Prevention IS the cure. Today, I will be visiting a local Panera Bread cafe where they will be kicking off their "pink bagel" campaign on Long Island. I am proud to say that Long Island has been at the forefront for many, many years in asking the right question. WHY? That is where we need to focus. When we can answer that question, we will be able to fix those who are waiting for the research to catch up to them. And, we will be able to prevent this in future generations.
That little blurb was part of my entry on Friday. Apparently, I have a crystal ball somewhere, or maybe it's a magic 8 ball, or more than likely, I am simply a ball of confusion. The truth is that I began to juggle a few balls to determine where my passion lies. In my exploration, I became just plain ballsy.
Ballsy DEMANDS The Cure ™
(I just decided I am entitled to TM my own words. Anyone reading this blog is on notice. Don’t try to claim you are ballsy or that you are demanding a cure. And, while I’m at it, I own the shade of red that adorns my blog page. Consider yourselves warned.)
And again, where was I?? Oh yes, I crashed aforementioned party at a Panera Bread Café where I knew there would be radio exposure. Since I was not an invitee on behalf of Army of Women, I grabbed my very comfy pink baseball shirt. It’s humorous and since I was going to a “Pink Event,” it was pretty much a guarantee someone would ask me a question. Aha! And now I have my opening. Pretty ingenious, don’t ya think?
"Fight For Second Base" in case you need to know.....
I wasn’t even close to the front door when the young men at the radio table asked if they could give me a T-shirt and take that photo. Once inside, I milled around and did meet a number of people. Chatted a bit, pitched AOW, Panera had a photographer who insisted upon taking my picture and timing, once again, is everything.
She was stopping at another location. The location happened to be on my way home and it also happens to be in the town where my family lived for 16 years before my mom was diagnosed with her first breast cancer. Still sporting my baseball billboard T, I crashed the next party. I arrived before the ladies who would be staffing the event.
This time when the staffers arrived, I was shameless. Bold, brazen and ballsy, I readily admitted I was a party crasher. I don’t think we were even seated before I made an instant connection with one of the women. She was diagnosed in 1987. Same year as my mom.
We talked about how little has changed. I expressed my distress at those living with metastatic disease and how they ARE tangled and forgotten within the pink ribbons. We talked previvors and how THAT word must become obsolete and that can only happen when breast cancer is eradicated.
Her group was attending a fall festival being held this past weekend. They had a table and tables at this event are not free. A man whose wife died of breast cancer paid for the table and gave it to the group. His only request? Keep a donation jar for a scholarship fund established in his wife’s memory on the table.
“You will be joining me at the festival tomorrow. Bring a million cards.” And that is how I came to have my very first event as the NY Troop Organizer for the Army of Women.
What blew me away? Before I got a chance to explain that the main objective of the Army is Prevention or to opine that we must answer the “Why?” in order to change the status quo, she was showing me the contents of an impressive folder. She slid her fingers underneath the words on the front.
Like I said, apparently I have a crystal ball. Or it’s that Magic 8 Ball. When I flipped it, the message said: You are on a deadline, GET MOVING.