Downtown Oklahoma City pulsed with hope and determination on Saturday, October 18, 2025, as breast cancer survivors, their loved ones, and supporters gathered for the More Than Pink Walk. Organized by the Susan G. Komen Foundation, this annual event isn’t just a walk—it’s a rallying cry for awareness, research funding, and community support for those battling breast cancer. With FOX 25’s Wendy Suares emceeing the morning, the atmosphere was charged with both celebration and resolve. The foundation, recognized as a global leader in breast cancer advocacy, aimed to raise over $1 million this year, with similar walks taking place in cities across the country.
“Everything about it speaks volumes about saving lives, and I think it’s very important that we continue to work with the organization, get the information out there, provide the resources and just share,” said cancer survivor Wendy Ables, as reported by KOKH. Her words echoed a sentiment felt by many in attendance: that awareness and resources can make all the difference. In Oklahoma alone, more than 3,000 people are expected to receive a breast cancer diagnosis in 2025—a sobering statistic that underscores the importance of early screenings and access to care.
But while the downtown gathering offered a sense of solidarity, the journey through breast cancer is often deeply personal and, for many, isolating. Stories from around the country reveal the diverse faces and challenges of this disease. In Waterloo, Iowa, Cathy Ketton’s experience is a testament to both the power of family and the need for culturally sensitive support. When Ketton was diagnosed in August 2022 with non-invasive ductal carcinoma in situ, stage 1-2 triple negative breast cancer, it was a moment she’d anticipated—her family’s history with breast cancer cast a long shadow. Her mother had died from metastatic breast cancer in 2003, and both her daughters, Niisha Horton and ShanQuiesha “Shae” Robinson, were diagnosed in their twenties.
For Ketton and her daughters, the lack of support and representation for women of color in breast cancer communities was glaring. “When [my grandmother] had breast cancer, she never talked about it. She lived her life like she didn’t have cancer,” Horton recalled in an interview with The Gazette. Robinson, too, remembered the loneliness of her diagnosis at 25: “The loneliness of that season was heavy. I longed for a space where I could be seen, understood and supported by others who truly got it.”
That longing led to the creation of the Splash of Color Breast Cancer Support Group (SoC). What started as a question—“What if we created something different? Something that made sure women of color didn’t have to walk this journey alone?”—became a mission. SoC was built to offer sisterhood, strength, and a belief that no one should face breast cancer in isolation. “There’s a quiet discouragement, a cultural silence, that often keeps our stories tucked away. I wanted to change that,” Robinson said. The group provides scholarships to ease the financial burden of treatment, advocates for better information and care, and—perhaps most importantly—creates a space where women of color can feel seen and supported.
The need for such support is clear. According to the American Cancer Society’s 2024-25 “Breast Cancer Facts and Figures” report, Black women have a 5 percent lower incidence of breast cancer than White women, but a staggering 38 percent higher mortality rate. The causes? Later diagnosis and less access to high-quality treatment. “We wanted to equip women to truly understand their diagnosis, to ask the right questions, and to feel confident in the decisions they were making about their care,” Robinson emphasized. For many, SoC’s scholarships and advocacy are more than assistance—they’re a lifeline. “It’s our way of saying: you’re not alone. We’re here, and we’re fighting with you,” she said.
Early detection is a drumbeat echoed across survivor stories. In Forty Fort, Pennsylvania, Katie Poplaski’s experience highlights the hurdles young women face in getting diagnosed—and the importance of persistence. At 29, Poplaski noticed swelling and pain in her left breast, but two ultrasounds found nothing. It wasn’t until she turned 30 and became eligible for a mammogram under her insurance that she was diagnosed with hormone-positive breast cancer, which quickly mutated into the aggressive triple-negative form. “It’s really devastating to me how the insurance companies will work so hard to prevent early detection,” Poplaski told The Times Leader. Her journey through eight rounds of chemotherapy, fertility preservation, double mastectomy, and reconstruction was grueling, but in August 2024, she was declared cancer-free. Still, ongoing scans will be a part of her life indefinitely.
Throughout her treatment, Poplaski turned to social media, sharing candid photos and videos of her experience with over 4,000 followers. “20% of women who have breast cancer get left by their spouses and, you know, women are supposed to keep their households together, and there’s just people out there who are just alone,” she shared. For her, building an online community was about making sure no one had to endure the journey in isolation. Connecting with other survivors, especially through the Young Survival Coalition’s meetup in Georgia, was instrumental in her recovery. “There were 825 people there,” she said. “People who are long-time survivors, new people that are newly diagnosed, people who’ve gone through treatment, people who haven’t. It was just a really nice mix of everything.”
Poplaski’s advocacy didn’t stop there. She was selected as the model for Cancer Compassionate’s 2025 Strength and Courage campaign, traveling to Las Vegas for a photo shoot that helped her reclaim confidence after treatment. “When you’re going through treatment, you look in the mirror and you look like an alien,” she said. “You have no hair, no eyebrows, no eyelashes, nothing. So, for my one-year cancer anniversary, I did a photo shoot by myself, and it was empowering to get my confidence back.”
Her experience also shed light on the financial and legal landscape for survivors. “Breast cancer is very expensive to go through, as all cancers are. I would say from start to finish it’s about $25,000 I paid,” Poplaski noted, despite having good insurance. She now advocates for awareness of state laws that protect breast cancer survivors, such as Pennsylvania’s mandate for insurance coverage of reconstruction surgery and preventive care scans.
Across these stories runs a common thread: the critical importance of early detection, community support, and advocacy. Whether it’s a city-wide walk raising millions, a family turning pain into purpose, or a survivor using her platform to empower others, each effort chips away at the isolation and barriers that so often accompany a breast cancer diagnosis. As Ables, Ketton, Robinson, and Poplaski demonstrate, the fight is about far more than pink ribbons—it’s about real lives, real challenges, and the power of connection.
Each step, each story, and each act of advocacy brings hope to those still facing the journey, reminding them—and all of us—that no one should have to walk alone.
