I own a few pairs of pink boxing gloves. Almost a decade ago when my life as a "gym rat" began I fell in love with boxing. After my first boxing class or two I had decided it was time for me to purchase my own gloves. At the sporting goods store I obviously went straight to the pink ones. God they are cute. In addition to being the right weight they were most certainly the perfect color. Those gloves presented me with so many opportunities for putting together coordinated workout ensembles.
In addition, just like a fresh pair of kicks make you feel like you could run a marathon, those gloves made me feel like Cassius Clay in boxing class. (Yeah, I'm old school!) Of course, they garnered attention. Everyone loved them and most women wanted a pair for themselves. Jab, cross, hook, upper cut, bobbing and weaving. Damn, that was fun :)
Over time, when the first pair of pink gloves had seen better days, I went out and purchased a second pair, punched the crap out of those and went on to purchase another. Always pink, always cute, always making me feel strong and powerful.
You would think I'd have known that the gloves were constructed of pink leather for a reason other than because of their appealing color. You would think I'd been hanging around this earth long enough to recognize that the pink gloves were designed as a symbol raising awareness for breast cancer.
Apparently, I had been living in my own little protective bubble. Yes, of course I was aware of breast cancer. You can't live in America and not be "aware." I got my mammograms, did my self exams, donated money, participated in the Race for a Cure, and supported my sister Kathy who, for years, had donated her valuable time and amazing talents as a makeup artist to the Susan G. Komen Foundation. And despite the fact that I had known people with breast cancer and that I did what I was told I should do to keep this disease at bay, pink, to me, was just a pretty color. Then in April 2011 I found my unusual and unwanted armpit dweller.
October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month, but I was made well-AWARE on May 12, 2011. I feel guilty that I had been swimming through the beautiful sea of life without an appropriate level of sensitivity to the many women and men who have suffered and who have died of this disease, and to the family members who have suffered along with them and who will forever grieve.
Every Saturday morning at 7AM, for years and years, I would wrap my hands and pull on those pink gloves and punch away. I had no clue whatsoever that those gloves would become a symbol for what the rest of my life would be like. A fight in pink.
I have been through a lot since May of 2011. On both a physical and psychological level I've gotten pretty beaten up. Surgery, treatment, infusion and more. The chemo was the worst. The first long hour put me in somewhat of a coma. Chuck and Rosalie can attest to the fact that I'm a bit of a melancholy drunk by the time the last drip is pumped into my port. I am dizzy and can't think straight. Sleep doesn’t come. I feel as though I'm being submerged in a pool of thick pink sludge. I've tried watching TV and leafing through magazines and I just can't focus. Rosalie tries so hard to make it okay. She shops online and shows me the stuff, trying to get me excited about a purchase, but it brings no relief.
She offers me ice pops, blankets, breadsticks, encouraging words. She gives of herself completely and tearfully tells me that she would trade places with me if she could and I know she means it. She covers me with love and concern and compassion and still, I feel like total crap. And this is all before the actual Bad Booby Bomb is hooked up and pumped in over a three plus hour period. Those hours are tedious, painful, and mind-numbing. And the actual infusion is only the beginning of the difficult days that follow.
How in the hell could I have lived my whole life with so much insensitivity!? Perhaps that's the wrong word. Obviously, I had compassion for people with cancer. Obviously, I knew that it was a horrible disease. But how dare I wear those gloves thinking they were produced because they were a pretty color. Ignorance is bliss I suppose.
I know that with the completion of chemotherapy I will have reached a significant milestone in my treatment plan, however, I am not feeling the relief that I thought I would feel as I head towards the finish line. Is it because I know there is so much more to come? Another surgery is scheduled, a tedious and rigorous radiation schedule, and a couple more surgeries after that. And then hormone therapy in the form of a pill. A drug like Tamoxifen taken daily for 5-10 years. Ok, I think I know where my lack of relief stems from. It's the 5-10 years of hormonal therapy. Yes, I am grateful that I have an ER/PR positive cancer and that there are pharmaceuticals that act as an insurance policy of sorts. The Tamoxifen will prevent the flow of estrogen which will hopefully prevent more cancer. Key word, "hopefully". I still have a right breast, bones, a liver, lungs, and oh yeah, I almost forgot, a brain. All are there as patient and willing hosts for cancer cells.
So, I will endure the wrath of hormone therapy, which I hear can be pretty damn awful, and I will pray every single day that it is working. The only diagnostic testing I will receive once the hormone treatment begins is a yearly mammogram of my right breast and basic blood work. No bone scans, no PET or CT scans. I will live my life assuming the cancer is suppressed unless my body tells me otherwise. A survivor friend told me that I will without a doubt wake up one day and NOT have cancer be the first thing that enters my mind. I want to believe her but when I take that pill each and every day when I wake, how will I not hope, pray, and wonder what, if anything, is brewing in my body?
It's October and you can't turn on the TV, cruise the web, open a newspaper or magazine without reading stories about breast cancer. Right now, the stories that stick with me and re-run over and over in my mind are the stories about the women who were through with their treatment and feeling well until the cancer returned, either in the once healthy breast as a brand new primary breast cancer, or in a more remote part of the body. Did you know that my chemotherapy drugs do not prevent cancer cells from crossing the blood brain barrier? I did. How will I ever let that thought go? My Fantastic Doctor Fox tells me this will be my biggest challenge. Keeping my head free and clear of these negative thoughts will be how my personal fight will continue well beyond the debilitating side effects of the BB Bomb.
My pink boxing gloves are resting on a shelf in my bedroom closet. I see them every day and think about the strength and power I possessed when I wore them in class. I cannot help but wonder, as I sit here today with saggy muscles and a back that is severely weakened by the Taxol, if I will ever don those pink gloves again and pack a mighty punch. All those years in the gym, training my body. I never knew that I was actually training for the fight of my life. The fight FOR my life.
Early on in my treatment I said I would never become one of those "pink ribbon people". That I would never define myself by my disease and this remains true. But I will forever be a fighter. I now understand WHY my gloves were pink, but man how I wish I could go back to a time when, to me, pink was just a color.
Paula Flory is the Founder and Executive Director of Move Over Breast Cancer. Diagnosed with Stage III locally advanced breast cancer and a Master of Arts degree in Counseling Psychology from New York University, Paula created an organization to assist women through cancer trauma.
Voted Breast Cancer Community Leader of the Year by Breast Cancer Wellness Magazine in 2019 and launching a mobile breast cancer support vehicle with one-of-a-kind care, comfort, and glam to your doorstep!