Like this:

I learned yesterday that there’s a name for the sounds I hear inside the hyperbaric chamber: pink noise. Two hours of this, without movies, would drive me bonkers. Here’s a minute of it.

Another kind of pink noise has been blaring this month. I think I may have the pink ribbon blues. I may blot some of it out with some reading. Here are a couple of additions to my reading list.

 

Barbara Ehrenreich was on NPR recently, talking about her cancer and about her aversion to forced positivity. All that pink-ribbon-and-teddy-bear stuff annoys her, and I for one am glad someone has so thoughtfully articulated this annoyance.  Though I have friends and family members affected by breast cancer, I’m too cynical to purchase pink-beribboned products. There has been an awful lot of corruption around this marketing ploy. However, like Ehrenreich, I have appreciated how pink ribbon-ers have contributed to raising the level of cancer awareness in our culture. I am very grateful that I don’t need to hide my cancer, that I can blog about it.

I know from participating in AIDS walks many years ago how powerful it feels to add to a large public demonstration of catastrophic private experiences. And I know how it feels to march with thousands to protest a war, even if it doesn’t have any immediate effect. Sometimes all one can do is stand up and yell, “Occupy THIS!”

Ehrenreich rejects the term “cancer survivor.” For her, the term is freighted with connotations of fighting and victory, and it implies that those who succumb to the disease are weak losers. Her interview made me feel guilty and a bit like a silly stereotype for using the warrior metaphor early during my cancer treatment. When I look back, though, I acknowledge that warrior-ship was a useful phase. It was the only way to handle the terror, and an effective way to focus. Despair was not practical. The battlefield, for me, was molecular.

And in my case, I didn’t feel that The System had anything to do with my cancer. I don’t feel it was caused by environmental corruption, but by a virus (and possibly a genetic marker). I had proper medical care, nobody did anything wrong when managing my precancerous condition. My cancer was treatable, and I chose to go for cure because it was an option. For that option, I’m very grateful.

Like Ehrenreich, I’ve been uncomfortable using the term “cancer survivor,” partially because I feel bad for those who didn’t have access to effective treatment, those who were killed by treatment, and those who were killed by cancer. And I don’t like the term because it implies that my relationship with cancer has ended. It hasn’t ended, and it never will. Every time my body does something peculiar, I’m back at the OhMyGodIt’sBack baseline.

My kind of cancer doesn’t have its own color of ribbon. If it did, would I wear it? Would it convey the full extent of damage wreaked upon me by cancer? Not possible. Would I wear it if I thought it would help someone else? Absolutely.

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