On April 26th, Graphic II took place in Austin, TX. I worked a 14 hour day to make sure that event was a success. Though it didn't raise more money than last year, it made a lasting impression in many, many lives. My fellow BC sisters dared to bare themselves on the runway modeling art bras. They represented survivorship and being a fighter. We all have changed because of our diagnoses. We have learned how to appreciate life and to be a fighter.
Senator Kirk Watson was our emcee. He's absolutely amazing and such a kind soul though this bleeds near and dear to his heart. I won't do this justice but read below what he wrote. He gets it because he has been through this. Of course, it made me pretty choked up. Enjoy:
Last Saturday night, I emceed a Breast Cancer Resource Center fundraiser.
It was a bra auction. Yeah. You got it right. These women sold bras at a breast cancer deal.
Women – some fighting cancer, some survivors, and some honoring loved ones – designed "Art Bras." The bras had designer names such as "Boo" (I had to really be careful not to mispronounce that one even a little bit), "Dragonfly," "Shine On," and "Viva Vaquera." They were modeled for the crowd by members of a group called The Pink Ribbon Cowgirls, a network of young breast cancer survivors. Then the bras were auctioned off for real money that helps with the Center's services.
I had cancer. Mine was testicular. In my experience, there's a level of intimacy and openness that comes with fighting cancer. Inhibitions tend to fall away. After all, what's a body part, even a really important one, when you're fighting to live?
Losing a breast is important. It matters – a bunch. And people deal with their disease in different ways, which is perfectly OK. Whatever gets you through the day. Or week. Or that next one.
Many survivors and their loved ones have learned that a body organ, even one that's often used to define femininity (or masculinity), doesn't mean nearly as much when you're fighting just to stay around a while longer to help raise a kid. They don't worry as much about lost tissue when they're worried about whether a child will remember them if they die, or if they'll miss seeing something that more adequately defines life – like graduating, or watching a child's graduation; marrying, or seeing a child's marriage; or innumerable other pleasures, small or large, private or common, that are part of being alive and healthy.
I lost both of my parents to cancer. I survived it. And I love women who, through their irreverence, laugh in its face and, at the same time, raise money to support those fighting.
Senator Kirk Watson was our emcee. He's absolutely amazing and such a kind soul though this bleeds near and dear to his heart. I won't do this justice but read below what he wrote. He gets it because he has been through this. Of course, it made me pretty choked up. Enjoy:
Last Saturday night, I emceed a Breast Cancer Resource Center fundraiser.
It was a bra auction. Yeah. You got it right. These women sold bras at a breast cancer deal.
Women – some fighting cancer, some survivors, and some honoring loved ones – designed "Art Bras." The bras had designer names such as "Boo" (I had to really be careful not to mispronounce that one even a little bit), "Dragonfly," "Shine On," and "Viva Vaquera." They were modeled for the crowd by members of a group called The Pink Ribbon Cowgirls, a network of young breast cancer survivors. Then the bras were auctioned off for real money that helps with the Center's services.
I had cancer. Mine was testicular. In my experience, there's a level of intimacy and openness that comes with fighting cancer. Inhibitions tend to fall away. After all, what's a body part, even a really important one, when you're fighting to live?
Losing a breast is important. It matters – a bunch. And people deal with their disease in different ways, which is perfectly OK. Whatever gets you through the day. Or week. Or that next one.
Many survivors and their loved ones have learned that a body organ, even one that's often used to define femininity (or masculinity), doesn't mean nearly as much when you're fighting just to stay around a while longer to help raise a kid. They don't worry as much about lost tissue when they're worried about whether a child will remember them if they die, or if they'll miss seeing something that more adequately defines life – like graduating, or watching a child's graduation; marrying, or seeing a child's marriage; or innumerable other pleasures, small or large, private or common, that are part of being alive and healthy.
I lost both of my parents to cancer. I survived it. And I love women who, through their irreverence, laugh in its face and, at the same time, raise money to support those fighting.
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