Editor’s Note: This guest article, written by a local breast cancer survivor Michelle Fimon, is a special feature for Paint the Town Pink and Matchbox Children’s Theatre production of The Pale Pink Dragon, which will be held 7 to 8 p.m. on Friday and from 2 to 3 p.m. on Saturday and Sunday at the Paramount Theatre.

By Michelle Fimon

I’m in the Paramount Theatre, where fairytales come to life each year amidst an atmosphere of magical thinking: twinkling stars in the ceiling, regal velvet curtains and gilded balconies. As a breast cancer survivor, I’ve willed my happily-ever-after more than once. Tonight, I’m content to be a mere spectator to the drama unfolding before me.

Children frolic in the spotlight; my 10-year-old son is one of them. The setting – ornamented with a black cauldron and an upright broom – implies danger hidden in a nearby wood.

“The kingdom of Caladar is in an uproar. Princess Pinkie has disappeared … a dragon lurks in the forest … presumed to have devoured the princess. Gallant Prince Hal, his bumbling squire and the King, the pompous chamberlain and Pinkie’s fierce white cat set out to destroy the dragon. The dragon, however, turns out to be pale pink and lovely — the prince cannot kill it.”

While the story’s conflict keeps me engaged, it’s a reminder of how the drama of survivorship continues. A new identity, permanent side effects and continued medical visits leave us wondering what will happen. Nonetheless, our scars are carried as a reminder of how far we’ve come.

The Absence of Security

In the beginning, I viewed survivorship as a conqueror, filling my dialogue with the all the “familiar” phrases. I was “battling” cancer, “fighting like a girl” and on a quest to “slay the dragon within.” But now — seven years later — watching the storyline of this script unfold, I embrace the disease for what it really is. The cancer dragon isn’t something on the outside, awaiting a hero’s arrival so that it will disappear and be forgotten. Unfortunately, it’s a part of us. In an attempt to abolish the beast, we endured concoctions of chemicals (chemotherapy), magic beams of light (radiation) and the sword itself (surgery). However, the only way to guarantee that its ugly threat will never return is to destroy the very being in which it exists…the slaying of the pink dragon I see in the mirror each day. Until there is a cure, I’ve no choice but to befriend the creature within.

Today, more people will survive their original diagnoses than did patients of earlier years, but the long-term effects of treatment are brutal. In 2014, there were 14.5 million cancer survivors living in the United States; nearly 300,000 in Minnesota. Consequently, we are forced to accept the mutilation of our flesh and the remnants of malignancy’s evil spell in our day-to-day lives.

The twist in the Pale Pink Dragon, however, lies in the vulnerability of the dragon and in its identity. At one point in the play, it’s said, “It’s the spirit, not the face, which we love. It’s the beauty from within that makes this face so lovely.”

That’s what cancer survivors do: they find a way to take the ugly and transform into something they can behold.

Nine Lives

Carley Carranza has beaten the odds. At age 29, she found a lump in her breast; within a day, she was in surgery for stage 3, triple-negative breast cancer, succumbing to a double mastectomy, the removal of over 40 lymph nodes and a half a year’s worth of chemotherapy. Her daughter Cleo was turning two at the time.

Now eight, Cleo has the role of Princess Pinkie’s white cat in The Pale Pink Dragon, and Carley has built the whimsical dragon taking center-stage in her daughter’s production. Fragile and delicate, it’s a fascinating backdrop to the story’s theme that love, indeed, will cast out fear.

That sentiment spills into real life. While Carley coordinates the wardrobe for each cast member, her best friend Jenny Dreyer is co-director. Jenny’s mom Liz Bankes (who has the role of the witch) assisted with the dragon’s construction. Jenny’s watched cancer’s results on Carly over the years, especially in those months where she was too sick to even hold her toddler.

Carley credits her family for the attitude she’s had toward survivorship. Taught to sew by her grandmother at a young age, she’s woven hope, wishful thinking and imagination into every situation. It’s the basis of her role within Matchbox Theatre, as well as the foundation for dealing with the depression and fatigue that envelopes many breast cancer patients. Left with food allergies following treatment, Carley’s required to eliminate gluten and soy from her diet. A metallic taste lingers in her mouth; a symptom of chemotherapy that never went away. Bone pain and muscle cramping are common occurrences, as is the neuropathy in her hands and feet. This hasn’t stopped her from making the most of each moment, however.

“My mom – who’s also a cancer survivor — encouraged me to think out of the box; my dad instilled the importance of creativity,” Carley explained. “They said if you don’t have something, but think you could do what it takes … then try it.”

So, not knowing if she’d even be able to pull it off, Carley co-founded a roller derby group. It became a metaphor for coping with her cancer ordeal: “It both wrecked me and saved me at the same time,” she confided.

Despite a culture that facilitates a fighting spirit, derby strengthens the bond between women. Another survivor joined the group; eventually the despair and isolation that Carley felt began to diminish. The scars remain; forgetfulness and distraction continuously plague her, but with each fall, she learns to rise again. It’s a trait she and her feline-playing daughter seem to share.

The Spokesperson

Jadon Fimon plays Poutchiekin, the King’s chamberlain and spokesperson, in the Pale Pink Dragon. Jadon was only three when cancer boldly announced itself into his home. As his mom, I was there to witness it. Like Carley, I found my own breast lump, despite a clear mammogram 10 months earlier. I knew immediately that my life story would suddenly change.

I was no stranger to adversity and trauma, however, having survived a stabbing at age 18 just days shy of starting college.

I’d been working as a reporter at the Herald, but once my life was threatened, I quit writing; I lost my voice. I was too afraid to stand in the spotlight again, so I remained in the shadows of those who were prominent. I moved away…and lived for two decades as a victim running from the truth of who I was. It was the birth of my son that led me back to my hometown of Austin, and it’s been cancer that’s kept me here. Many of the ongoing side-effects that Carley possesses have also negatively impacted me — to the point of having to file for permanent disability. The cognitive effects of chemotherapy were profound; I struggled with my speech and with recognizing people. Short term memory became almost non-existent. Socially I retreated. PTSD re-triggered to a debilitating degree. The quest for rehabilitation took me from hospital to hospital, specialist to specialist, medication to medication, including one that left me nearly suicidal. I’d lost my breasts, my hair, my education and my job, but what terrified me was the idea that I could never rid myself of a disease that my own flesh had created. When I’d been stalked, I could flee, running from city to city, state to state. But how does one hide from the potential killer within? How can we possibly co-exist and survive?

These are the questions that cancer patients live with from day to day.

“But at least you’re alive,” is the answer that we most often hear. Others mean well, but they’re merely audience members who can get up and leave as the curtain falls. We, on the other hand, see the backstage view of disease. No one chooses to live as a dragon, I confess.

“Just be grateful,” we’re told.

I am, but there are days when it feels as if happiness will never truly return to the kingdom; there’s been so much damage.

But then my son, playing the quirky little character who belts out the truth for all to hear, reminds me of something: One needn’t possess the highest credentials — as long as his or her voice can be put to use for the good of all. We share the same duty; a noble calling still crying out to me. Despite the loss, I have my words. Stepping forward from the shadows and moving into the light, our job is to bring attention to the issues at hand and reveal them to those who have the power to act.

The power to save.

It’s what we do, just as in days gone by, when pink and the dragon both descend upon the land.