Not pretty in pink: our writer kicked cancer's butt four years ago, but that doesn't mean she's ready to join the cancer sorority

Shape, Oct, 2004 by Jeanne Faulkner

Yesterday my 14-year-old daughter and some of my friends walked in a charity race in my hometown. They carried my name on their backs, in celebration of my recovery from breast cancer. I stayed home and slept in.

I avoided the race because I hate breast-cancer pink. I hate having cancer anything--survivor, victim, patient--splashed across my life in a garish pink wash. I don't want my cancer celebrated. It was no party, and I'd just as soon let it lie.

I'm not comfortable with the terms that commonly define someone with a history of cancer. The word survivor--meaning one who remains alive or in existence--conjures up images of a beleaguered warrior, one who has battled and, though damaged, somehow survived. Not the description for me, thanks. Victim--one harmed by or made to suffer from an act, circumstance or condition--is also problematic. I'm not dinged, damaged or in any way made less by my experience. What is the appropriate phrase, then? I like cancer ass-kicker, but even that dredges up battle imagery.

I did my time with cancer four-and-a-half years ago after delivering my fourth baby. It was a fiercely emotional period in my life, no doubt about it, but beating cancer was surprisingly nonaggressive. I had surgery and stayed in bed awhile. I sat in a Barcalounger in the oncology office while IV needles quietly dripped. I lay still on a radiation bed. The experience was truly unpleasant, but it wasn't exactly what I'd call a "battle" or "struggle." I continued raising kids and working while caring for my marriage and my ailing father.

The problem with cancer fill-in-the-blank labels is that they imply membership in the breast-cancer culture. It's like a huge sorority that subjects you to brutal hazing but has lots of great perks once you're in: support groups, survivors' luncheons, media events, clubs, walks, books, magazines, online chat rooms and truly fabulous accessories.

Am I ungrateful for all the fundraising? God, no! I'm alive today and enjoying a longer life thanks to those dollars. Perhaps I'm just a little frustrated because my real-life sorority hasn't fared so well: Four of the five sisters in my family have had breast cancer. One died and left a young daughter behind, and the one who hasn't had cancer had her breasts removed to ensure she never would.

It takes a while after walking the cancer walk to quit making it the biggest part of your life. But moving on is what it's all about. While breast cancer deeply affected me, it didn't fundamentally change who I am, who I hang out with or how I spend my time. Today I feel lucky to be alive--but luckier still that my life isn't all about cancer.

Jeanne Faulkner writes, and looks for a decent shade of pink, in Portland, Ore.