THE HUNT FOR PINK OCTOBER

Exactly one year ago — October 1, 2010 — I had the mammogram that would alter everything. (It's sort of ironic that I found my cancer during the very month that has been hammered into our heads as the month to get a mammogram. So I guess that's the good news.)

Much has been written about the Hunt for Pink October, and prior to being diagnosed myself, I was blissfully unaware of how breast cancer survivors might feel about all this pinkification. My involvement in the surging sea of pink prior to my diagnosis was one of abject commercialism. In the world of women's consumer magazines (where I used to toil), the pages of each October issue were flush with pink products. We had to create 'thoughtful' stories structured around a breast cancer theme, drum up reasons to buy rose-colored, rhinestone-encrusted compacts, and entice readers to want to do downward dog on a pretty-in-pink yoga mat. It was all part of the job. We were providing a service (albeit a branded one) in which women not afflicted by the disease could in some way show their support (via the "percentage of proceeds donated") for those that were. And we were doing our best to educate the masses about breast cancer with our articles. But let's be honest: Advertisers loved seeing their "pink'd" items showcased on our pages — and that kept the wheels of profitability greased and spinning. 

Did I ever stop to think how "Pinktober" felt to a woman who actually had breast cancer? 

No.

Then I got diagnosed. Now I know. It sucks. Pinktober is just one ginormous reminder that I didn't dodge the bullet. And no pretty-in-pink yoga mat is gonna change my status now. 

(Copyright The Big C and Me)

Speaking of hues, who chose pink as the color of breast cancer anyway? 'cause I think they got it all wrong. Blue — now that's a color any survivor can wrap his or her head around. What BCer doesn't feel blue? Not all the time, of course, but I bet we feel blue more often than we feel pink. Yes? No?

You want to see real breast cancer pink? Check out a sistah post-surgery. No matter the color of our skin, our scars are the same: pink.

My one-year marker is the first of many dates I'll be noting in the coming months. The best place for me to reflect on these types of things is on the trail. We had a little rain today, and storm clouds were still swirling overhead, so after dinner, my husband and I went up into the mountains and were greeted by a rosy sunset of spectacular proportion. 

The Hunt for Pink October? I think I may have found it. In shades of blue — and pink.