A few days ago, I watched what was intended to be an uplifting video of hospital workers, all wearing pink gloves, dancing with glee. As I watched I bitterly asked, “What are they celebrating?” Earlier the same morning I learned a special friend is now in the end stages of battling breast cancer. I felt no joy in her cancer story, just a stark disconnect between the dancing hospital staff aiming to raise a chunk of change for research and care and her predicament. I watched the glove groove disheartened, angry and hurt that such a wonderful woman could be taken by a disease — while those people danced in hopes for a cure that could not help her.

Perhaps the breast cancer public face we have painted is a too happy mask. We know that false face so well. We think of cancer and see a pink cover of walkers, racers, ribbons — a fluffy feminine shell of the heroic and tearful quest for survival. Below though, under that facade of success, there is still suffering, loss and death — the naked, ugly scars of breast cancer.

Watching the pink clad hands swaying, flicking and swinging in a breast cancer jamboree, I felt like a grim wedding guest considering the impending divorce of the bride and groom. As I viewed the video of the hospital staff cavorting, I questioned how many of them knew the face of breast cancer struggle and loss. Did the surgical staff, dressed with masks and eye shields know what it was like to loose a breast, or a life? Were any dancers survivors? Which revelers were they? I searched the faces to pick them out.
Was she dancing because she lived, like me? Was he joyous even though he lost his mother, sister or friend, or did those folks excuse themselves when asked to help with the video saying, “No, I can’t dance.”?

Now, a few days later, while I am still hurt, I understand why they were dancing. They were celebrating hope, an irresistible reason to dance, but a tragedy when it has faded.

cont. from (Women Sailing the Pink Sea)

I have contemplated my question for six weeks now and can now answer, “It just happened.”

“How could this happen?” is as unanswerable as, “Why am I here?” when not asked in reference to a senior moment. Why someone gets breast cancer is complicated beyond anyone’s understanding let alone mine and probably has many answers, none of them nearly telling the full story. The fact remains, it happens and it happens to women, and men too. It happens everyday. Breast cancer just happens, just like shit happens. Read more

This is my first entry in the Sailing the Pink Sea blog. When the blogmaster (Hummm? Is “blogmaster”
a valid blogosphere term?) asked what my purpose was for the blog, I had to honestly answer, “Uh, gee
I don’t know.”

Now I have given it some thought and I can say, I have been encouraged to share but have no grand purpose. I certainly do not expect to profoundly sway, educate or enlighten anyone with my meager postings. I confess that I could have waited until I had the perfect purpose and wise words to offer up but I realized that would never happen. So here I go, yet another cancer survivor, not unlike the millions of other survivors, or as my husband likes to point out, I am unique, just like everyone else. I have no special training or skills to make me an expert on breast cancer or for that matter sailing. I only try to be honest and brave when I touch on either subject and write what is the truth for me and hope it is of some value to you.

And for the sailing — what you may ask is the connection to breast cancer? For an answer, I would urge you to consider reading the free chapter of Sailing the Pink Sea to make that discovery for yourself.

I define myself both as a breast cancer survivor and a woman sailor and in this blog I will write about them both.

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