SwimType

(a note of encouragement to my sister Beth)

Gawd just look at this hideous picture. Those pink ribbons still give me a little PTSD. And this one was generated by Ai, a new feature in WordPress apparently (I obviously haven’t blogged in awhile). It’s just floating mid-air, like a creepy pink-leather ghost. Gross.

For all the research money this pink ribbon represents, I should be more grateful, right? I’ve heard breast cancer is the most highly funded disease out there, which if true, proves how many people have been steamrolled by it.

My sister Beth was diagnosed back in August. They found hers early (get your mammograms, please!), but it is the triple-negative type, which means she’s staring down tough chemo, then surgery, with a dollop of radiation at the end, the full meal deal.

It seems unfair, since my cancer type was DCIS, a large tumor but fully contained. After a right mastectomy I was cancer-free. There was nothing left to radiate, and the side effects of the chemoprevention drug tamoxifen weren’t worth the few percentage drops for reoccurence. I was so very very lucky.

It seems unfair. We’re sisters after all.

But if I think about our different cancer types in a groovy, unexplainable-universe kind of way, it makes sense. Growing up, Beth always chose the scary stuff: the zipper ride at the fair, Candie’s ankle-twister clogs in 7th grade, boyfriends in her 20s with fast motorcycles she’d desperately cling to as they sped away from some late-night Seattle club scene.

She was always the more daring one. The risk taker, making the maybe-not-smart-but-more-fun choices.

A cutesy pink ribbon just doesn’t cut it for her.

If Ai could create a symbol for her fight, it should be grounded in her love for fantasy fiction–Terry Brooks, The NeverEnding Story, The Lord of the Rings. It should be some gorgeous mortal-turned-fearless goddess, with an enemy’s blood on her hands, and a huge gem-gilded sword brandished over her flawless Farrah Fawcett hair (an unachievable teenage goal for us both).

Of course she’d be astride the fiercest fire-breathing dragon ever imaged. The dragon’s name? Ducati. And yes, she’d be well-heeled in stiletto thigh-high leather boots every drag queen would kill for.

I know her battle will cost her. Breast cancer is a thief and a terrorist, both physically and emotionally. But every heroine pays a price to be changed. I know she will rail, she will weaken, she will find help in unlikely places, and she will continue through whatever bullshit this disease throws her way.

Brave Beth, I’ve always been the faithful Sam to your Frodo. For the record, carrying around that ring was a horrible idea. But I’m right here with you. Keep going.

–TJ Wiley Forsyth

(October is Breast Cancer Awareness month. Please be vigilant with your boobs if you’ve got ’em. And if you’re fighting, this survivor sends you courage, strength, and love. Fight on. And kick some ass.)