I wanted to be a doctor since I was 3. If anybody asked me why, I would say I wanted to wear a white coat. I was 5 when my mother was diagnosed with breast cancer.
I remember wearing a pink ribbon when I visited her at the hospital. After my mother’s passing, I didn’t like the white coat so much anymore. But I still wanted to be a doctor. To cure cancer.
Cancer is not a contagious disease, like the flu or HIV.
Cancer cells are your own cells which have changed their normal receptors, and can’t respond to normal signals which tell them when to stop growing.
My work involved “designing” viruses that could connect with these mutated receptors and then “kill” the cells.
Long story short, after working on it for more than two decades, I finally got a working “cure for cancer”. The whole world rejoiced.
Everyone started using my “miracle virus” and the world was free of cancer.
But things didn’t last that way for long. The virus mutated, and instead of curing cancer, it began spreading it. I had given cancer the only thing it lacked, communicability. Millions died.
Soon, the pink ribbon started to mean something entirely different. People used that to mark those with the new form of cancer, and put them in “camps”.
When the cure became the disease, quarantine was the only option.
Now I wear a pink ribbon again. But no one comes to visit me.