Still here, after all these years

Twenty-nine years later, I’m still here despite being diagnosed and treated for breast cancer. I’m still asking the same questions. Why? Yes, I’m one of 3.8 million Americans with a “history of breast cancer.” Grateful, of course. But, like so many survivors, I’m weary of cheerful pink brigades, hats and commercialization on yogurt and athletic gear cloaked as awareness.

I’m most weary of our lack of real progress in prevention.

The last words of our dying mother in 1983 to her four daughters were, “I pray they find a cure before you girls have to face this.”

In fact, the opposite is true. Here are the current hard facts:

In 2021, according to the American Cancer Society, an estimated 281,550 new cases of invasive breast cancer are expected to be diagnosed in women in the U.S.

About 43,600 women in the U.S. are expected to die in 2021 from breast cancer.

For women in the U.S., breast cancer death rates are higher than those for any other cancer except lung cancer and colon cancer.

Genes are the gun, environment pulls the trigger. Plastics and chemicals in our food chain? Hormonal changes? Stress? Our questions remain — every day for the rest of our lives.

I have asked myself: What good would 29 years of simply surviving be? This year, I’d like to honor the women who have had the double duty of facing a cancer diagnosis and treatment during the pandemic. Most of these women have been silently enduring, while the rest of us have no idea how difficult their journey has been.

We know that side by side support when we get the news, and face our rigorous treatments has been essential to keeping us spiritually on track. We know that sooner is better in terms of diagnosis and treatment. During the pandemic, many appointments occur virtually, and every week, patients are taking a risk when they have to enter hospitals for blood draws, surgery or chemotherapy. Some are delaying treatment longer or needing to travel Outside, where they have stayed in hotels, alone, with meals delivered by masked people and set outside their doors. They have been unable to take comfort in the things that make life worth living, like cuddling grandchildren or having a partner beside them each step of the way.

With support from the Alaska Run for Women and the Alaska State Council on the Arts, my nonprofit organization, Affinityfilms, Inc., has engaged the talents of 15 photographers to help tell their stories through portraits and audio stories. These humbling stories were written by Alaska writer Deb McKinney and recorded by actor Michelle Conklin, and are accessible through QR codes on each portrait. These portraits are currently on exhibit at the Loussac Library.

Each mammogram, each supplement, each extra mile I walk is part of the dues I pay for surviving when so many have not. “Pandemic Portraits” is a beautiful collaboration of photographers and those currently fighting. Their journey has been made twice as difficult during our trying times. It is one small way we can honor these women and I hope you’ll stop by and experience this tribute.

We can hope one day this will all be in our rearview mirror. Not only the pandemic, but the disease of breast cancer as well.

Until then, let’s lift up our frontline warriors in every way we can.

Mary Katzke is a thriver and media maker living and working in Alaska. Her works over the years have included “Between Us,” “Beyond Flowers — What to Say and Do When Someone You Know Has Breast Cancer,” “The Quiet War” about metastatic breast cancer, “Partners in Healing” about integrative medicine, and a photographic exhibit called “Alaskans in Pink,” permanently housed at Mat-Su Health Radiation Center.

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