The Adventures of Cancer Bitch

FEBRUARY 26. THE BAD GIRLS OF CANCER

37 a pack only every so often. I said to the girl at the counter, I’m having surgery and expect a lot of people to come over, can I buy two packs? She said, We only sell one at a time. I said, I know, that’s why I told you. She said, You have to ask her—indicating a woman standing next to her, dealing with another constituent. She said it as if she were saying, You have to jump through a hoop of fire while juggling and turning three flips while whistling show tunes, recent Tony winners only. I then laid my card on the table: I have cancer. She remained impassive. The other woman remained busy with someone else. My customer service gal relented; she said I could come back next week. Implying that she would pretend she didn’t recognize me and I would be allowed to buy another stack even though I was supposed to wait a week or two between purchases. I have a friend who says he’s tried to use the hiv-positive card before. It doesn’t work that well, either. * So it wasn’t really an alderman, but his minion. FEBRUARY 26. THE BAD GIRLS OF CANCER Tonight was my last yoga class with two real breasts. I thought about it as we lay face down on the floor to do our leg stretches. We did a lot of back arches, too, and I wondered when I would be able to do them again. I was excited that my Bad Girls of Breast Cancer T-shirt came in the mail today so I could wear it to yoga. The front has a big black X on it over my left breast, so I thought that was especially appropriate. I ordered it from Breast Cancer Action, and I like their attitude. My politics are aligned with theirs, as far as I can tell; they criticize the mainstream Pink Ribbon people for being so corporate-sponsored, and they want to get at the environmental causes of cancer. I don’t know if their method of going city by city to ban certain chemicals is the best way to go. I don’t honestly know the best way to go. They’re based in San Francisco, and are apparently a force there. You don’t have to go far to find criticism of the Pink Ribbon people. Our Bodies, Our Blog noted on February 1 that the Susan G. Komen [foundation] for the Cure, which is named for the founder’s 38 late sister, spent $1 million for advertising. That paid for billboards with photos of T-shirts worn by women’s torsos (no heads). The Tshirts say: When we get our hands on breast cancer, we’re going to punch it, strangle it, kick it, spit on it, choke it and pummel it until it’s good and dead. And, If you’re going to stare at my breasts you could at least donate a dollar to save them. I agree that this new campaign or “branding” sexualizes breast cancer. But you can’t blame Komen for making the breast sexual. Linc says the ads are aimed at funders, which is true. Barbara Ehrenreich covered this ground in “Welcome to Cancerland”: Breast cancer would hardly be the darling of corporate America if its complexion changed from pink to green. It is the very blandness of breast cancer, at least in mainstream perceptions, that makes it an attractive object of corporate charity and a way for companies to brand themselves friends of the middle-aged female market. The I Blame the Patriarchy blogger is blunter: Komen, it can’t have escaped your eagle eye, is the author of those asinine, pink-visored “Race For The Cures,” as well as that most pernicious arm of the megatheocorporatocracy responsible for turning breast cancer—which used to be a vile disease that kills people but is now a sweet little personal struggle that gives middle aged white women the golden opportunity to grow—into branded “awareness.” I usually oppose the Establishment on principle, whether it’s supporting pink ribbons, high heels, or war. I like being angry at the Pink Ribbon people, but wonder if my anger is misdirected. I remember how angry I was at the inept Radiation Fellow who called me to say that the biopsy was “positive,” never daring to utter the word “cancer.” I was irate, and at the same time...