So many people have sent me links to Jamie Moore’s work. Moore is a photographer and mom to a 5-year-old girl, Emma. In response to the cultural omnivorousness of Disney Princess, she she began to think about:
…all the REAL women for my daughter to know about and look up too, REAL women who without ever meeting Emma have changed her life for the better. My daughter wasn’t born into royalty, but she was born into a country where she can now vote, become a doctor, a pilot, an astronaut, or even President if she wants and that’s what REALLY matters. I wanted her to know the value of these amazing women who had gone against everything so she can now have everything.
Gosh, that is so beautifully written, isn’t it? Anyway, she and Emma chose five of those women for Emma to dress up as to honor for her fifth birthday.
…but there are thousands of unbelievable women (and girls) who have beat the odds and fought (and still fight) for their equal rights all over the world……..so let’s set aside the Barbie Dolls and the Disney Princesses for just a moment, and let’s show our girls the REAL women they can be.
You have got to see the results. GOT TO. This is exactly what I mean when I talk about “fighting fun with fun.” Everyone has their own limits, tolerance, acceptance for the Disney Princesses and all that comes after, but wherever you stand on that spectrum, it’s important to give your daughter a broader view (no intended, sort of) of what it means to be a girl and a woman. So thank you SO MUCH for giving me something beautiful I can share with my daughter, Ms. Moore and Emma.
I hope you don’t mind if I reprint one of your photos here….And could you please, please keep going with this project? We need it!
I often wonder if the general reader knows about fact-checkers. A fact-checker at a magazine verifies every single fact that a writer includes in an article. Every. Single. One. So, say, when I turned in my recent article, “Our Feel-Good War On Breast Cancer” to The New York Times Magazine I had to provide an annotated copy of the piece along with acceptable documentation for everything I had written. In this case, that included multiple articles from peer reviewed publications such as The New England Journal of Medicine, The Journal of Clinical Oncology and the British Medical Journal, statistics from National Cancer Institute and its SEER database, things like that. Statistics quoted in other articles are unacceptable—even other fact-checked publications. If I see an interesting statistic in Time or on Reuters I have to track down the original source or it’s a no-go. Nor could I use a stat from a breast cancer advocacy group without tracing it to its source. I also had to supply the emails and phone numbers of every person I interviewed so they could be contacted to verify what they said to me.
As you can imagine, this is a laborious, grueling process. Some facts that would have made it into a blog post or a less stringent magazine did not stand up to the test of the Times. I lost some battles I felt I should have won. I got frustrated and snippy. But in the end, I know that what I wrote has integrity. It’s solid. It’s accurate. And I’m grateful for that. I’m not saying the New York Times Magazine (or the paper itself) never makes errors–it does, sometimes bigtime. But there is accountability. To my mind, that’s why journalism—real journalism—continues to be an important public service. Fact-checked media can still sometimes be wrong, misled, deceived. But it is accountable.
So when someone named Tara Meltzer called me “irresponsible” in The Huffington Post I took the slur seriously. And when she–and by extension HuffPo–makes statements with no attribution, research or fact-checking I have to respond: it is not only a matter of my reputation, but of public health. If Meltzer had attacked me on a personal blog, I’d let it go—that’s her dinner party. But this is HuffPo, a publication that itself has pretentions towards mainstream respectability and accountability. They can’t have that and be indifferent accuracy. So, here we go.
Meltzer starts her column out, after expressing her personal anger towards me, by saying:
A mammogram isn’t something you stare into space twirling your hair thinking about twice. If you don’t have a family history, get a baseline at 35 and annually once you hit 40. If you do have a family history, you probably have to start earlier.
Ms. Meltzer, what is the source for that medical advice? According to my reporting, the recommendations for a baseline screening under forty for women of average risk were dropped by the early 1990s. The National Cancer Institute, for instance, currently says:
studies to date have not shown a benefit from regular screening mammography in women under age 40 or from baseline screening mammograms (mammograms used for comparison) taken before age 40.
I discuss the potential benefits versus the harms of screening in your forties in my piece, so I won’t reiterate that here. But it might be useful to look at what Dr. Susan Love wrote back in 2009, in (waddaya know!) The Huffington Post about why in this country we still screen women annually in that demographic when so many other countries do not (I am quoting Love because she is a recognized expert in the field):
…in January, 1997, there was a large consensus conference sponsored by the National Cancer Institute to discuss this issue. Independent experts representing researchers, clinicians, statisticians, epidemiologists, and consumers testified and 12 independent experts reviewed the data. Their conclusion was ‘…that the data currently available do not warrant a universal recommendation for mammography for all women in their forties.’ They recommended that women decide with their doctors on the best approach to take.
You would have thought that this reasoned approach would settle the issue but immediately a storm of acrimonious protest broke out as well documented by Virginia Ernster in the American Journal of Public Health. Within days of the conference and heavy lobbying by various special interest groups, the Senate voted 98 to 0 to endorse a nonbinding resolution that the presidentially appointed National Cancer Advisory Board recommend mammography screening for women under 50. By March a press conference was held to announce the NCAB’s recommendation that the NCI advises women age 40-49 to have screening mammograms. So, the current recommendations, far from being scientifically based, were based on lobbying by interested parties seeking to support a public view which exceeded the science. [emphasis mine)
What bothers me the most about Orenstein's article is that most people aren't privileged enough to live in NYC and have access to the best care and the most progressive thinking. If you live outside NYC, Los Angeles or any other cosmopolitan area, chances are strong a woman won't be encouraged to get a mammogram until her 50th birthday
First of all, I don’t live in New York City. I live in the Bay Area, which is indeed a bastion of progressive thinking. And while progressive thinking is in no way limited to major metropolitan areas, it is true that those of us who live in big cities often have better access to care.
But I wouldn't define "progressive thinking" as Meltzer does. In fact, given the most current research, it would not involve a blanket recommendation of screening mammograms beginning at 40. Quite the opposite. Nor would doctors who know their stuff base advice on personal anecdote. A good physician will take your health into account, your history into account, your age into account and look at the research. He or she will thoroughly explain the risks and benefits of mammography and may well tell you that screening every other year in your 50s and 60s will not increase your chances of dying of breast cancer (for reasons you can read about in my story), but will reduce your chances of over-diagnosis and harm from mammography.
Among the folks I quoted whom Ms. Meltzer apparently felt were non-progressive and unenlightened were Barry Kramer of the National Cancer Institute; Laura Esserman, director of the Carol Franc Buck Breast Care Center at the University of California, San Francisco; Susan Love, president of the Dr. Susan Love Research Foundation and author of the magnificent Dr. Susan Love’s Breast Book; Steven Woloshin and Gilbert Welch, colleagues and professors of medicine at the Dartmouth Institute for Health Policy and Clinical Practice. I also cited a survey on screening conducted by the Cochrane Collaboration involving 600,000 women around the world. Meanwhile, I have received positive feedback about the article from, among others, Otis Brawley, of the American Cancer Society (which I criticized in the article, so I'm particularly impressed that he was so open-minded); Susan Desmond-Hellman, the chancellor of UCSF (and an oncologist herself); V. Craig Jordan the "father of Tamoxifen" and Harvey Mamon, Clinical Director of the Department of Radiology at Brigham Young Women's Hospital/Dana Farber Cancer Institute .
As far as I can see, Ms. Meltzer herself, a TV producer, consulted no authority but her own as a patient.
That's where things get tricky. Ms. Meltzer writes:
Under those guidelines [i.e., mammograms every other year between 50 and 74 as recommended by the federal independent task force], I wouldn’t have made it to that first appointment. I guess Ms. Orenstein would say I might of, and I should have, taken a gamble. After all, I had the good kind of cancer: Stage 1 DCIS (Ductal Carcinoma In Situ); or in layman’s terms, the one that grows slowly.
I am very, very sorry Ms. Meltzer has had to go through any form of cancer diagnosis and treatment. I know, in the deepest possible way, what it means to have the rug of your life pulled out from under you. You never trust the ground you’re standing on again. Having had invasive breast cancer and then a recurrence I respect the fear women have of the disease. Whenever I develop a lingering cough out of nowhere I am afraid. Whenever I get a back-ache that doesn’t go away I am afraid. Because of my diagnoses my daughter and my mother are now considered high-risk (I have no sisters). Because of my extreme youth the first time around, my nieces, cousins and aunt are also on alert. So, a breast cancer diagnosis affects not only a woman herself, but generations of female relatives as well as all those (male and female) who love her.
That said, Ms. Meltzer does not seem to understand that there are many different kinds of breast cancer. Not only, as I explained in my piece, are there at least four kinds of invasive cancer, but there is an important distinction between various forms of DCIS, for which she was treated, and invasive disease. Ms. Meltzer writes that she was diagnosed with:
…the good kind of cancer: Stage 1 DCIS (Ductal Carcinoma In Situ); or in layman’s terms, the one that grows slowly.
Those are only “laymen’s terms” if you don’t think laymen deserve accurate information. By definition DCIS is Stage 0 cancer, not Stage 1. In order for cancer to be “stage 1” it has to be capable of invading other tissue. DCIS is not and in many, possibly most, cases never will be. DCIS is a condition–really a pre-cancer–in which abnormal cells are found in the lining of the milk-producing ducts. In my piece I wrote:
Before universal screening, D.C.I.S. was rare. Now D.C.I.S. and the less common lobular carcinoma in situ account for about a quarter of new breast-cancer cases — some 60,000 a year. In situ cancers are more prevalent among women in their 40s. By 2020, according to the National Institutes of Health’s estimate, more than one million American women will be living with a D.C.I.S. diagnosis.
D.C.I.S. survivors are celebrated at pink-ribbon events as triumphs of early detection: theirs was an easily treatable disease with a nearly 100 percent 10-year survival rate. The thing is, in most cases (estimates vary widely between 50 and 80 percent) D.C.I.S. will stay right where it is — “in situ” means “in place.” Unless it develops into invasive cancer, D.C.I.S. lacks the capacity to spread beyond the breast, so it will not become lethal. Autopsies have shown that as many as 14 percent of women who died of something other than breast cancer unknowingly had D.C.I.S.
There is as yet no sure way to tell which D.C.I.S. will turn into invasive cancer, so every instance is treated as if it is potentially life-threatening. That needs to change, according to Laura Esserman, director of the Carol Franc Buck Breast Care Center at the University of California, San Francisco. Esserman is campaigning to rename D.C.I.S. by removing its big “C” in an attempt to put it in perspective and tamp down women’s fear. “D.C.I.S. is not cancer,” she explained. “It’s a risk factor. For many D.C.I.S. lesions, there is only a 5 percent chance of invasive cancer developing over 10 years. That’s like the average risk of a 62-year-old. We don’t do heart surgery when someone comes in with high cholesterol. What are we doing to these people?” In Britain, where women are screened every three years beginning at 50, the government recently decided to revise its brochure on mammography to include a more thorough discussion of overdiagnosis, something it previously dispatched with in one sentence. That may or may not change anyone’s mind about screening, but at least there is a fuller explanation of the trade-offs.
In this country, the huge jump in D.C.I.S. diagnoses potentially transforms some 50,000 healthy people a year into “cancer survivors ” and contributes to the larger sense that breast cancer is “everywhere,” happening to “everyone.” That, in turn, stokes women’s anxiety about their personal vulnerability, increasing demand for screening — which, inevitably, results in even more diagnoses of D.C.I.S. Meanwhile, D.C.I.S. patients themselves are subject to the pain, mutilation, side effects and psychological trauma of anyone with cancer and may never think of themselves as fully healthy again.
That ambiguity, rather than my article, is what ought to make Ms. Meltzer angry. Instead of her relief at the apparent triumph of early detection–something that may or may not have made a difference for her–why not focus energy, effort and funds in part towards understanding DCIS better, towards figuring out who really needs treatment and who does not? I’m with Dr. Esserman on this one. I hope some day my daughter can look back at what is now done to DCIS patients the way I look back at the Halsted mastectomy–as something excessive and barbaric. And the reason it changed was that women’s health advocates and cancer patients demanded it.
Dr. Esserman and I were featured on KQED-radio after my piece came out, by the way. We talk extensively about DCIS, so if you’re interested take a listen here.
Ms. Meltzer accuses me of a kind of rebellious “nose-thumbing” at pink ribbon culture (Nancy Brinker also called my critique a “distraction” rather than engaging with it and considering how her organization could do better–very disappointing). I think I’m pretty clear in the piece about my concerns which are hardly immature. Among them: distorted information to women and girls that results in exaggeration of perceived risk and potentially poor health care decisions; corporate partnerships that create conflict of interests (or their appearance); deceptive statistics on the value of mammography; a limited percentage of funds dedicated to research (in Komen’s case, I report it was 16% of what they took in during 2011); marginalization of those with metastatic disease–the ones who will actually die of cancer. Beyond that, I report on which research is currently underfunded and needs our attention.
But I can’t reiterate in a blog post what took me months to write.
I do want to express support for Ms. Meltzer around mastectomy and reconstruction, which she implies she went through. It’s not uncommon for a DCIS patient to end up with mastectomy, because the condition can be scattered throughout the breast. Reconstruction, as she says, is not the same as “a boob job.” It may look like a breast (or not, depending on the skill of your surgeon) but it has no sensation. Think of it as having a ball of socks appended to your chest. And again, since we can’t distinguish between threatening and benign DCIS, that means at least some women are going through that surgery that don’t medically need it. And again, that is another reason we need to put our effort towards making change.
I also understand Ms. Meltzer’s concerns about her fertility. Chemo and Tamoxifen can both compromise fertility. That’s a special concern for the minority of us who are diagnosed young. In part because of that (and in part because the research was not yet clear on its benefit to premenopausal women) I opted against Tamoxifen in 1997. Although I subsequently had a local recurrence, I don’t regret that decision. It made sense at the time—the chances this would happen were very small and the impact of the recurrence on my long-term prognosis (that is, my chances of dying) is slight. Having a mastectomy at 51 has been a lot less traumatic for me than it would have been at 35. Most importantly, retaining my fertility allowed me to conceive my daughter. At this point, I’m totally cool with my Tamoxifen-induced menopause. In fact, I’m relieved to be done with the whole peri thing.
Finally, Meltzer reduces my 6500 word piece to “irresponsibility” about mammograms and being “mad” at Komen. At first that made me angry. Then I realized something important: Tara Meltzer reminds me of my younger self, the woman I was at the time of my first, terrifying breast cancer diagnosis. Like her, I was angry back in 1997 lashing out in print when, just weeks after I started treatment, I saw the research suggesting women of average risk didn’t need to begin screening until 50 (important note: we are talking about screening mammograms not diagnostic mammograms which are done when a woman or her doctor find a lump. Also, if you find a lump in your breast get to a doctor right now!!!). I opened my current piece by writing:
I used to believe that a mammogram saved my life. I even wrote that in the pages of this magazine. It was 1996, and I had just turned 35 when my doctor sent me for an initial screening — a relatively common practice at the time — that would serve as a base line when I began annual mammograms at 40. I had no family history of breast cancer, no particular risk factors for the disease
So when the radiologist found an odd, bicycle-spoke-like pattern on the film — not even a lump — and sent me for a biopsy, I wasn’t worried. After all, who got breast cancer at 35?
It turns out I did. Recalling the fear, confusion, anger and grief of that time is still painful. My only solace was that the system worked precisely as it should: the mammogram caught my tumor early, and I was treated with a lumpectomy and six weeks of radiation; I was going to survive.
By coincidence, just a week after my diagnosis, a panel convened by the National Institutes of Health made headlines when it declined to recommend universal screening for women in their 40s; evidence simply didn’t show it significantly decreased breast-cancer deaths in that age group. What’s more, because of their denser breast tissue, younger women were subject to disproportionate false positives — leading to unnecessary biopsies and worry — as well as false negatives, in which cancer was missed entirely.
Those conclusions hit me like a sucker punch. “I am the person whose life is officially not worth saving,” I wrote angrily. When the American Cancer Society as well as the newer Susan G. Komen foundation rejected the panel’s findings, saying mammography was still the best tool to decrease breast-cancer mortality, friends across the country called to congratulate me as if I’d scored a personal victory. I considered myself a loud-and-proud example of the benefits of early detection.
Sixteen years later, my thinking has changed. As study after study revealed the limits of screening — and the dangers of overtreatment — a thought niggled at my consciousness. How much had my mammogram really mattered? Would the outcome have been the same had I bumped into the cancer on my own years later? It’s hard to argue with a good result. After all, I am alive and grateful to be here. But I’ve watched friends whose breast cancers were detected “early” die anyway. I’ve sweated out what blessedly turned out to be false alarms with many others.
Recently, a survey of three decades of screening published in November in The New England Journal of Medicine found that mammography’s impact is decidedly mixed: it does reduce, by a small percentage, the number of women who are told they have late-stage cancer, but it is far more likely to result in overdiagnosis and unnecessary treatment, including surgery, weeks of radiation and potentially toxic drugs. And yet, mammography remains an unquestioned pillar of the pink-ribbon awareness movement. Just about everywhere I go — the supermarket, the dry cleaner, the gym, the gas pump, the movie theater, the airport, the florist, the bank, the mall — I see posters proclaiming that “early detection is the best protection” and “mammograms save lives.” But how many lives, exactly, are being “saved,” under what circumstances and at what cost? Raising the public profile of breast cancer, a disease once spoken of only in whispers, was at one time critically important, as was emphasizing the benefits of screening. But there are unintended consequences to ever-greater “awareness” — and they, too, affect women’s health.
(Another note: fact-checkers can be infuriating sticklers. You may notice thatin this post I have said I was diagnosed in 1997. That’s true. But I had that first mammogram in mid-December 1996. So we had a big fight over which date was correct and they over-ruled me and said since I’m talking about the mammogram it needs to be 1996. Confusing, I know.)
I wrote that first piece out of fear and shock over my cancer diagnosis rather than striving for a true understanding of research, nuance, and public health. Parts of that piece are solid–especially my description of what it feels like to be a young woman diagnosed with a potentially lethal disease. I’m less happy with other aspects. I hope, over time, that Ms. Meltzer will realize she was wrong as well and that she will put her efforts—her time, her talent, her money—towards doing the work that really needs to be done.
As for HuffPo: I don’t really get it. When I write an editorial for a newspaper–the LA Times, the New York Times, USA Today–there is at least some editorial process in place to make sure that what I write as “fact” is indeed “fact.” They may have different standards for proof, but proof is required. As a credible news outlet it seems you should do the same. You publish Susan Love and Fran Visco. Why this?
Finally: while I’m writing such a long post, I’d like to apologize to all of you who have written to me about this piece. I’ve been deluged with email and simply been unable to keep up. Some day I hope to write back, but if I don’t, it’s not out of lack of appreciation.
In an earlier post, I wrote about Rose Kushner, wondering why her name and voice had been sidelined in the story of breast cancer activism. If anyone could be considered the heir to Kushner (insomuch as I understand her story), it is my friend and inspiration Barbara Brenner. Barbara put up her final “Healthy Barbs” blog post earlier this week. I will miss her fierceness, passion and uncompromising intelligence.
I got to know Barbara as the head of Breast Cancer Action; back then, as I recall, the organization’s motto was, “The Bad Girls of Breast Cancer.” I liked that.
It often took me years of conversations to catch up with Barbara’s thinking. She was the one who first talked to me about the over-promise of mammography. She also talked about the lack of centralized data on cancer patients and cancer research. That just sounded wonky to me, ut now I finally get how critical that work is.
Barbara may be best known for coining the term “pinkwashing” (again, years before anyone really “got it.”). Pinkwashing is when companies claim to care about women and breast cancer by sporting the pink ribbon while at the same time producing products linked to the disease or other threats to public health. There are legions of examples. In my recent Times article I wrote:
Having football teams don rose-colored cleats, for instance, can counteract bad press over how the N.F.L. handles accusations against players of rape or domestic violence. Chevron’s donations to California Komen affiliates may help deflect what Cal OSHA called its “willful violations” of safety that led to a huge refinery fire last year in a Bay Area neighborhood.
Barbara was first diagnosed with breast cancer in 1993 at age 41; about three years later, she had a local recurrence. Then, after fifteen years of breast cancer activism, she contracted another disease–ALS. Often (and incorrectly as she would tell you) called “Lou Gherig’s Disease,” ALS is a fatal degenerative neuromuscular illness. Barbara wrote a post about this outstanding PSA, put together by supporters of football player Steve Gleason to raise needed awareness, and how it differed from the typical pink-ribbon feel-goodism:
Discussing the two illnesses on her blog, “Healthy Barbs,” Barbara wrote:
The issues are both different and remarkably similar.
How I think about this illness and how I react are influenced by my years as a breast cancer activist. How people deal with me now makes me think about how people deal with others who are ill. The purpose of this blog, Healthy Barbs, is to encourage people to learn to think in new ways about illness and health and to prompt them to be critical of the mainstream coverage of health issues.
It’s not meant to be comfortable. It’s meant to make people THINK!
That is Barbara: it’s not about making nice. It’s about understanding, thinking, getting stuff DONE.
The last communication I had from Barbara was on May 7 in the comments to my previous post about Nancy Brinker’s 64% pay raise. Barbara wrote: “Actually, Brinker is still the CEO. She will have that title untl Komen hires her replacement. Who in their right mind would take that job if Brinker is still involved? Got me.”
On May 8, just one day later according to her Caring Bridge site, Barbara decided to stop taking nourishment. She continues to take liquids.
I hope she won’t mind that I’m copying part of her final post here:
I have been blessed to lead a rich life, full of love and culture and travel and work that had meaning for me. I have no regrets except that I got ALS in the first place.
I have met amazing people both in person and on-line. Everyone I have come in contact with has had something unique to offer the world. The world is a better place because these people are or were in it. Some of these people I have mentored (and you know who you are), others have taught me. What I know about all of these people is that I have been blessed to know them, and that they will succeed at what they set their hearts and minds to do.
In the Jewish tradition there is a Priestly Blessing. I copy below it because it is what I wish for all readers of these words:
May the Lord bless you
and keep you;
May the Lord make his face shine on you
and be gracious to you;
May the Lord turn his face toward you
and give you peace.
Barbara, you have made a difference in my life–and in that of so many others–as well as in my work. Your voice and spirit will always be in my heart. I love you. I will miss you.
Update: Ok, I changed the headline to this post because it was distracting people.
The new financials for Susan G. Komen for the Cure are out. According to the Dallas News, in 2012, the same year that the organization was roiled by the Planned Parenthood scandal (under Nancy Brinker’s leadership and based largely on her say-so), the same year Brinker was forced to step down as CEO in an attempt by the organization to regain public trust, the same year donations dropped as a result of her miscalculations, Komen also gave Brinker a 64% pay hike–from $417,000 to $684,717. Does that make sense?
Just so you know, a Charity Navigator survey found the median salary for the CEO of a not-for-profit organization to be $132,739.
Also, since Brinker is no longer the CEO of Komen, what is she doing in her “new role” for that kind of dough?
I wonder, are the well-meaning Komen supporters “aware” of this?
I do not want to be perceived as encouraging people to abandon breast cancer as a cause. Quite the opposite. I want your good will, effort, time and money to matter to a disease that has touched so many of us. Please let Komen know what you think about their skewed research allocations and Brinker’s inexplicable pay hike. Contact them on Facebook tweet them at @komenforthecure Write or call them at :
5005 LBJ Freeway, Suite 250
Dallas, TX 75244 (1-877-465-6636)
I just got this press release. Made my jaw drop. Did they not know who they were writing to? I get that Thomas could have missed my blog post about this event. But come on, Dude. You’re in New Jersey. You’re a PR guy. The New York Timesis your local paper. So let’s give him some publicity–feel free to email Thomas at the linke below and tell him what you think of “paint your town pink.”
I responded by sending both the above links with this note: ”You are REALLY writing to the wrong girl. I think you are wasting people’s time and money without doing anything to help eradicate breast cancer.”
From: “Thomas Paolella” <TPaolella@meridianhealth.com> To: “Thomas Paolella” <TPaolella@meridianhealth.com> Sent: Thursday, May 2, 2013 1:00:56 PM Subject: FW: Giuliana and Bill Rancic are coming to NJ to discuss the importance of mammography
Just a reminder about Saturday’s event. If anyone from your outlet is able to attend and share in this special evening we would love to have you.
Hi there – I wanted to invite you or someone from your team to cover a truly inspiring event for your publication. I know you don’t traditionally cover local NJ events, but this is something truly newsworthy to a nationwide audience.
In just a few short weeks, Meridian Health will host its annual “Paint the Town Pink.” For the seventh straight year, volunteers, committees, businesses, physicians, and local officials will make this event a reality. Everyone joins forces for one common goal; to raise awareness of the importance of annual mammography. Beginning May 1, Paint the Town Pink will cast a wider hue across our area with an expansion that now includes 23 Monmouth and Ocean County towns, making the event the most represented to date. What began as an idea seven years ago has been transformed into a grassroots initiative that is changing lives in very tangible and meaningful ways.
Paint the Town Pink was started by Riverview Medical Center with the goal to encourage women aged 40 and older to pledge to have their annual mammogram, as well as raise funds to provide mammography to the uninsured and underserved in our community. Through a variety of special events and in-store specials from hundreds of businesses, and involvement from community groups, this year’s Paint the Town Pink will be “bigger and Pinker” than ever before!
Last year’s campaign featured the “Men in Pink” and highlighted the men that support the women in their lives.Bill Rancic came to Red Bank, NJ and gave a talk about how he supported Giuliana during her breast cancer diagnosis. Bill had such a positive experience with Paint the Town Pink that for 2013, Giuliana will be coming with Bill and are hosting an event together titled “Little Things” – flyer below. There will be a Pink Media Lounge at around 7:45 p.m., in which members of the media will have full-on access of both Giuliana and Bill and will be able to ask questions, take photos/video, etc.
For more information please visit www.PainttheTownPink.com. I thank you in advance for your consideration. I know you get pitched stories all day long and I appreciate you taking the time to read this. Even if you’re not able to cover the event, a brief mention on your website would go a long way in helping to spread the Paint the Town Pink mission. I know the event is on a Saturday, but it will be well worth it.
Tom Paolella Public Relations Manager Riverview Medical Center Bayshore Community Hospital Office: (732) 530-2282 I Cell: (848) 203-7596
A Disney official told The New York Times on Wednesday that the company had sent a letter to thousands of licensees and vendors on March 4 setting out new rules for overseas production.
Less than 1 percent of the factories used by Disney’s contractors are in Bangladesh, according to the official, who spoke on the condition of anonymity. The company’s efforts had accelerated because of the November fire at a factory that labor advocates asserted had made Disney apparel. The Disney ban also extends to other countries, including Pakistan, where a fire last September killed 262 garment workers.
So good for them. Good for Disney for trying to show some leadership and ethics regarding how its products are made. I respect that.
Now back to discussing the depressing results.
Rebecca Pahle over at The Mary Sue alerted me to the news that on May 11 Merida from Brave will to be crowned the 11th Disney princess. You remember Merida, right? The one with the bow and arrow? The one who looked like this?
Well, not any more. As with the other Princesses, she has gotten a redesign, a pretty-sexy-skinny makeover to boost revenues. Voila, the new Merida:
There’s the hot hair, the coy expression. Also the obligatory exposed shoulders (moms tell me all the time that their preschool daughters are pitching fits and destroying their t-shirts because “princesses don’t cover their shoulders), slimmer waist, and the bow and arrow replaced by…what is that, a low-slung belt? And she has what appear to be high-heeled shoes. Or at least slimmer, pointier feet.
Inside the Magic, a blog promoting Disney and theme park events, says that Merida’s official royal ceremony will be well attended:
She will be joining existing Disney Princesses Snow White, Mulan, Aurora, Belle, Tiana, Ariel, Cinderella, Jasmine, Pocahontas, and Rapunzel in the line, all of whom are likely to make an appearance at the coronation. New hairstyles, makeup, and dresses were recently given to the princesses in a modern update to their looks, which are also now reflected at Disney’s theme parks .
Because, in the end, it wasn’t about being brave after all. It was about being pretty.
In case you’ve missed it, by the way, here’s the updated look of the other ten princesses:
I’m especially creeped out by Belle who appears to have had major surgery. Compare this new chickabiddy to the actual movie:
Or, wait, maybe I’m more creeped out by the way they’ve changed Aurora (who used to be called Briar Rose).
Or, wait, what about what about the apparent lobotomy that Rapunzel has had? OrAnd Cinderella looking like Taylor Swift? And Pocahontas? Tiana looks like she’s not getting enough to eat at that restaurant of hers. And Mulan, poor, poor Mulan. And here’s what Jasmine used to look like:
Snow White and Ariel were always especially vapid so I don’t have much to say there.
I hate to be in the position of defending the “old days” when the princesses looked “normal” (because, really, it’s all relative and it’s not like I was happy with them before this). Still, check out this pic, also from Inside the Magic, of the latest princess lineup including the new Merida:
Look at that head position on poor, exposed-shouldered Merida! In addition to everything else, they’re pushing the brown girls slowly but surely to the edges. Tiana is thinking, “Wait, I only got one year up front? One lousy year to make up for nearly a century of racism (though to be fair, the ugliness extended well beyond Disney’s depiction of African Americans)? Meanwhile, Mulan looks WEIRDER THAN EVER. She doesn’t even look human she’s been so Orientalized and botoxed.
This is what she used to look like:
I’ve always said that it’s not about the movies. It’s about the bait-and-switch that happens in the merchandise, and the way the characters have evolved and proliferated off-screen. Maybe the problem is partly that these characters are designed in Hollywood, where real women are altering their appearance so regularly that animators, and certainly studio execs, think it’s normal.
I’ll just leave you with that moment of promise, the trailer from Brave when we thought maybe Disney was showing some leadership and ethics not only in how they made their products, but the actual products they made.
As Komen’s bold messaging continues to be erased from its materials if not from collective memory, is it enough for the group to simply step back and quietly disassociate from a misinformed pro-mammogram campaign?
Yeah-what she said! How can Komen deflect, disassociate from and deny the impact of their role in over-selling mammography when, according to Sulik’s “short list” they continue to perpetuate it in their ”educational” materials and affiliate messaging (she points to such items as ”Early detection of breast cancer saves lives and thousands of Orange County women,” and“Komen Austin was able to fund over 3,000 mammograms. I think of that as 3,000 lives saved.” ). Click over to the blog post yourself to read what Nancy Brinker just won’t stop saying……
Komen is not getting the message. A friend who attended the White House Correspondents’ dinner last week told me Brinker was there (don’t know why…) and commented, “We’ll soldier forward despite the critics.” How about learning from a critique, using it to make a better, stronger, more effective organization? On our joint appearance on KQED-radio’s Forum last week, after Dr. Laura Esserman urged advocates and the public not to be afraid of change, Komen’s representative immediately disengaged by listing the positive things the organization has done. She clearly has her tried-and-true sound bytes and wasn’t going listen, only, like Brinker herself, try to duck criticism by playing the victim.
When I started my career, back in the mid-1980s, I was hired to be an editorial assistant at a certain top tier magazine in New York City. As part of the job interview I took a typing test. I was also informed that the guy I’d be working for had a reputation for groping his assistants. “Can you handle that?” I was asked. Not “If it happens report him.” Not “He is being brought up on charges.” Not even “We’re trying to deal with it and we’re sorry.” Just “Can you handle that?”
Of course, I said yes. I worked for the guy for over a year and “handled it” by keeping six feet away from him at all times–believe me, I earned my $13,500 salary. (Note: I also worked for two amazing, generous, encouraging editors and mentors to whom I owe my career: Adam Moss and David Hirshey).
When journalist Josh Stearns introduced his son to the world of Lego this year, he was disappointed to find that in addition to its trademark building blocks, the company now produces a Lego-branded sticker set that articulates the innermost thoughts of its little plastic construction workers. Alongside phrases like “MEN AT WORK” and “GETTING DIRTY,” the set includes an image of a Lego worker at rest, leaning back in a hard hat and a pair of cool-dude sunglasses, shouting “HEY BABE!” at an unseen target. It’s marketed to kids aged “1 to 101.”
Meanwhile, my daughter is getting make-your-own messenger bags for her birthday with iron on transfers that say “spoiled” and “brat.” (Not by Lego, I should say–this was a “craft” present a couple of years back).
I wrote an editorial in the New York Times when Lego introduced its friends line discussing why promoting gender segregation in toys was a bad (though lucrative) idea. The wonderful women and girls at Spark.org also launched a petition that garnered so many thousands of signatures that Lego met with them to discuss how, at the very least, they could push the Friends line past hair salons. The company seemed to respond, at least a tiny bit, at least for the girls.
Not for boys. Apparently Lego has no problem reinforcing the idea among our sons that girls are “other,” that they are subtly inferior and, ultimately, objects for their eventual enjoyment (and current scorn). I don’t want the boys I know growing up with that message. I don’t want the boys my daughter some day learns with, dates, works with, marries, raises children with (yes, I am already dreaming about being a grandma, so sue me) believing sexual harassment is “funny” or in any way ok. That’s why I love the Sanford Harmony Program’s attempt to develop curriculum that, from preschool onward, encourages friendship and mutual understanding between boys and girls.
Stearns, who is doing his best to raise a decent, caring human (bless his heart) writes about his own experience going up against Lego. Their first response was classic defense: lighten up, it was a joke:
Charlotte Simonsen, Senior Director at LEGO’s corporate communications office told me that “To communicate the LEGO experience to children we typically use humor and we are sorry that you were unhappy with the way a minifigure was portrayed here.”
Ace journalist that he is, he kept pushing and subsequently received another note, this time, from Andrea Ryder, the head of the LEGO Group’s Outbound Licensing Department. She wrote: “I am truly sorry that you had a negative experience with one of our products […] the product is no longer available andwe would not approve such a product again.”
That’s progress. Stearns writes that he appreciates Lego’s responsiveness. I do, too. I’m also glad the stickers are off the market. But still. How did something like that get through their vetting process? And, if you spend any time on this blog, you know that these incidents (across toyland) are not rare.
Yeah, it’s one toy. One little toy. But one among so many. As Stearns writes:
If we don’t call out these things when we see them, then even the little pieces of culture, like a pack of stickers, can serve to normalize sexist behavior and harassment. If you care about these issues here are some great resources and organizations to follow and support:
It surprised me to learn how little cancer data the U.S. collects, though it is vital to improving treatment. We know how many cases of cancer there are and the stage of diagnosis, but unlike Scandinavian countries, we don’t keep track of which therapies are used or what happens to patients over the long-term.
I could write a whole piece on publicly accessible, non-proprietary data collection and why we need to do it. But I just wanted to at least put it out there. Breast Cancer Action talks a lot about this one, and they are right. BCA is also leading the charge against the pernicious practice of gene patenting, which was just argued in the Supreme Court. Gayle Sulik discusses this one beautifully in a recent blog post on Psychology Today’s site
The other thing that got cut was a bit of history on the divergence in the strands of the breast cancer movement. Again, I only had so much space and a lot to cover, but I think useful in thinking about one’s choices when considering supporting various groups. Here’s an excerpt (which never even got to the point of being fact-checked by the Times–it was really a draft):
It is hard to remember now, but until the early 1970s breast cancer was the Voldemort of diseases, its name never spoken aloud, omitted from a woman’s obituary. If you found a lump, you obediently submitted to the surgeon’s table: maybe you would wake up with a small incision from a biopsy that turned out to be benign. Or you would find yourself mutilated without your knowledge by a Halsted radical mastectomy, the standard treatment of the day, in which the entire breast, chest muscles and lymphatic tissue were removed. Either way, you were expected to keep your experience, and feelings about it, to yourself: to pull up your socks—or shove them in your bra—consider yourself lucky to be alive and get on with it.
That began changing in 1973, when Shirley Temple Black, the former child star, went public with her breast cancer in McCall’s magazine. The following fall, First Lady Betty Ford talked publicly about her diagnosis (as did Second Lady Happy Rockefeller, who was diagnosed two weeks later). By 1976, Betty Rollin’s memoir of her struggle with the disease, First, You Cry, became an international bestseller (and later a TV movie starring Mary Tyler Moore). And with that, a stigma was shattered.
Temple, Ford and the rest made telling one’s personal cancer story socially acceptable, even, in their defiance of shame, vaguely political. However, they didn’t question medical or scientific authority. That role fell to the nascent feminist health movement, and, specifically, a journalist named Rose Kushner. Kushner was diagnosed the same year as Betty Ford; through mutual friends, begged the First Lady to resist the paternalistic, one-step procedure for biopsy and mastectomy. Ford refused, saying, “the President has made his decision.”
Kushner spent the rest of her life—which would turn out to be sixteen years—challenging the medical establishment. It was Kushner who, undeterred when she was booed off the stage during a meeting of the Society of Surgical Oncology, fought, ultimately successfully, to separate a biopsy from cancer surgery; it was Kushner who fought to replace the radical Halsted mastectomy with one that was less disfiguring yet equally effective. And it was Kushner who started the first breast cancer information hotline that was run by women and for women.
There are now hundreds of breast cancer advocacy organizations and those two early strands sometimes overlap, but, as Gayle Sulik, author of Pink Ribbon Blues, has pointed out, the fundamental philosophical division between those who challenge the medical status quo and those who promote it persists. It can be seen in debates over how (and from whom) funds should be raised, how that money is dispersed, and what, precisely, “awareness” should encompass. Heirs to Kushner’s oppositional stance tend to reject the pink ribbon. They push for lay-person involvement in grant-making decisions. They question the efficacy of both treatment and diagnostics. They see potential conflicts of interest in partnering with corporations or Big Pharma. The most well-known include the National Breast Cancer Coalition, which since 1992 has lobbied Congress for $2.8 billion in funds for the federal Breast Cancer Research Program overseen by the Department of Defense; Breast Cancer Action, an industry watchdog group best known for coining the term “pinkwashing”; and the Breast Cancer Fund, which focuses on potential environmental links to the disease.
Komen, meanwhile, is heir to the Betty Ford model–they speak out, yes, but they don’t truly challenge. They embrace private sector solutions, partnerships with corporations and organizations, including, as I say in the piece, those that harm public health: Chevron. Frackers. I care about breast cancer, passionately, but not at the expense of larger issues of public health. I am a fan of Breast Cancer Action’s Think Before You Pink campaign, which coined (I think) the word “pinkwashing.”
Ultimately, I think the pink ribbon with its assurances of hope and progress lull us into thinking enough is being done. It lulls us into thinking we can keep ourselves safe. It silences us in the name of voice. Meanwhile, women die. Meanwhile, women are over-treated, destroying their lives and well-being. Women with DCIS, rather than being celebrated as triumphs of early detection, should be FURIOUS that they will never know if their treatment was necessary or not. Rather than thanking pink ribbon culture, they should be protesting its complacency and myth-mongering, bringing their pressure to bear on making change so their sisters, mothers, nieces, daughters do not have to go through the uncertainty that they did.
I am sobered and inspired by Kusher’s example. She, too, is a journalist, diagnosed young with cancer. She stood up to the status quo, stood up to ridicule, refused to yield to “good enough.” I don’t know why she has been virtually lost to history–I had never heard of her until I started reporting this story. Maybe there is more there than I know. But it seems to me that it’s time to bring her back.
My cover story in the New York Times Magazine is up: it’s called “Our Feel-Good War on Breast Cancer.” As a journalist I write about all kinds of things for all kinds of reasons. Sometimes I write for fun. Sometimes I write because I have a great story to tell. Sometimes I write to pay the rent. Sometimes I write because if I don’t say something about something I see as wrong I will absolutely explode. This is one of those. And it won’t make you feel so good.
That said, I do want to share another story that didn’t belong in that piece, that has not so far belonged in anything I’ve written but that truly is a feel-good cancer anecdote: it’s about how amazing and wonderful and compassionate people can be.
The background: In case you don’t know, last July I found a lump in my breast; it turned out that the cancer I had 15+ years ago had returned.
I know. Fifteen years later!
But I’m so very lucky—the kind of cancer I’ve had is low grade, slow moving and unlikely to have spread. While there are no guarantees, my odds of surviving, with surgery and a five year course of Tamoxifen, remain pretty damned good.
Unfortunately, another lumpectomy would require more radiation. Since you can’t irradiate the same body part twice my only option was a mastectomy. Radiation also destroys the elasticity of your skin, making reconstruction with an implant a challenge. I considered just going flat, but I felt that for me, reconstruction would make it easier going forward.
My best option was something called a DIEP-Flap Reconstruction in which the docs take the fat from your belly make it into a breast. The upside is that the reconstruction is your own flesh (and yeah, there’s my newly flat stomach….). The down side is that it’s a BIG honkin’ surgery involving a week on your back in the ICU and a looooong recovery at home. And, of course, as with all reconstruction it has no sensation. I don’t know why no one seems to mention that. It feels more or less like a ball of socks appended to my chest wall.
Anyway, I have a lot to say about reconstruction—the pros and cons of it, the weirdness of coming out of all of this looking better than when I went in, what it’s like to have a NEW BELLYBUTTON (they removed the old one—if they didn’t put another in I’d look like a space alien) but I’ll save that for another time. I’ll also save for another time a discussion of the loathsome new “reconstruction awareness campaign” (read the brilliant Gayle Sulik on them instead).
So, here is what I wanted to say today:
This procedure, this DIEP thingamabob, is highly specialized microsurgery. Not a lot of docs do it. The two who were most highly recommended to me were both outside my insurance network. The first one said, Well, you’ll have to pay the difference out of pocket but we can work out a payment plan. It would cost me roughly $20,000. I didn’t want a boob that badly. Still, it was extremely upsetting to think it wasn’t a choice but financial necessity.
Hello, American Health Care System. Never think it can’t happen to you.
Oh, wait–this is a feel-good story.
Enter doc number two. I’m not sure he’d want me to name him so I won’t. Just think of him as Prince Charming. When I told him about my insurance woes Dude didn’t skip a beat. “Don’t worry about it,” he said–he’d take whatever the insurance gave him as full fee.
At first I didn’t think I’d heard right. “Why would you do that?” I asked.
“Because,” he responded, “it’s the right thing to do.”
This guy doesn’t know me. He didn’t know what I did for a living or who I work for (that is, he wasn’t angling for media coverage). HE’S JUST A MENSCH.
Are you tearing up? Because I did.
We shouldn’t have to depend on random acts of kindness in health care, but that’s where we are. That’s where I was. And as horrible as having cancer again has been, as difficult as the surgery was, I felt blessed the entire time by the generosity and compassion of this man. Cancer is not a gift, not at all, but he was.