We need less hype and more help

October is almost over, another breast cancer awareness month is reaching its end for the year. In a day or so, the pink ribbon merchandise in stores will all go on clearance – if it hasn’t already – and the fundraiser tees sported by various retail and restaurant employees will be swapped out for something Halloween-y. Folks who aren’t part of the breast cancer community will put away their tee shirts and change their social media covers to something more festive. In fact, most of us will and that’s okay. Holidays matter. Cheer and hope and sparkly things matter – especially for those of us still actively fighting. 

To be honest, I’m not sure how much good October does for survivors – or a cure – anymore. Oh, I know it’s a handy hook to hang donation requests on and that is super important. Money really does matter – in more ways than folks realize. But I’m doubtful about the hubbub surrounding the ribbons and the shirts and the banners. I’m not sure it’s really creating awareness like it used to – at least not at a meaningful level. And I worry about how little of what the big organizations raise makes it to the people who actually need it.

Don’t get me wrong; I’m not calling for the end of Pinktober. Raised dollars mean a lot to the smaller organizations, ones like my local nonprofit, which provides monetary help, meals, wigs, care packages, and more for the people actively fighting – as well as an annual kids camp, a survivor network with monthly events, and a host of other services people desperately need. Those organizations are doing the real, boots-on-the-ground work of helping people survive, thrive, and connect – during and after breast cancer.

I believe absolutely that we need a cure – and also that if this was primarily a male issue, or even one that targeted all sexes equally, we’d probably see more emphasis on making that happen. But I also suspect that a cure will come in one of two ways: serendipity, via an attempt to cure something else, or the achievement of true quantum computing. This disease is so much more complicated than we ever thought, so much more pervasive and changeable. 

Continued treatment research is necessary, too. While medicine has come a long way in the last 50 years, there’s a lot of work yet to be done in treating types of breast cancer with lower survival rates and higher recurrence rates – and in finding treatments with fewer side effects than the ones we have now. 

But so much of October – of the ribbon gear and big orgs, the pink and the slogans and the month of events – is optics. Again, optics matter. I did my time in public relations; optics matter a lot when it comes to fundraising and legislation and resources. It’s just that none of that really  interests me anymore. It used to, back before I lived it, back before I thought about it on a really deep, granular level. 

What interests me now is on the smaller, more personal level. The stuff that makes a difference in survivor’s lives every day – and the stuff that improves knowledge so more people have a chance to survive and more opportunity to thrive.

There’s a clinic offering free mammograms this Saturday? That’s amazing! Is there childcare? What about transportation? Is it well publicized? Are there options for people who have to work that day? No? How do we make that happen?

Did you know that, while white women and Black women have about the same rate of occurrence in the US (about 12%, remember - one in eight), the death rate from it is 41% higher among Black women? You probably didn’t know. But it’s true. Partly because Black women under 50 are twice as likely to get aggressive, fast-moving, harder to treat forms of breast cancer than white women in that age group. They’re working on figuring out the science behind those facts, but in the meantime, what can we do to mitigate the social issues? Yes, how do we keep more of all people with breast cancer alive and thriving, but also how do we move toward a place where those who are dying way more often…aren’t. 

Most people don’t know that France had the highest age-standardized rate of breast cancer among women in 2022, which was the last year for which the data was aggregated. Not an underdeveloped nation. France. And the U.S. isn’t far behind. Remember, these are rates, not numbers. It’s not because the U.S. is so big. China and India both have rates about a third of ours in the U.S. – and overall populations about four times the size of ours. Deaths from breast cancer are another matter, of course. As expected, countries with fewer resources and more poverty have more deaths: Jamaica, Fiji, and Nigeria have some of the highest rates. 

We talk a lot about breast cancer awareness in October, but given how few people are aware of all these statistics – and how few think past the free mammogram being great to whether the people who need it most can actually take advantage of the opportunity – I have to wonder just how aware we’ve all become.

Understand that I’m not throwing stones here. Before I was diagnosed and got into the real real of the experience, I thought I was aware. I thought I knew. I’d read and talked to people and seen family fight. I’d written articles about survivors and new cancer centers and oncologists. I did know to get mammograms and was religious about it. I did not do regular self exams despite the family history – most people don’t. I frankly lucked out that my tumor was near enough to the surface for me to notice it putting on a bra because I’d had a clear dense-tissue mammogram not two months prior and yet was already stage two at ultrasound (though just barely). If it had been deeper and I hadn’t found it till the next mammogram? Most likely I would not be typing this today.

Pre-cancer, I was nowhere near as aware as I thought I was. For all that I did know, there were 50 things I’d never even thought about. I’m still finding out things that had not yet crossed my mind. And that’s a good thing.

Because what we need more than anything is lots and lots of very open, very honest dialog and education. That’s what puts people in the know and convinces them to keep a check on their health. That’s what motivates donors to put money and time into smaller local orgs that provide real-world assistance instead of the flashy, well-branded names everyone knows. That’s what helps people get through – and helps other folks help the survivors through in meaningful ways. 

Less hype, more help. Fewer slogans, more real talk. Fewer single-problem fixes and more strategic, systems-based solutions.

Also, no more stigma about lady parts problems, no more hyper-sexualization of the bits we had lopped off. No more ignoring the problem eleven months of the year.

Fewer taken, more alive.

Fewer struggling, more celebrating. 

That’s what I want next October, every October. That’s what I want till the day cancer is gone.