My husband is a Viet Nam combat veteran. Most combat veterans of any war react, not respond, to noises that sound like gun fire. I remember one year we were camping at a Renaissance Faire and someone set off firecrackers in the middle of the night. He shot up and out of the tent in seconds. It took quite a while for him to calm down and get back to sleep. He was not the only one. The many evils of war caused PTSD, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder.

Fourteen years ago, on September 23, 2005, I received the call that I had breast cancer. Shortly after that I made visits to all of the doctors that were going to treat me during this time. Then October 1st rolled around and the great pink celebration began. All of the extra gifts with the pink ribbon along with the celebrity that comes with being a breast cancer patient were comforting to this newly inducted cancer victim. As the doctors explained in great detail what they were going to do to me I was petrified and stoic. On October 13, 2005 treatment started. They cut me, poisoned me, and radiated me. Cancer treatment is all it is cracked up to be and more. Many do not talk about it. Many do not survive it.

Even in 2005, the technology was life saving. I had been having regular mammograms since I was 35. I was 46 years old when I was diagnosed and treated. It was not a fun year. But I survived and quite graciously I might add. Unlike many who did not have regular mammograms or do monthly self-checks, I was stage 1. The cancer had not invaded the rest of my body and made me sick in ways I could not imagine. I was pretty healthy and strong at the time. Treatments, while petrifying, did not bring all of the expected side effect such as being so sick I could not move six inches from the toilet or so weak I could not get out of bed. Granted, they were not a walk in the park either but relatively speaking, it was all said and done in six months. Life returned to normal, I think.

No one told me one of the major side effects of having cancer would be PTSD, just like combat veterans. Fourteen years later I realize that I suffered a trauma that was life altering in ways I never knew and am still discovering. And every October, as the great pink celebration begins, I return to that trauma whether I like it or not. And like many combat veterans, I also have to deal with survivor guilt.

I am truly grateful for all of the awareness that comes with this celebration every year. And as I do often, I want to remind you that buying that pink ribbon coffee mug with the promise of profits donated may not really help rid this world of cancer. The small change that might be donated to research from the profits pales in comparison to the whole amount you could have sent. That coffee mug you bought and use daily at work, may remind your coworker daily of the horrors she lived through.

I encourage you to take the dollars you might have spent buying something with a pink ribbon and donate them to local charities and organizations. Those that focus on education and prevention all year long for all medical and mental health issues. Find the organizations that go beyond the diagnosis and disease treatment and remember the rest of the person.