Dear Editor:
October has always been one of my favorite times of the year. Football season is in full swing, the air starts to cool, and the colors of fall put on their best show. And one of those colors, of course, is pink.
Pink ribbons, pink socks on football players, pink drinks at the grocery stores, all reminders of breast cancer awareness. But for most of my life, it was just background noise. Pretty, well-meaning, but not personal. That all changed in December 2022.
My son now calls that time “B.C.” Before Cancer.
That year was already jam-packed. My husband, Nick, was running for mayor, and our calendar overflowed with events and meet-and-greets. I told myself I was just exhausted from the pace. But this tired felt different. I needed rest just to function. Then I found a lump in my armpit. I brushed it off as irritation from deodorant or a swollen follicle. No big deal. I’d deal with it later.
After the election Nick won (so proud!) we took a camping trip to decompress. And there, in that tiny camper shower, I found another lump. This one in my breast. From that point on, life shifted in a way I can’t quite describe.
2023 became a blur of doctor visits, scans, bloodwork, and treatments. Six months of chemo. A bilateral mastectomy. Thirty-three rounds of radiation. A year of immunotherapy. Somehow, I made it through. Not because I’m superhuman, but because I had to. Three kids and a husband were counting on me. And by the grace of God, I came out the other side.
Now, when I see pink in October, it hits different. It’s no longer a symbol floating in the distance, it’s a reminder of everything I lived through and everything I almost missed.
Because the truth is, I ignored the signs.
I told myself moms get tired. That I was too young. That cancer doesn’t hurt. That I had no family history. All those little excuses stacked up until the diagnosis read stage 3.
If I could go back, I’d tell that version of me, and every woman reading this, to slow down and listen to your body. You are not too busy to take care of yourself. You are not too young. And pain doesn’t always mean “just an infection.”
Breast cancer doesn’t care about your calendar or your age. One in eight women will be diagnosed in their lifetime. Early detection saves lives, and self-checks matter. I can’t say it enough: know your body. Check every single month.
I keep a pink ribbon and pumpkin on my desk now, not as decoration, but as a quiet reminder to speak up. To tell young women it can happen to them. To remind others that awareness can’t stop at pink t-shirts. We need access. To screenings, to mammograms before 40, to research and support for those who can’t afford it.
October is beautiful, yes. But breast cancer awareness goes beyond pink. It’s the stories shared, the reminders spoken, the lives saved because someone finally paused long enough to check.
– Cayla Cox