delivered the news that I had only a few months to live, I thought I would never see him again. He advised me to get my affairs in order and prepare for the inevitable. Instead of accepting defeat, I made up my mind to keep fighting. I refused to give up and announced my plans to seek treatment at CMN Hospital in Mexico. I vividly recall the doctor's insensitive remark, "Oh, so you're going to the sunshine farm..." It was unnecessary to kick someone when they were already down. Unfortunately, this kind of behavior is all too common for those battling cancer, and it needs to be addressed.
Leaving my home country was less daunting than waiting idly for death's arrival. Determined to find a way to extend my life, my friends and I dedicated five months to raising funds for my cancer treatment. While some friends and loved ones considered our efforts to be futile, they were not the ones grappling with the consequences. Choosing the path to save my own life was far from easy. I am immensely grateful that I discovered CMN and refused to surrender. Dr. Payan, without resorting to chemotherapy, successfully cured me of stage 4 breast cancer.
On October 15, 2011, I received confirmation through a PetCT scan that my stage 4 cancer had vanished. It was a moment of disbelief, as my UCLA doctor's prognosis had been proven wrong. Now, ten years later, the opinions of others no longer hold sway over the choices I've made. Without ever resorting to chemotherapy, despite being given a few months to live, I stand here alive. This is something we cannot overlook.
Imagine if the therapies I underwent at CMN had been accessible and covered by health insurance. I believe that some of my family and friends might have opted for more conservative approaches, exploring alternatives before diving into toxic and risky treatments. They would have felt a renewed sense of hope, less fear about their options, and I am confident that some of them would have experienced better outcomes.
Susan G Komen Foundation WILL NEVER RAISE MONEY FOR HOLIST TREATMENTS NOT COVERED BY HEALTH INSURANCE BECAUSE THEIR SPONSORS ARE FROM PHARMACEUTICAL COMPANIES
**🥰Disclaimer for all my posts: Everyone tells their personal story differently, using different words according to their belief, customs, and culture, and experience. I always share according to mine and mean no offense to anyone else’s philosophy, beliefs, culture, or customs. I make no recommendations for cancer treatment because I am not a physician or qualified to do so.
