I’ve struggled on where to start but the beginning is always best. That would be three years ago when my aunt – my mother’s sister – died after a years long fight against breast cancer. Whether or not it was metastatic are details of which I remain unaware but I do know that she was only 41 and that 41 is an incredibly young age for someone to die. I don’t know whether or not she was accepting of what might happen or how my mother really dealt with her death given that my grandmother – my mother’s mother – died exactly five weeks prior. I do know that from time to time I see my aunt’s dearest friend in the world around Albany and we speak. Briefly. And each time it kills me inside. A knot forms at the pit of my stomach and the second I am alone my eyes fill with tears and the sorrow that accompanies the wonder of how those left behind deal. I’ve kept from my family how I have dealt with Judy’s death because though expected it felt so sudden. I was leaving a friend’s home in Napa Valley when my mother called to say that she passed and I didn’t cry. That I remember. I drove to San Francisco, went out for drinks and dessert and spent the entire night in a guest bedroom awake. Not crying but thinking. She didn’t deserve this…any of it. She was incredibly sweet, kind and faithful and in times of anger I question the fairness of it all. But life isn’t fair, which is true but that hasn’t kept me from keeping gifts given to me by Judy that I glance at and wonder why.
At the time of Judy’s death my knowledge of breast cancer was fairly limited and I cannot say that all these years later I am any wiser. I knew that it could be a fast killer and that in some cases there is a genetic factor. I also knew that early detection of the cancer can give patients a higher survival rate. Of course during the month of October there were marches and runs and every store I entered proudly displayed pink products on behalf of breast cancer research but I am amazed at how little thought I gave to any of this. I purchased items because it was a good cause. Because I was doing something and contributing to breast cancer research. I contributed and bought Yoplait containers with pink tops because it felt like the right thing. Ignorance is bliss, my friends and no one told me otherwise.
Even when finally faced with breast cancer and to watch what it does to a person and a family, I felt even more empowered that years of pink crap was doing something for the overall good. Giving to the Susan G. Komen foundation would lead to prevention and a cure, I thought. They were doing good work. I type these words now while shaking my head. Feeling duped. How could I be so stupid? How could I believe that “pink washing” buckets of Kentucky Fried Chicken would lead to a cure? How could I be so stupid to believe that an organization whose mission is to educate and inform the public on breast cancer would not fall into the political fray. This is what I wonder now. There was a fantastic interview after the Komen foundation pulled its funding from Planned Parenthood with Andrea Mitchell and Komen founder, former Ambassador Nancy Brinker. The way that Andrea – recently diagnosed with breast cancer – keeps pushing and digging at Ambassador Brinker with questions of why Komen changed their grant process, why underinsured or uninsured women shouldn’t be allowed to have their services and potentially life-saving early detection; there’s this urging and pain coming off of Andrea Mitchell. Not that she’s just pissed but that so many people believed in the Komen foundation and now that trust is gone.
There is something about death and the grieving process where we feel the need to do something, try harder and do better. When Judy died I wanted to go all in and at the time the Komen foundation was what I knew. Now I know different. Thank God. I will not give to them anymore not just because of this ‘scandal’ but because to honor those that have died from this terrible disease would not be to give blindly but to learn more. It’s not about covering shit in pink it’s about continuing the education and assisting groups and organizations that give more than lip service to the detection, prevention and the cure. I cannot end this without stating that it doesn’t make me a socialist to think that all women (and men), no matter their financial situation, should have the right to mammograms and early detection. It makes me human.
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The wonderful, beautiful and amazing Susan Niebur passed away yesterday after a five year battle with inflammatory breast cancer. A rare and aggressive form of the disease. In lieu of flowers her family has asked for donations to the Inflammatory Breast Cancer Research Foundation. Please consider giving.
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By defunding Planned Parenthood the Susan G. Komen foundation betrays women
What breast cancer has taught me
Social Media Acts as a Catalyst for Policy Change
National Breast Cancer Foundation
“You all look like idiots”
That’s what I thought and then said out loud to my napping cat last night. Of course he didn’t care and just opened one eye, gave me that ‘Lady! I’m sleeping!’ look and then went back to his slumber. But I was far too angry to shut my eyes.
It started with a Virginia bill that would require a transvaginal ultrasound before allowing a woman to have an abortion. To which a conservative commentator said that a TVU is just like sex and when someone else repeated her words back to her she (commentator) then referred to that person (a male) as a pervert and, bonus! A child molester and then the rest of the Internet got really mad and several progressives expressed their hope that the commentator be raped only to be followed up by referring to said female commentator as a CUNextTuesday. And as I am typing this all out I just keep rolling my eyes more and more dramatically and whoops! One just popped out.
This situation doesn’t deserve to be called a ‘debate’ or ‘discourse’ as those who engaged from the commentator to her foes on the other side of the aisle are adult enough to have participated in actual discussion. I returned to my computer after 18 hours of true engagement on how to help communities of color and promptly stepped into a Twitter feed of WTF. One of those moments where you’re looking back at who said what and when and for God’s sake, WHY? I was turned off. It has nothing to do with who in this argument was wrong or right and I would be remiss not to say that I do not agree with giving women transgavingal ultrasounds or any other ultrasound before allowing her to have an abortion. I do not agree with a growing sentiment that women who want to use contraception are ‘sluts’ or that rape and incest are things that women should just roll with. And I am most certainly not OK with men treating my body as if it is their own and their very manly way of assuming that because they have a penis they know what is best for everyone. Unless you are my gynecologist you have no business being all up in my uterus. Thank you very much.
While the above makes me shake with rage that hasn’t been the root of my concern over the past 48 hours. My dismay is not just because I am a woman (a woman who can make her own choices about her body but thanks for the faux concern) but as a person who has spent much of her time encouraging debate and pleading with friends and family to take an interest in what happens on all levels of government. I am constantly asked how to get women involved in politics and I have stayed true to saying that ALL women, no matter their ideology, should voice their concerns and be aware of what is happening in the world around them. To come home to a Twitter feed of progressive women being referred to as ‘pro-abortion’/'pro-murder’ and the response being calls for rape made me quite literally hate everyone. How can I suggest to women to get involved when voicing their opinion means being called a cunt? How am I to say with a straight face that discourse is a good thing and that democracy and difference is why we are able to have real discussion but in the event that someone disagrees you will be threatened with rape? How?
I literally shrug and sigh deeply as I type these words because I feel defeated as I ask for conversation to happen and then I see that women don’t want to be involved in politics because they will be threatened with bodily harm. Women don’t want to be involved in politics because of the above. Because discourse can turn to evil. Because no one can focus on REAL issues. Because it’s all about besting the other person instead of conversation.
And I don’t know what to do.