Last year I wrote some blather that included the words “How do I ever really know that it’s gone? That it’s not there lurking?”

The answer, of course, is that you don’t. But somehow I was still surprised at the beginning of September this year when they discovered that my cancer has metastasised. Someone had the audacity to tell me that they were never surprised when cancer came back. Well, I was. For all my fears, part of me believed them when they told me good things; when they were positive at me and when people talked about 2 and 5 year survival rates.

So I feel really dumb now that I have cancer in a lung and in my spine and in my lymph nodes. I feel stupid for ever having believed that I could beat cancer. I feel stupid about all the times I chirpily told people that I seemed to be doing well and that I was nearly reaching my 2-year mark which was good news. Not good enough. I feel a bit like I’ve failed. Although I know that it’s nothing to do with what I did or didn’t do. Cancer just does what it likes and it obviously really *loves* me.

It’s a lot harder to be positive this time around because I know that this time there is no chance of happily-ever-after. If I’m lucky then it can be controlled for some time but there’s no chance of a “cure.”

This is a management situation only and I haven’t worked out how to live with a disease that’s trying it’s damnedest to kill me.

—embrook

I hate pink, especially the pink ribbons. I really do. I don’t understand what they are for… support and solidarity, something like that, but I’m not getting that from a little twist of pink metal pretending to be a ribbon.

I think the pink ribbon marketing thing has totally turned me off to the idea of pink for October. I understand the idea of solidarity, but what I see is companies using pink to sell junk in the name of supporting women with breast cancer. Then I see the whole debate about pink merchandise in the press (and I’ve contributed to this) and it is taking attention away from important information about breast cancer and living with breast cancer that needs to get out there. Did you see the story Reuters sent out recently about how high suicide rates are among breast cancer survivors?

Instead of pink ribbons, I’d rather have national health insurance or any health insurance plan that insures SICK people. The way things are now, if you are young and healthy, you can get health insurance at a reasonable cost. If you are old or, God forbid, sick, forget it.

If you want to support people with cancer, forget the ribbon and lobby for national health care. Or for a state health insurance plan that is open to everyone, rich and poor, sick and well.

When someone without health insurance goes to a public hospital, and can’t pay for treatment, the hospital will write off the bill. One visit to the emergency room by an uninsured person can easily cost the same as one year of health insurance premiums, if not more.

Who makes up the difference when a public hospital writes off a bill? You and me, the taxpayers.

Making a web site pink for October is fairly benign compared to the pink-ribbon marketing that runs wild every October. Retailers offer pink-themed merchandise, then donate only a tiny share of the profits to cancer research.

I’m tripping over these products everywhere I go this month. At the pet store, a pink dog collar printed with pink ribbons sells for $9.99; the tag says 30 cents (30 cents!) from the sale of this product will be donated to the Susan G. Komen Breast Cancer Foundation, the 800-pound gorilla of cause marketing.

But wait, there’s more! At the tea shop, a pink tin of candy. At the supermarket, pink M&Ms. Other recent pink products: scarves, clothing, and nail polish.

Nail polish? All of this just encourages us to indulge in retail therapy while trivializing a very serious disease. This is not about raising money for cancer research; this is about companies selling you stuff you don’t need, just to make a profit. Don’t fall for it.

To read more, go to my blog:

• The Assertive Cancer Patient
• Pink Soup
• No More Campbell’s Soup for Me
• Breast Cancer Barbie

—Jeanne Sather