I sat in the waiting room, adjusting my purple dress with my withered hands. My frail body was, but a skeleton beneath the purple cloth. Men and women, like me, limped in and out of the office. They were wearing purple too. Nobody noticed them; purple is a ghost color compared to pink. A woman wearing pink walked into the office, things were dropped and the world was suddenly at their feet. The woman in pink has something I lack: breasts.

I used to get mad, angry, to the point of almost wearing pink during my next appointment. Then, I realized that it is not her fault people swoon. We live in a breast obsessed culture, so is the woman to blame? Or, is it us? Every time we purchase an “I love boobies,” bracelet, give money to the Susan G. Komen organization, or participate blindly in some walk in a “fight” for breast cancer. We encourage the obsession whenever we do these things. It is no longer about fighting for pink; it is about the status symbol wearing pink gets you. It is no body's fault and every body's fault. We cannot escape it; our obsession is rooted deep within us.  

She wears her sickness on the front of her chest, while mine is buried within me. When you look at me, you cannot see my double d; my double d is in my pancreas. I’ve never seen a bracelet that says, “I love pancreas.” Sure, there are organizations and walks, but they’re not publicized. I don’t see purple ribbons being sold in an effort to fight for me. But, like I said; we live in a breast obsessed culture.

My intention isn’t to downplay the seriousness of her breasts, she is still ill. But, so am I. Every week, I sit in this same seat and ponder these thoughts. The oncologist looks around the room and calls the women in pink to come first. When there are only people in purple left, he begins to call on us. As I take those dreaded steps forward, I’m reminded of something I always forget; the women in pink suffer as well. I’m reminded through the simple sight of the big breasted woman bent over a toilet.

Although we are fighting against a similar enemy, we are not entirely relateable. After five years of being worn, 81% of pink cloth is kept, while only 7% of purple cloth is kept. That is the difference.

Nobody takes these numbers into consideration while purchasing their next “volley for the cure” match ticket. Of course, “volley for the cure” is a pink fundraiser. Nobody questions it; they just receive their status symbol as “god like” for contributing to such a great cause. Don’t you think God would think about where he is putting his money? Do all of our efforts need to be pink? Is pink the most worthwhile cause?  

Susan G. Komen just cut their funding towards Planned Parenthood. Their only reason for doing so was political gain. Of course, they made up some bullshit excuse to cover it all up. Before you donate a bunch of money under the assumption that you’re helping millions of people, consider where your money would make more of a difference.

I’m not a saint. Before I was dressed in purple I thought the same way you did; I was breast obsessed. But, if you, for a second, put on some purple jeans you’ll see that there is more than what most people consider a big deal. There is always something more important out there; some different color that needs more help surviving than pink or purple.

So, if we all take our focus off of breasts, then our eyes will be opened to bigger issues we are facing. Maybe if we are able to redirect our attention to the pancreas, or lungs for instance, then we will be able to stop it, no matter what color it is.