The Charles River Esplanade, a green and flowering oasis in the heart of Boston, is a popular place for cyclists, picnickers, parents pushing strollers, and college kids looking to rent kayaks and sailboats. But on a September Sunday I spent there, the majority of park visitors had a different activity in mind: a 5-mile fundraising walk while wearing lots of pink. Men strolled confidently on the esplanade wearing pink tutus over their jeans. A group of women donned shocking pink troll wigs resembling giant cones of cotton candy. Some walkers were ebullient as they punched at the sky with their pink pom poms. Others playfully flung carnation pink feather boas over their shoulders. Pink tiaras full of bling were a common sight.

I couldn’t have felt more at home.

That morning as I dressed for the Making Strides Against Breast Cancer walk, I glanced every so often at the email I’d gotten earlier in the week from the American Cancer Society, trying to work up the nerve to follow its directive: “Don’t hold back on your pink attire,” it read. “The crazier you look, the better.”

Normally one to dress conservatively in darker shades, I forced myself out of my comfort zone. I left home wearing a salmon pink knit top, fuschia crop pants, a hot pink fanny pack and neon pink high-topped sneakers. I would have accented the ensemble with pale pink sweat socks if I could have found some.

As I completed the first mile with some sorority sisters and the other 25,000 participants, I reflected on how odd it was for me to participate in a fundraising walk at all. On a fairly regular basis on Sunday mornings, I was one of those drivers held up at an intersection by a traffic cop while runners or walkers for some cause or another crossed in front of me. I’d be annoyed, thinking they were responsible for my being late for church. I’d wish that they would move a little faster, or take another route next time. Now, I was one of them.

Four months before the walk, I was lying face down in an MRI machine for a combination breast MRI/ biopsy procedure, my face wet with tears. I was told by the nurses and technicians to try to lie on the table as motionless as possible for several hours. I was given a panic button to press in case I got claustrophobic in the narrow tube. Earplugs were squeezed into my ears to soften the knocking and buzzing noises of the magnets.

I’d been through an emotionally grueling several months of repeat mammograms and ultrasounds. One doctor stated that my dense breast tissue on one side had her concerned. It was so dense that if something was wrong with me, she wouldn’t be able to see it. Another doctor noted that the breast tissue on the right looked different than the tissue on the left, which didn’t necessarily mean that something was wrong, but she couldn’t be sure. An initial MRI was ordered. Two days later, when my primary care doctor called me, I knew something was wrong. Not only were there spots on the right side in the location of the dense breast tissue that had raised concern, but spots were also identified on the left. She said the next recommended step would be the combination breast MRI/biopsy.

As I lay in the tube of the machine, my thumb caressing the panic button, I prayed. I prayed as hard as I could that it was a false alarm, that I didn’t have breast cancer, and that my life could return to normal.

A few hours later, once the procedures were done, the surgeon who’d performed the biopsy met with me in an exam room. “I don’t like to give my patients false hope while they’re waiting for the pathology report to come in,” she said, her voice gentle and soothing. “I’m pretty sure it’s cancer.”

I was numb. I asked her whether or not I would have to have a mastectomy, chemo, and/or radiation, but I felt as if I was outside of my body, watching myself ask her those questions. She responded that the cancer was very small which meant that my treatment could be minimally invasive. But the specialists would be the ones to discuss next steps with me.

My life moved in fast forward after the pathology report confirmed my diagnosis. Appointments were scheduled with the surgeon, radiation oncologist, and medical oncologist. My cancer was Stage 1. I was offered the choice of a lumpectomy with the cancerous tissue and tissue removed around the cancer to create clean margins. The breast would remain intact. Chemo would not be necessary. I entered a clinical trial which concluded that my risk of recurrence would be the same whether I had radiation or not. I was prescribed an oral medication that I would have to take for five years to block the agents that created the kind of environment in which cancer cells could grow. Remarkably, within a week of my surgery, I was back at work.

I felt a range of emotions during this period of time, deep sadness and grief, despair, and sometimes moments of joy. Family and friends surrounded me with their love and comfort. I was heartbroken that I had breast cancer, but relieved it was caught early. Relieved that women are encouraged to have annual mammograms. And relieved that we have the highly advanced technology of MRI machines to see what mammograms can’t. I thought about the activists who, over the years, have gone to Congress to push funding for breast cancer research. I thought about the doctors who specialize in breast care and are vigilant about treating cancer. I thought about all the people on a grassroots level who do their part to raise awareness about the importance of breast cancer research, early detection, and breast care through fundraising car washes, tea parties, hair cutting marathons, raffles, and walkathons. I wanted to thank them all. I thought the best way for me to do that was to take action. On social media, I happened to come across a post from a friend who was conducting an online fundraiser for Making Strides Against Breast Cancer and stated that she would be participating in the walk. I went to the Making Strides website and followed the directions for setting up my own online fundraiser. In my post, I also vowed to participate in the walk. I raised about $100 and thanked all of those who contributed. A few days later, I got an invitation in the mail for a Making Strides kickoff event, a pep rally of sorts in downtown Boston to generate enthusiasm for the upcoming walk. I attended the kickoff. I was handed a sash to wear with the word “Survivor” emblazoned in pink and met other survivors who proudly wore their sashes. A professional photographer hired for the event took pictures, including one of me holding a pink pinwheel next to a basket of pinwheels. These would be planted in a “Garden of Hope” during the walk.

Days after the kickoff, I got a call from one of the Making Strides coordinators. They wanted to use my photo on the website to encourage the public to participate in the walk and make pledges of donations. I told them I would be happy to help. Later, a few friends let me know that they had gotten emails from the American Cancer Society about the walk and were surprised to see my photo.

As I ticked off one mile after the other, I not only raised dollars for the cause but chatted with one of the coordinators of Faces of Faith, an annual photographic exhibit of cancer survivors focused on sharing stories of survivorship to encourage the demystification of cancer. The exhibit also supports those who are living witnesses that one can maintain a vibrant life as a cancer survivor. During the program, a new set of portraits of cancer survivors will be unveiled. I agreed to be one of the breast cancer survivors, giving remarks about my journey.

It took a medical diagnosis to get me from annoyed driver to walk-a-thon participant. I’m feeling pretty comfortable in my high-topped neon-pink sneakers and survivors sash. Something tells me that other opportunities won’t be far off.

-Lisa Braxton

Lisa Braxton's debut novel, The Talking Drum, is forthcoming from Inanna Publications in May 2020. She is an Emmy nominated former television journalist, essayist and short story writer. She is also a Kimbilio fellow, a national residency for fiction writers, and a book reviewer. Her website: lisabraxton.com. On Twitter: @LisaReidbraxton.