We cannot be silent is one slogan printed on specialty clothing offered by a company called Privacy. Other slogans include United We Cure and Mission. Purpose. Cure. The slogans say a lot -- but the accomplishments of Carolyn Jones, Founder and President/CEO of Privacy, say a whole lot more.
Think about this:
Jones lost her mother to breast cancer on November 16, 2000 during a time when too many questions about the disease were left unanswered and not enough options were available for women fighting for their lives.
Times have changed, in part due to outspoken pioneers like Jones, who are spreading the word and funding the cause.
Part of the Privacy corporate goal is to support medical research and to educate women about early detection and treatment.
"It is very clear that more information and research is needed due to the yearly increase in new cases nationally," says Jones who cites statistics such as this: every 12 minutes a woman in America will die from complications associated with breast cancer. And this: more than 1,500 new cases of male breast cancer will be diagnosed this year.
Privacy, a California-based company with a social conscious, offers for both women and men an assortment of t-shirts, sweatshirts, jeans, hats, recommended books, accessories, breast cancer facts, and even a contest or two. A portion of all profits are donated to breast cancer initiatives with an emphasis on low-income and uninsured populations.
Check it all out right here.
My own oncologist did it just two days ago. He checked in on my mental health, asked how I was surviving, and eased my fear of cancer recurrence and possible death. He reached beyond the medical scope of our relationship -- literally. He placed a hand on my shoulder. He offered me a hug. He cared. 
I really do believe deep down in my gut that I will survive breast cancer -- that I will witness the wonder of my children growing up, that I will be married long enough that the years blur together, that I will live to a ripe old age. But I still have moments of doubt -- moments powerful enough to make me think I should not have a third child, just in case cancer comes back. To combat these moments -- that seem to surface more now that my treatment has stopped -- I try to keep busy, keep my mind occupied, keep living. My steps for surviving in the short-term include writing, journaling, exercising, relaxing, and spending time with family. But I also follow some steps for long-term survival -- steps that transcend the moment and give me purpose and direction. And here are seven of them.
I can't decide what to do about my port now that my breast cancer treatment is over. It's been an on-going internal battle. I don't know whether I should leave it in place -- tunneled underneath the skin on my collarbone where it is available and accessible should I ever need further infusions of cancer-fighting drugs -- or whether I should have it removed since there is no real purpose for it right now. There is the issue of superstition and safety -- leaving it right where it is allows for easy use if cancer returns and prevents another surgery to implant a new one. But there is also the issue of moving on -- and removing it because I don't need it, because I may never need it. One doctor told me recently that it should come out because if it remains in my body, I risk infection. And anything foreign in my body for an extended period of time is not completely safe. But a cancer survivor told me that she had hers removed immediately after treatment and had to get a new one because her cancer recurred three months later.
