Warrior in Breat Cancer Survicors

Warrior in Breat Cancer Survicors

I am not a warrior.
I am a journalist—my profession.
I am a wife—my status.
I am a mother—my devotion.
I am not a warrior.

However, as a breast cancer patient I am deemed to be a warrior in an army made up
entirely of conscripts. I have been pressed into battle, part of the “war against cancer.” We
patients are the frontline infantry in this fight. We (breast cancer patients) have benefited
enormously from the extraordinary effort made by millions to put breast cancer on the
map. Our insignia is the pink ribbon, and we must wear it proudly. The language evoked is
inevitably military. I will battle this disease. I will defeat it. I will kick the enemy’s ass. But
even conscripts in a regular army get some training. We, on the other hand, start our fight
the second we are diagnosed. No training sessions, no time for mental preparation. I am a
warrior now, a reluctant one, but desertion is not an option. I am now engaged in a war.

Who is going to help me with the battle plan? How will I strategize my victory? Who is
going to finance this war? Who is going to be my logistics team? I must gird myself for the
fight.

But I am not a woman warrior. I am just a woman, a woman who has been diagnosed
with a horrible disease; a woman who has gone through brutal surgery; a woman who has
had her body poisoned to “kill” the disease. Can I just be a woman who is going through
that? Can I not be a woman warrior? Please?