One year, seven months and 3 days ago I sat in a small room in an NHS hospital and heard the words “I’m sorry, it isn’t good news, it is cancer.�

This was two weeks before my 28^th birthday. I sat and I stared at a metal cupboard in the corner and I thought “Goodness me, I hope I wake up soon because this is the worst nightmare I’ve ever had. This can’t be true because I. could. not. cope. with this.� But then, it was true and so I said “Well, that’s a bit of a bugger, isn’t it?�

So, from that point the journey went on: through AC and Taxotere chemotherapy, through “febrile neutropaenic sepsis� with IV antibiotics and a 5 day stay in isolation, through a portocath insertion that initially refused to work, through a mastectomy, extensive ‘jollying’ physiotherapy, through radiotherapy, Tamoxifen and Zoladex. Through uncertainty, fear, pain, tears (alright, hysterics) and depression, the journey wended its way. Wound its way through to a day one year and 18 days ago when I came round from anaesthesia knowing (hoping) that along with my breast, the cancer had gone.

The two, interlinked – something I loved with something I hated; something safe with something deadly; something that was part of me with a thing that was invading me without pity.

I spent the intervening time – six months – trying to assimilate what it meant to have cancer; trying to learn how to be someone with cancer. Someone with no hair, no eyelashes, no eyebrows; someone who could barely walk round the block; someone whose collection of medications made them look like a pharmacy – or a drugdealer (anyone for domperidone? I have enough to last a lifetime but, sadly, they didn’t work for me!); someone living with a lump that was trying to kill them.

And then, (now), then(now) it was(is) gone and I had(I’m having) to learn that too – how to be a person without cancer, how to be a person who *had* cancer. Do I still have cancer? They tell me I don’t, but how do they know? How can they know that there isn’t a small cell lurking somewhere in me, just biding its time? In four years – if the cancer doesn’t come back in the meantime – I’ll “officially” have beaten it. My risk will be no greater than anyone else’s. How will I feel then?

My fear is that I’ll never believe it’s gone and will live the rest of my life with a mental scar as prominent as my physical scar.

—embrook

I’ll be pinkifying my site this weekend to look something like this. I can’t wait to see how live data from my Wordpress database will cause me to redo the design. :)

As of right this moment, we have 100 sites (that I have found via Bloglines, Technorati, referrer logs, and emails from the site owners) on board for the event. We’ve been getting about 4 a day, so hopefully we’ll crest 110 by the time October 1 rolls around.

Pink for October is also now listed (not by me) in the Wikipedia entry for Breast Cancer. I’ve also convinced my “new hire group” to theme our party* Pink for October. And this pink thing is impacting life in other areas as well.

What’s been a bit difficult is getting the word out beyond word-of-mouth. Don’t get me wrong, word-of-mouth (or more appropriately word-of-blog) has worked. But I have contacted some high traffic sites to enquire about advertising. I don’t mind shelling out a few bucks to get the word out. But I didn’t receive one response. I specifically sent email to these sites via the “advertise with us” links. Nothing. Just a little frustrating.

But this event was all thrown together ad hoc. Things like this are to be expected. I’ve learned a few things that I will apply to the next event and to next year’s Pink for October.

As always, I value your feedback. Let me know if you have ideas about how to improve things.

*New hire groups at my company (at which I am new) have a big party once they finish company training/orientation.