National Breast Cancer Foundation, Inc.

My very first experience with breast cancer was a little over twenty years ago, when pink ribbons were tied in the hair of little girls, not worn by women walking for a cure. I met a woman with breast cancer at a summer day camp. I cannot remember her name, but I remember her story.

When I was in my early 30’s, I worked as a director of summer camps for the Girl Scouts of America Organization, in San Diego. Each summer, I spent my two-week vacation volunteering, so that my own children could participate in the day camp program. As a single parent, my girls often missed summer programs. I worked full time and they were not old enough to take the bus on their own. One year I decided to take vacation so I could drive them to and from camp. After finding out that reduced camp rates were given to children of staff members, I volunteered. Camp was a wonderful, creative, and hectic two weeks, but I was hooked. For the next seven years, I worked as a summer camp director, taking my two-week vacation to be surrounded by little girls with pink hair ribbons.

As day camp director, I was responsible for creating the camp theme, developing activities for the girls, selecting and training adult volunteer staff, and handling problems. My sister Nancy and I worked together. She was the assistant director and took care of the money and supplies. We worked perfectly together and our camps were among the most favorite, filling up soon after registration began. Nancy and I spent hours discussing endless possibilities for activities that would both stimulate the girls’ imagination and be fun to work. In 1985, we selected “Through the Looking Glass” as our theme. We designed camp activities that allowed girls an opportunity to explore the realm of the performing arts. Carroll’s Wonderland was just the right space for girls to sing, dance, perform and imagine. The camp brochure was mailed out in March and by early May, our camp was full.

About two months before camp started, Nancy and I began training our staff. While being at camp with the girls was the most fun, training was a close second. Most staff members were mothers just like us. They learned to make mitten finger puppets of Alice, the Madd Hatter and the Queen of Hearts. We stitched sequins and beads on hats made of brightly colored felt and learned the Lindy Hop. We sang silly songs about ukuleles, cows and stinky socks. But, mostly we laughed and shared stories of our children.

After a few training sessions, a mother about my age asked to talk to me privately. She had a special request. She wanted to be the group leader for her daughter’s group. We generally found girls had a more enjoyable camp experience when they were not with their own mother, but she asked make an exception. Being recently been diagnosed with metastatic breast cancer, she thought this might be the last summer she would ever spend with her daughter. Touched by her story, I made the exception. Unfortunately, this mother did not get a chance to lead her daughter’s group. Instead, she began chemotherapy. When she called to tell me she would not be well enough to lead a group, I welcomed her to join us for whatever time she could. I saw the woman with breast cancer several times during the ten days of camp. Most often, she sat in a lawn chair watching her daughter and other girls participate in the events of the day.

Camp was a huge success. There were nearly two hundred girls caught up in the magic of performing. The last day of camp, we planned a special “unbirthday” tea party. Parents were invited to watch their children dance, sing and perform. Each camp group planned a special recital. As I looked at the audience of smiling parents, I noticed the woman with breast cancer. Her head was covered with a colorful scarf that blended in with the bright summer clothing. Her face was thin and her eyes dark, but her expression was the same as every other parent. I could see the delight and pride on her face. She laughed as her daughter twirled with several other girls dressed like clowns in a circus act. I was thankful she could attend.

I did not have an opportunity to speak with her that afternoon. My duties as the camp director allowed little time for the parents, and when I looked for her at the end of the day, she had already gone. Several months later, I received a note from her husband tucked away in one of the feedback forms sent in from camp parents. His wife had lost her battle with cancer and he wanted to thank us for giving his daughter a special memory with her mother. I was sad and perhaps even shed a few tears, but soon forgot the woman with breast cancer. I did not know her.

I know her now. I still can’t remember her name, but I know her. She is me. She is every mother with breast cancer. I know her heartache; her sorrow at the thought of being taken from her children by such a hideous disease. I know her loneliness. And, I know the unanswerable question she asked herself each day, “Will I survive?” I know the way she absorbed each moment of life after being diagnosed with breast cancer. I know her commitment to make each day count. I know of her absolute compulsion to fight this disease that kills thousands of women each year.

I cried for her today; not just a few tears but sobbing remembrance. I wondered about her daughter and cried again for this motherless child who is now a young woman. I have decided to keep her story close to my soul. It will remind me that, just like every other woman in the world, I have opportunities each day to significantly impact the lives of others. I will remember her and I will remember my own power to make a difference in the life of another.

I know the woman with breast cancer.