A Month Without Pink, Almost

October went by in a blink of the eye, no pink. Well, almost no pink. I did pause at Kroger one afternoon to covet a dozen small pink roses, only 10 dollars, and imagined arranging them into two vases, one for me and one for a friend who is a breast cancer twin.

I even held the roses in my hands heartfully, just for a moment. They had come all the way from South America to my Appalachian town, perhaps not the best use of jet fuel, yet still so pretty. Perhaps not the best use of $10, either. I could spend that money on two cartons of power greens instead. Survivors need power greens more than roses.

I thus bought two cartons of power greens instead of a dozen pink roses, roses so beautiful that I almost went back and put them in my basket. Would it hurt to spend a little money to mark Pinktober? Would it hurt to share a little pink love with a dear friend? I had pretty much been ignoring Breast Cancer Awareness Month, which this year coincided with worries over cleaning up my yard, downed trees and roof after Hurricane Helene.

Instead, apologizing for ignoring October, I sent my dear friend a “gift” article from the Washington Post. “This is such an uplifting story,” I told her. “She threw a ’70s-themed ‘cancerversary’ to dance in death’s face,” by Amber Ferguson and Drea Cornejo, is indeed a heartwarming story about the magnificent spirit of Deltra James, a woman who lives with metastatic breast cancer.

I also wanted to send everybody I know another story I read in the New York Times, a reprint of a classic column by Marjorie Williams, “The Halloween of My Dreams.” About a tender moment with her daughter and her last Halloween before dying of liver cancer, this essay is so poignant that it makes me cry. Not everybody has my interest in cancer heroes though.

Another thing I did in October was collect coats to donate to local flood victims. One was in fact a bright pink. I bought because it was the sale color and not because I am a survivor of breast cancer (survivors can be frugal, saving not just for a rainy day or pink roses but for more treatment down the line). I like to imagine that a breast cancer survivor picked this coat.

I do love pink. But October? It is a hard month, and all the pink reminds me of that. It is not only the month I learned the full extent of my cancer after a mastectomy but also the month my mother was diagnosed with her first (not last) breast cancer. For decades, I have tended to relive the shock of my mother’s diagnosis. This year, I did not dwell on it. Nor did I let my mind linger too long on another October, a brother was diagnosed with a terminal lymphoma.

Being preoccupied with cleaning up the yard and arranging for people to help me with trees, etc., helped. Pinktober was going to whiz right by until I saw those pink roses in Kroger beckoning me. They say flowers are nature laughing or something like that. Roses, more like a lucid dream, are beguiling. Maybe somebody else bought that bouquet to mark a cancerversary or Pinktober?

I thought I was past fretting about the past. Was I? As I was driving to Kroger, the phone rang, the cancer center calling to change the upcoming date for my annual follow-up bloodwork. I recited the date aloud to try to remember it as I could not write while driving. Thinking about the cancer checkup (what these lab results can reveal, what the annual mammogram can reveal), I walked into Kroger. It is no wonder the first thing to catch my attention was a bouquet of pink roses that helped me to calm my mind.

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