Pink and Pearls: The story behind the sign

This past weekend was a very PINK weekend, as it was both Flip for the Cure Saturday night and the 2014 Pink Zone Lady Lions basketball game Sunday!

Flip for the Cure is a Penn State men and women’s gymnastics meet that raises money for the Pink Zone. You may remember I spoke at last year’s event in front of about 200 people. This year I was honored to be asked to participate again by handing out awards at the end of the meet. They introduced me over the loudspeaker (I wrote a 2-3 sentence bio for them), and once again got to hang out with the women’s team and coach Rachelle, whom I’ve kept in touch with since last year. Coach and the students are so welcoming to me and I truly appreciate being a part of the event. And then of course Sunday was PZ day! I joined nearly 700 other breast cancer survivors on the court during halftime, and it was announced at yesterday’s game that the PA Pink Zone has raised $1 million (in its combined years) for its six beneficiaries that support breast cancer research, education and awareness, as well as services for affected women and their families. That is HUGE.

I am truly honored and humbled to be part of this community. It means the world to me to not only have my family and friends come to State College to attend the Pink Zone game each year, but to see so many friends in the stands during the game. There are always so many hugs and so much support. I love being able to walk up and down the bleachers, among about 12,000 people, and just see so many people I know. Sean and I have truly made a wonderful life here in Happy Valley and I am so very lucky to feel so blanketed by such a beautiful community.

Each year I have different emotions going onto the court during halftime. My first time attending as a survivor it was a month before my wedding. I was in between surgeries. To be honest I don’t remember how I felt. Probably sad, probably proud, probably a combination of things. In the months before my wedding I was very fragile; trying so hard to just keep holding on and moving forward. I was happy but struggling. I was in pain, I was stressed, I was nervous. I just wanted my wedding day to come. So I don’t remember the exact emotions as I walked onto the court during halftime in 2012. Last year I spoke at the end of the meet (and at Pink Eve donor reception the night before), so at that point I was really finding my voice in the community as a young survivor. At that point I had already spoken for The Moth, for the PA Breast Cancer Coalition and a variety of other events, including 2013 Flip for the Cure. So I feel I was finding my voice and finding my place. My wedding was over, the breast cancer was behind me and I was embarking on my new journey of life after breast cancer and life as a survivor who continues to share her story. At that point I may have (or it was just before) I signed up for Tour de Pink. So a lot was going on in my healing at that point. 2013 Pink Zone I was stronger, I was healing and of course I was proud. For me that game was a lot about being the young survivor there and letting everyone know, “Hey, I got breast cancer when I was 26. This is a big deal. Take this seriously.” I carried my “2” sign proudly, signifying nearly 2 years of survivorship. It was a lot about being young and moving forward.

This year was slightly different. My sign said “3” since it will be three years in April. And although I continue to find my voice in the community, it was less about that since I feel more established now. Of course I was proud and strong. And still sad that I was probably one of the youngest there. Still sad that I was there holding a sign among women in their 50s and 60s. One woman survivor said to me before we went out on the floor during halftime that I am young and have so many years ahead of me to be a survivor. So many years to keep carrying that sign year after year. So many more years to spread my word.

I always meet a lot of survivors at Pink Zone each year. Of course women are friendly and we always end up talking, but always always always at least a handful of people are stunned I am there. “You’re so young.” They always look at my sign and we get to talking. It’s always about how young I am. We talk about how I found the lump, my treatment, and where I am today. And they mostly always say “I have a daughter your age and I worry about her.”

We all know that’s why I’m sharing my story. Because I was young when it happened to me. I am a proud survivor with my sign. I am proud to speak at events, get involved in the community and join other survivors of all ages. We already know this. I am proud and I believe in sharing my story. It’s a huge part of who I am.

But this year it felt a little different. It’s true – I am young and I have my whole life ahead of me to raise awareness, if it’s a path I choose. As that woman said yesterday, I have “more time than they do” to share my story.

This year I felt even more established, even more like I had found my voice. I was one more year away from the agony that was breast cancer and the agony that was breast cancer WHEN it was breast cancer. I would even say I felt a little more healed.

I see Dr. Kass Wednesday in Hershey. No MRI; just an exam. I am terrified, of course. I never want to “find something” when I am so busy with other things. Now just wouldn’t be a good time to locate a lump or bump. But I see her because I value my health and my life. I will just push through the appointment, pray all goes well, and know I won’t see her again until August for my annual breast MRI.

I don’t know how best to describe the feeling this year during halftime. As in years past, I was proud and sad at the same time. Proud to be there, sad to be there. Not crying sad, just sad. But less sad than before. More like an accepted sad. Because in the past three years I have turned my sad into things. Into speaking and physical challenges and community participation. Those things will never make the sad go away. The sad will always be there. But at least I’m MOVING in the middle of the sad.

I do know this: I could never in a million years ask for better family and friends. Around Pink Zone and throughout the whole year my friends and family let me know they support me and are thinking of me and love me. Through what I went through, what I continue to battle and my future plans and journey.

April 18 I will officially be a three-year survivor. And that date is important. It truly is. But it doesn’t matter as much. I remember last year when the woman was writing the “2” on my sign I was thinking in my mind I hadn’t made it to the 2-year mark yet. I felt like I was jinxing it. And this year, clearly not at the 3-year mark yet, I told her to write “3 years” because it had almost been three years.

I didn’t have that pang of worry. (It’s not three years yet, we can’t write three years, what if something happens….)

Before I would have been afraid to call myself a survivor of so many years if it hadn’t officially been those years.

I didn’t want to think I was a two-year survivor until I was actually a two-year survivor, leaving plenty of room for tragedy.

Always a little bit of room for falling off the cliff. Just in case.

Today I don’t have that.

Maybe that’s what made this year different.

I am not leaving any room for something to go wrong, and by that I mean an unexpected cancer scare or diagnosis. Because that’s what I was used to happening so that’s what I prepared myself for. And through therapy with Dr. Kelly we discovered my “defense mechanism” of leaving room for pending tragedy isn’t actually helpful, nor does it prepare me for said tragedy.

So maybe that’s why this year is different.

I didn’t leave any room to fall of the cliff.

It doesn’t serve me well.

I graciously took that “3 years” on my sign and carried it around. In front of my body, over my head. It was MY sign. MY story. I wasn’t worried that it hadn’t been three years yet or that I hadn’t made it to three years yet. My sign was my calendar, my agenda, my plans, my hopes, my goals, my dreams, my wishes. That little number told people what was on my schedule. It really said this: Damn right it will be three years soon.