Karen Loftis Rankowitz

Of all the months in the year October bombards us with everything pink. We see pink ribbons on shirts, hats, and shoes; there are posters, billboards, pink bras, and boxing gloves telling us to ‘fight like a girl’. It can be overwhelming. Maybe some are tired of seeing and hearing about it. I was tired too. Tired of my breasts being poked, pushed, and squished. They were scrutinized then analyzed, and, YES, they were victimized…by cancer. To add to the list, not only did I have my general practitioner and gynecologist; I now had a radiologist and an oncologist. When visiting my dentist, I immediately began to slip my arms through their sleeves and I looked around for the gown – ‘with the opening in the front, please.’ My breasts were no longer private and I began to think of them as extra elbows, or knees, body parts that I didn’t mind showing to everyone in the eastern half of Connecticut, which made me thankful that I didn’t live in a big state, like Texas or Alaska. And then it

While I love to weave humor into my writing, what you will read is serious and on an extremely personal level. Way back, when I was about to turn 40, I asked for a hysterectomy for my birthday. What I got instead was a mammogram. And every year after, on my birthday, I got another. In December of 2008 I was diagnosed with Breast Cancer. I had a lump in my left breast. This lump had been there for a while; my doctor informed me it was a fibro adenoma. Basically, a mass that is benign (non-cancerous). He left the option of having it removed to me. While it was not bothersome when I first discover it, after some time I noticed it was becoming tender and decided to have it removed. Behind this non-cancerous lump was a tumor… and it was cancer. October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month but so many of us are aware of this disease every month and literally every day. Maybe that’s because we know someone who had or has cancer. Let me put this in a different perspective. Do you know ei