They come to me daily — our mothers, wives, sisters, daughters, grandmothers and aunts. These women share their stories and their journey with us. And we offer a pink ribbon.
I am the fixer; they are the heroes. There is nothing “pink” about their journey. Much of it is foreign territory that requires that they bite their bottom lip and weather the storm. No pink ribbons, pink teddy bears or pink cocktails. This is not a chic or glamorous journey.
These are women who learn quickly how to buck up and deal with surgery and chemotherapy and make tough decisions. Recently, I was watching major-league sports on TV, and amid the pink shoes, pink footballs and pink socks, I was reminded of what every woman who crosses paths with breast cancer is aware of: This battle is not partial to October. It spares no month.
We need fewer pink ribbons and more green money trees to defeat the monster once and for all. Awareness is a 365-days-per-year job. Paint it whatever color you like.
Robert P. DerHagopian, M.D., Miami