I just have to get this out: I hate telling people what kind of cancer I had.

Don’t get me wrong. I never mind talking about my cancer. I’m not ashamed of it like some people are. I had it, it was a huge part of my life, and it always will be. It’s part of the Courtney package now.

However, everyone always wants to know what kind it was. It’s not their fault. That’s how society has conditioned us. We think of cancer by their labels. (And in some cases associate them by the celebrities that had them.)

• Breast cancer. Very bad. Very sad when a woman gets it. Has the potential to be very deadly. Lots of ways to support the fight. Pink ribbons everywhere.
• Lung cancer. The smoker’s cancer. Very bad. Very deadly. Basically a death sentence when you’re diagnosed. Not much sympathy. Everyone assumes you brought it on yourself with your bad habits.
• Testicular cancer. For men only. a.k.a “nut cancer” or “what Lance Armstrong had.”
• Prostrate cancer. Also for men only. Has the potential to be very deadly. Not discussed as openly as many others.
• Pancreatic cancer. Bad news. Not curable. (a.k.a. the “Patrick Swayze one”.)

These are just some of them. The list goes on and on. (Unfortunately.) As do the way we associate them. (Also unfortunately.)

I understand doctors and researchers need to classify the different cancers because they all respond to treatments differently. But for the rest of us?

Cancer is cancer.

It’s scary. It’s life changing. It’s surreal. And it’s different for everyone. Both the treatments and how they experience it.

It’s driving me nuts that some cancers, like breast, are everywhere. It’s like some Pink Ribbon Club now. There are times I almost feel left out that I got lymphoma, a very common cancer in its own right, instead of freaking breast cancer because there’s no “club” for mine! (You don’t see lime green ribbons on products in every store from grocery to department to sporting goods, do you?)

But thanks to my family’s history, chemo and radiation I have plenty of opportunities to join that club at some point in the future. Great. (In case it’s not clear, I’m being sarcastic. I really don’t have any desire to become a member of the Pink Ribbon Club.)

But see there? Anyone who had breast cancer might now be offended. “What, my club’s not good enough for you?”

See what all this labeling has the potential to do? That’s exactly why I don’t like it and why it drives me nuts!