Here in Indiana, October marks a turning point. The green of summer gives way to a stunning tapestry of gold, yellow, and orange. The mornings and evenings greet us with a chill in the air, hinting at the winter to come. For many, it’s simply a season of transition. But for me, October carries much deeper significance.

This month is an anniversary—one that marks battles I never expected to fight. It was in October, 10 years ago, that I was diagnosed with cervical cancer. Then, just two years later, in the same month, I heard those dreaded words again: breast cancer. So, for me, October is a time of scanxiety—anxiety over upcoming tests, mixed with moments of reflection that can sometimes feel like reliving trauma. But it’s also a time of gratitude, because I’m still here, standing strong.

October is also the month when pink ribbons seem to bloom everywhere, spreading messages of hope for breast cancer warriors, survivors, and thrivers. And while I appreciate the awareness, I’m tired—tired of cancer’s relentless presence in my life. It wasn’t just my diagnosis. My mother was diagnosed with breast cancer. Then my aunt. Then me. My cousin. And now, just recently, my sister. It’s as if cancer has drawn a line through generations of my family, and the next in line could be my daughter.

The only silver lining? We’re catching it earlier. My mother and aunt were diagnosed with stage 3, while my cousin, sister, and I were caught at stage 0 or stage 1. Early detection saves lives, but that doesn’t lessen the emotional toll.

Here’s the reality: 1 in 8 women reading this will face breast cancer in their lifetime. Think about that. According to Komen.org, the two most common risk factors are simply being born female and getting older. It’s staggering, and it’s unacceptable. Breast cancer and cervical cancer share more in common than we often acknowledge, and both must be stopped.

When I got my breast cancer diagnosis, I was in shock. I had just finished treatment for stage 3B cervical cancer. I couldn’t comprehend how cancer had returned, but there it was—another battle, another round of surgery, chemotherapy, and radiation. And now, watching my sister go through it? I refuse to let my daughter face the same fate without a fight.

So yes, I’m wearing my pink this October. I’m mad as hell, and I’m making sure legislators, researchers, and anyone who will listen hears my voice. Come January, I’ll be wearing teal and white, advocating just as fiercely for cervical cancer awareness.

We cannot stop talking about breast and cervical cancer. We must continue fighting for better treatments, vaccines, healthcare equality, and cures. We are the warriors, the survivors, and the thrivers. And in the words of Helen Reddy: “I am woman, hear me roar!”

Laura Lemons (she/her/hers) is a 2019 alumni of Cervivor School and a Cervivor Ambassador. She is a volunteer for the American Cancer Society Cancer Action Network (ACS CAN) for the state of Indiana and was an advocate for the Lymphedema Treatment Act (LTA) which passed in 2023. Her journey as an advocate for equitable healthcare began after witnessing disparities while receiving treatments for cervical and breast cancer. Laura is particularly passionate about addressing the stigma surrounding gynecological cancers. A proud central Indiana native, Laura lives with her husband, Jim, and their dogs, Bella and Sylvie. She is also a mother to two adult daughters, Allison and Melissa.