But Pink-tober is getting a bit overplayed. I invite you to jump on the next cancer cause bandwagon. Like breast cancer, it’s lethal. And it’s hot.
Let’s make November Ass Cancer Awareness Month.
Colorectal cancer is the third leading cause of cancer death in men and women in the United States. In contrast, breast cancer death rates are actually decreasing. Let’s do the American thing and go with a sympathetic underdog.
I think this might sell some yogurt. Or fried chicken. Or whatever.
Okay, so we don’t get to have titillating t-shirts about self-exams. No “feel your boobies.” Unfortunately, colonoscopies are not as “fun” as self-exams. They involve laxatives and scopes. But we can still come up with something catchy.
The ass you save may be your own.
And we can have provocative images of men and women with this cute slogan. This gives the campaign much wider appeal than the sisters-only breast cancer awareness campaign.
An ass is a terrible thing to waste.
(Wait. That one may have been used already.)
There are natural product alliances (toilet paper, Fruit of the Loom) and obvious potential celebrity endorsers (J.Lo, Isaiah Mustafa).
We just need to come up with a symbol à la pink ribbon. I think the whole ribbon thing is in overkill too. Nobody can keep track of purple, yellow, teal, gray.
How about a butterfly?
I see the potential for a real solidarity campaign.
Also known as FREE ADVERTISING!!
Next memo: My ideas for the penile cancer awareness campaign.
This past week on my facebook page, we have been collecting all the craptacular pink stuff that floods the store shelves in honor of October, also known as Breast Cancer Awareness month.
Apparently this is breast cancer “season.” And it’s time to party.
Part of the idea of this game is to point out the bizarre inequity of corporate sponsorship of cancer research. People love breasts so companies are comfortable with the cute pink ribbons and their mammaric associations. There is no parity for other body parts that get cancers that are often more lethal, like anal, colon, or pancreatic.
This comment from Denise McConachie sums up the consequences of this inequity beautifully:
Ah yes. Breast Cancer – The Golden Child of the Cancer Family. Her little brother, Colon Cancer, sits back in the shadows, pouting a little, while big sis hogs all the media time and has all the fun parties.
I’ve had both. It’s amazing the difference in the packages of information I got from each surgeon. The breast cancer folder came complete with calendars, notepads, excercises and even a best selling book about breast cancer treatment my surgeon co-wrote.
With the colon cancer… I got a hand drawn diagram of the section they were taking out.
I just had my 4 month follow up with my surgeon. At my last oncology appointment, my doctor told me that she would recommend at least a year if not longer before I get reconstruction. Like a devious child, I had wanted to play one doctor against the other, hoping that my surgeon would wave his hand and say, “No need to wait that long! You can get ’em sooner that that!”
No such luck.
He says that I will only be 80% healed a year after surgery. The radiation sets me back about another 6 months, so he recommends I wait at least 18 months.
Eighteen months with no boobs? How am I ever supposed to feel normal in that time? Every time I undress, I am confused all over again at the appearance of my body. I don’t let my children see me naked. I don’t want to swim because I either have to flaunt my concavities or deal with re-stuffing my prostheses. Not to mention the ordeal of the locker room change.
My son calls my fakies my “inconvenient breasts.”
I have no idea where he came up with that name, but it’s spot on.
Well, if I am going to have to live with these for the next year and a half, I might as well get used to them.
10 Good Things About My Inconvenient Breasts
1. No more tedious breast self exams.
2. Jogging bra angst — gone!
3. These forms are hecka easy to fill out. Just draw two giant X’s.
4. More eye contact from men.
5. People can play with my boobies while I rest peacefully in the other room.
6. No PMS soreness.
7. Can keep my shirt on AND flash. Think of the potential for beads at Mardi Gras.
8. No risk of wardrobe malfunction in the freezer section of the grocery store.
There is a lot of talk when you are in treatment or recovery about adjusting to a “new normal.”
I have decided that my new normal necessarily needs to involve a little bit of abnormal. By which I mean silliness. Frivolity.
One of my dear Twitter friends, Melissa, is a kooky, brilliant sociologist and improv actor. She keeps me engaged by thinking deeply about illness. She also knows when to make me laugh hysterically at the absurdity of it all.
Melissa has brought to my life a new adventure: the video comedy challenge. We come up with a concept (say, brushing teeth) and we have to make videos of ourselves doing these things and then post them on YouTube. Oh, and they are supposed to be funny.
Here’s the latest comedy challenge:
Yeah. I think I’ve left normal in the dust long ago.