The Next CiC Fundraising Challenge!

By Survivor X | Published: August 26, 2010
Wrigley Field
photo credit: hernan.seoane

It’s Survivor X again with an amazing deal. We have a pair of PREMIUM Cubs Tickets up for grabs for our current and new fundraisers! This time around let’s test your Friends trivia with this round of incentives.

The first CiC-er to raise $500 between Thursday August 26th @ Midnight to Thursday, September 2st at 12:00a AND correctly tell us which Friends guest star is a cancer survivor will not only win a pair of  Premium Cubs Tickets, but will also get a free personal training session at the David Barton Gym. And don’t worry, since it is a free personal training so there’s no need to “quit the gym” like Ross wanted to.

If you know the answer to the trivia question, then just shoot us an email at cicinfo@netipchicago.org.  If you answer correctly AND you’re the lucky one to raise that $500 or more in a matter of a week then the prizes are yours.

Could that BE any easier? If you haven’t already created a CiC fundraising page, create one here.

Available Tickets

Monday, 9/6 vs HOU 1:20 PM (UPDATE: NEW FRONT ROW TICKETS! Wednesday, 9/8 vs. HOU 7:05PM)
Wednesday, 9/22 vs SF 7:05 PM

Raising $500 isn’t hard. Sean Paul raised OVER $500 during our last incentive contest and won a pair of Cubs tickets! Thanks, Sean Paul for kicking a$ and taking names.

UPDATE: Just got some exciting news! We’re switching out the original cubs tickets for 9/6 and replacing them with a unbelievable sponsor upgrade! The NEW tickets up for grabs are on 9/8 and they are FRONT ROW next to the visitors dugout and right behind the on-deck circle!! They are clearly visible on TV, giving you more chances for your 30 seconds of fame. The face value is $250 per ticket.

So raise that $500 for a great cause between NOW and September 2nd @ Midnight (next Wednesday night/Thursday morning) AND correctly tell us which Friends guest star is a cancer survivor for a chance to win the uber-upgraded Cubs tickets.  Plus don’t forget, you’ll still get that personal training session from David Barton’s Gym!

Good luck, folks and happy fundraising!!

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CiC 5K MVP

By Survivor X | Published: August 26, 2010

For those of you who have either started fundraising for CiC, have heard of fundraising for CiC but haven’t started yet or have started fundraising but have hit a wall; this is the interview for you! Chirag Patel, Chicago native, started fundraising in support of the Cancer is Colorblind Campaign just a few weeks ago. He fundraised enough to win several prizes at the CiC 5K and was gracious enough to let us know about his fundraising experience and his thoughts on CiC. Read on for a little CiC fundraising 101.

CiC: How did you hear about Cancer is Colorblind?

CP: From a friend, Rachna Arora, who was planning on running the 5K. I saw her CiC fundraising page and had heard about the cause so I decided to start one too.

CiC: Why did you decide to fundraise for CiC?

CP: I thought it was a good cause! Rachna motivated me and I saw people were fundraising too, which was also motivating. My family was really excited when they heard about it too, so I knew I had their support.

CiC: Did you set yourself a fundraising goal?

CP: (laughs) Yes. I set a goal of $500 and I thought it was a good goal but my dad called and told me to raise it to $1,000! My friends were also enthusiastic about donating. I had a lot of support.

CiC: You raised how much in how many days?

CP: $1,070 in two weeks!

CiC: What avenues did you use for fundraising?

CP: I sent out an email blast, called people, texted and IMed. I also followed up a lot with everyone.

CiC: Have you ever supported a cancer fundraiser before?

CP: No, the 5K was the first one. It was a good experience. There was team effort, a more personal group and a fun event. I had a really great experience, and I even bought a “fanny pack” to hold my stuff!

CiC: What would you say to someone who hasn’t opened a CiC account?

CP: It’s an important cause. Everyone knows people who have actually gone through it. Many survive and some don’t so it’s something small you can do. $10 can go a long way.

CiC: What advice would you give to someone who is struggling with fundraising?

CP: Stay positive. Be persistent, especially with friends and family. People are busy but that doesn’t mean they won’t donate.

CiC: What was your favorite moment of the CiC 5K?

CP: Finishing! The whole thing was a lot of fun. The personal trainer leading the stretches was a good idea. There was enough time in the beginning for us to go to all the tents to meet people.

CiC: You realize that since you raised more than $1,000 you can come to rest of our events for free, right?

CP: Yes, I do now!

CiC: Here’s a random question – Would you rather do jumping jacks for an hour while watching The Jersey Shore or eat your favorite food while someone is scratching nails on a chalk board?

CP: Is it the episode where Snookie gets punched?

CiC: (laughs)

CP: I’d rather eat my favorite food while listening to nails scratching on a chalk board.

So, there you have it! It’s really that simple! Chirag raised over $1,000 in ONLY two weeks! Imagine how much you can raise by 11/20/10. That’s when we’ll be celebrating the end of the campaign during our formal gala at the Galleria Marchetti. So keep on fundraising! Help save the lives of our beneficiaries at Children’s Memorial and Mt. Sinai. They’re fighting for their lives and as Chirag said, $10 can go a long way.

Happy Fundraising and thank you all…

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Hello, Halle Berry

By Survivor X | Published: August 17, 2010

The pixie cut wasn’t so bad. Some thought that it vaguely, VAGUELY, looked like Halle Berry when she was working the short hair. It actually looked cute, but I knew it wouldn’t last for long. I thought that losing short hair versus long hair would make it a little easier, but that wasn’t the case. Everyday I woke up in a sea of hair; the fact that it was short didn’t make it any easier. By now, I had been in treatment for a few weeks and the first day of school was getting closer. It was my senior year. A year most teenagers would be excited about. Prom, graduation, senior skip day, senioritis. I thought about all these events and wondered if I’d make it that far. Regardless of the my promising prognosis there were so many other things that could go wrong. I tried to focus on the positive, the fact that I was young and otherwise healthy. Since school was starting soon I had to acclimate to an entirely unique schedule. My typical schedule consisted of ice skating practice, youth group, school, homework, hanging out at the movies and mall. All that was now replaced with school, chemo, nausea, cleaning out the port-a-cath, trying to stay awake to spend time with my parents and brother and sleeping. I decided that the one thing that made me feel somewhat okay with going back to school was getting a wig, so we made it a family adventure. When my family and friends were around it seemed like everything was worth it. The nausea, the loss of hair, the fatigue. My little brother was eight at the time and he had this energy that was so contagious. I’ve never spent that much time playing Zelda and super Mario brothers. He was so fantastic and basically grew up really fast because our parents were taking care of me the entire time. For that, I’ll always be indebt to him.

Wig shopping was an interesting trip. My best friend from high school came with us. After trying on blonde wigs, long wigs, fro wigs and numerous other styles of wigs we decided on a cute black bob cut. I put it on and for some reason it worked. We all walked out of the wig shop seemingly happier than we were before. It was then that I decided that a wig was the way to go.  That’s when I was reminded again that this isn’t something I was going through alone. It affected my baby brother. It affected my parents. It affected our family from all over the US and UK that came to help out. It affected my friends. It affected my nurses and doctors. It affected so many parts of my life, all of which that helped me get through every single step of this process. At this point, I had the surgeries, I had the biopsies, I lost my hair, I lost the weight, I looked like zombie, I sometimes lost my will to live but then I got it back once I thought of them. My family, my friends, my doctors and my nurses. If it wasn’t for them….

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Ain’t No Such Thing As Sweet Cherry Pie.

By Survivor X | Published: July 13, 2010

As soon as my first treatment was done, in the parking lot and all, my parents took me to the hospital cafeteria for some lunch. I wasn’t feeling that nauseous so I figured I could handle a chicken sandwich, fries and cherry pie. A few hours later my lunch was sitting in the vomit bag next to my bed. It was one of the worst feelings of nausea I had ever experienced and I vowed to never eat cherry pie again. They say that chemotherapy changes your pallet and your diet, but I never knew how much until then. Everything I ate had to be pasteurized. I wasn’t allowed to eat fresh vegetables or fruit, so I basically ate lollipops on a daily basis. There was a constant metallic taste in my mouth making everything I ate or drank taste like aluminum. My nails turned black my eyes sank into my face. Whenever I looked at myself in the mirror I saw this old woman staring back at me. I had to figure out a way to distract myself and keep myself going. This is where the Dave Matthews Band and Harry Potter came to the rescue. Too weak to even get out of bed, I’d drift off into a faraway land where Leroi played quidditch against Ron and the lyrics to “#41” became the background music to each storyline that involved Harry and his parents. I finally found my place away from reality, and it lived with the DMB and Hogwarts.

My fantasyland quickly turned back into reality when I woke up one morning with a weird sense of pulling on my head. I sat up in bed and looked down at my cream-colored pillow and saw a sea of long black locks spread over the pillowcase. I ran my fingers through my hair and without even trying, pulled out chunks one at a time. I realized that I had now hit the even uglier part of chemo: losing my hair. As a 16 year old you are already a little self-conscious to begin with. Sure, I had an ice skaters figure, but a girls hair is, well, her hair. I proudly wore my long straight black hair with French braid or streaming down my back on a daily basis, and now most of my hair was sitting on my pillow. I quickly got up and went to my mom and without even speaking she realized why I was so upset. She knew it wasn’t the chemo, she knew it wasn’t the nausea. She knew exactly what it was. The one thing that makes any girl feel beautiful was quickly fading away. A few hours later we were sitting at a hair salon a couple blocks away. I sat down in that chair, took off my hat that was hiding my almost bald head with long random pieces of hair, and saw the look of confusion on the stylists face. I looked at her through the mirror and said, “I just started chemo and I’m losing my hair. Can you please give me the cutest pixie cut that you can?” She smiled and without asking any questions started clipping away. With every snip she made, I kept thinking about how I’d make it through this next year of high school while going through treatment. Do I wear a hat to school? A scarf? Go bald?

Feel like running away from it all? Join CIC on our Race Against Cancer on August 7th: http://cic.dojiggy.com/index.cfm?PageID=70454

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Are You Anti-Cancer?

By Marina | Published: July 1, 2010

We were reluctantly waiting in a line 20-deep to pay for our parking at North Avenue Beach.  As we lingered, one of the guys mentioned wishing he had Cancer is Colorblind (CiC) flyers to distribute.  I quietly thrust my stack of Race Against Cancer 5k Run/Walk leaflets to him and told him to have at it.  Soon after, he turned to the couple waiting in front of us and asked if they wanted to run a 5K.  He then added it was for a good cause–a fundraiser to fight cancer.  Immediately, the girl retorted, “Oh, cancer.  No, I’m anti-cancer.” 

A moment of laughter was quickly replaced by awkward silence as we realized she was serious.  No one knew quite how to respond.  We asked her to clarify.  She replied, deadpan, “I’m anti those causes like cancer.”  Another moment of silence passed.  Survivor X responded, uncharacteristically agitated, “Well, you’re looking at a 2-time cancer survivor, so you better watch what you’re saying.”  When someone asked this girl to clarify again, she simply retorted she “had her reasons” which she “didn’t want to get into.”  One of our friends, perplexed but not deterred, immediately started to walk the crowd, proudly announcing the Race Against Cancer and distributing flyers. Meanwhile, the rest of us uncomfortably pondered her comments in shock.  Even her companion seemed taken aback by the response.

After a few moments, I continued to engage the girl in conversation.  I wanted to know what she meant, to really understand her reasoning for such a disquieting comment.  Ignorance often belies reason.  I was sincerely curious.  It became readily apparent that she was of a “holistic” mindset and didn’t believe in the power of medicine.  She firmly felt, in her words, that medicines simply mask the real issues.  I’ve encountered others with similar mindsets, like those who did not believe in receiving vaccinations.  Many working in healthcare are afraid of needles and the mysterious potions within, despite working in the industry themselves.  I, myself, a healthcare employee, resist taking medication to relieve daily aches and pains.

Yet, this was taking the “ideology” to another level.  The fact is that if you’re “anti-cancer,” regardless of how you phrase it, then you’re “pro” fighting cancer.  At the heart of research lies this very tenet; by understanding the mechanisms of the disease, we are able to create not only cures, but also find measures to prevent in the first instance.  Regardless of the method of treatment, all survivors and fighters deserve our support and respect.  The same support and dignity that the oncology programs (directly benefitting from our efforts) at Children’s Memorial and Sinai seek to provide.   If you’re “anti-cancer,” by definition, you’re pro CiC.  So join the team, baby, and let’s get it on…

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Putting Out Fires

By Survivor X | Published: June 30, 2010

I stood there looking into the crowd of patients and they all had one thing in common. They were old. Every single one of them was old and there I was, this 16 year old. I didn’t fit in. I didn’t belong there for so many reasons. I wanted to be in school, not stuck in this treatment room only days away from losing every strand of my hair.  None of it made sense.

I stubbornly sat in one of the recliners next to this old man who was reading a book. He looked like he was just hanging out on his patio enjoying the sun. I wondered how he could be so happy knowing that he has cancer streaming through his body. My parents sat on one side of me, and a “substitute” nurse on the other. My real nurse wasn’t even there on my first day of treatment. The man next sitting next to me turned and said “first treatment?”  I nervously nodded not knowing what I was going to happen.

The nurse sat down and asked me to pull out the port-a-cath. I just had it surgically imbedded into my chest a couple of days ago and it was still sore. I looked down at it, and it looked ugly. There were two plastic tubes with clips on them hanging off of my chest. Real attractive.  The point of this weird looking device was to prevent myself from getting poked every other day for treatment. Chemo would be injected through the port-a-cath and would swim right through my veins. I had a choice: Either get poked every other day or get the port-a-cath imbedded into my chest. I chose the latter. I pulled out the port-a-cath and the nurse hooked me up to an IV bag, which held the drugs that would save my life. That first jolt of chemo  injected into my body felt cold as it hit my chest and streamed through my veins. It felt like something was taking over my body and every inch of my arms and chest were under some sort of spell. The taste was metallic and it instantly made me nauseous.  I tried to distract myself as I took in my surroundings. Everyone was old. I didn’t belong here. Young people don’t get cancer. We’re supposed to be in school getting ready for prom and studying for tests. Not sitting in a recliner in what seemed like a senior citizen home getting chemo injected into my body. I closed my eyes and put myself in a world far, far away. I thought of my family in London, my little brother, and my last ice skating competition that was coming up in a few weeks. Regardless of my diagnosis, I still wanted to compete in the competition that I had been practicing for the last several months. I worked too hard to just quit. Suddenly, a loud siren interrupted my daydreaming. Everyone around me looked around trying to figure out what was going on. We finally realized that it was the fire alarm and we had to evacuate. Really? A fire in the hospital right now? My nurse quickly grabbed my IV bag and told me to follow her. My parents and I followed her and the rest of the staff and patients through the stairwell and outside. I took in that breath of fresh air and experienced my first treatment out in the parking lot. I smirked slightly because it was pretty obvious that my life was never normal. I was always the black sheep and now I’m the black sheep of cancer patients. I looked around to find the old man that was sitting next to me and he was standing alone. He didn’t have anyone around him and I wondered if he had a wife or any family.  Who was here to help him? Who was going to be there when he felt nauseous and just needed someone to comfort him? How was he going to get through this all by himself?

Please prevent cancer fighters from fighting alone. Everyone needs support, especially the little ones at Children’s Memorial Hospital: www.canceriscolorbling.org

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And So It Begins…

By Survivor X | Published: June 15, 2010

Dr. Jay stood at the front of the room while I nervously scooted up on the hospital bed so he could take out the stitches out of my neck. My parents sat on either side of me as I clenched my eyes shut to keep tears from streaming down my cheeks. After a few minutes Dr. Jay was done. We all waited anxiously for him to tell us my prognosis. It’s a strange feeling- waiting for someone to tell you what your future holds. That person has so much control over your happiness and well being in those few minutes that it gives you an unbelievable feeling of helplessness.

“I have good news and I have bad news. The bad news is that you have cancer, Stage 4 Hodgkins Lymphoma. You’ll have to go through chemotherapy for at most the next year. The good news is that, thankfully, the cancer has not spread to your bone marrow so you will not need a transplant and Hodgkins is one of the most treatable cancers. You’re young and otherwise healthy, but that doesn’t mean it is not going to be a rough journey. We’ll have to schedule your first chemotherapy session ASAP. I’ll have the patient services department at the hospital and Leukemia and Lymphoma Society get in touch with you. “

And that was it. In matter of minutes Dr. Jay told me how the next year of my life was going to be. I couldn’t help but break down for the millionth time over the span of the last couple days. I remember that drive home like it was yesterday. My parents’ support and strength that day was admirable. How do you keep sane when your child has just been diagnosed with cancer? Your child is supposed to out live you, not die before you.  I remember lying in my mother’s lap during the drive home, just crying. At one point I barely opened my eyes and I saw her reflection in the rearview mirror. Her eyes were clenched tight and tears were streaming down her face. She was trying so hard not to let me hear her cry, and to this day I admire her strength. From that point on, my parents, brother and I became the strongest unit you’d ever see. I tried not to let them see me in pain. If I was strong, they were strong and that strength got us through that next year of our lives. We were going to do this together as one.

That year of my life is still a blur mostly because I spent it in denial, nauseous and experiencing side effects of chemo brain.  A few distinct memories stand out, like that extremely nauseating first chemotherapy treatment. I walked stubbornly into the treatment room with my parents and just stood there. My feet were glued to the ground as all the other patients stared back at me.

This is it? This is the treatment room? You’ve got to be kidding me…

You’ll have to stay tuned next week to see if Survivor X makes it through the first treatment. Talk about putting out some fires…

There are a lot of reasons why organizations fundraise. Find out why we’ve chosen Children’s Memorial and Sinai Health Systems and how you can help: www.canceriscolorblind.org

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Hi, CIC, I’m Survivor X

By Survivor X | Published: June 8, 2010

I hate waiting rooms. I hate hospitals. I hate doctors. I hate the stupid “feel better” music they have playing. I hate that I’m not in school right now. I hate that I have stitches on the side of neck.  I hate that I can’t go skate tonight. Needless to say, I’m pretty angry. But, I’m also terrified as hell as these thoughts race through my mind. I don’t want to die. I’m too young. I just turned 16 a few weeks ago. I have a little brother. I want to live in all these cities. I just had a huge fight with my parents and I didn’t say ‘I’m sorry’. I’m not ready to go yet. I look over at my mom and dad who are sitting with me in the hospital waiting room. Tears sting my eyes as I realize that they’re scared too. Everything was fine until yesterday.  Yesterday was the day I “accidentally” found out I had cancer.

My mind flashes back to two days ago. I had two biopsies done; one to remove several lymph nodes from my neck and the second was a bone marrow biopsy. A week ago I was feeling perfectly fine, and now here I am with my parents sitting in this damn hospital room waiting for Dr. Jay to tell us the results of the biopsies. Part of me wants to believe this is all a joke; it’s a mistake and I just need some antibiotics and I’ll be fine. But, there’s also a part of me that can’t forget look of sadness and fear on my mother’s face yesterday when I randomly said, “As long as I don’t have cancer I’m fine”. My mother, my amazing, strong mother, who always has something to say, was completely speechless. Her silence was enough for me to realize that it was true; I had cancer. I screamed loud enough to wake up the entire city and there she was holding me as I fell to the ground. We sat there in tears for what seemed like hours. After a frantic phone call to my father, he hurried home to be there with us. He held me and said, “We’re going to beat this. I promise you, you’ll be treated and everything will be fine. We’re going to find a cure”.

Finding a cure. That’s why we’re here. 13 years ago I thought I had no hope to live, but thanks to research and supporters like you, I’m here today and sharing my story, hopefully inspiring people one reader at a time to join our Cancer is Colorblind cause http://www.canceriscolorblind.org/. It’s a cause lead by some of the most passionate and dedicated people I’ve ever met. It’s a cause that will change the lives of so many little children fighting this awful disease. It’s a cause that will support those parents who have just been diagnosed with cancer. It’s a cause that saved my life. It’s a cause that will fight this monster one dollar a time.

But, my story doesn’t end there… I knew my life was going to change, but I had no idea how much until Dr. Jay spoke the words that changed my life forever…

Stay tuned next Tuesday to find out what happens to Survivor X.

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It’s time to join the CiC cause

By Amit V. | Published: June 2, 2010

CiC Needs YouOver the past few weeks, I’ve scoured the entire city meeting people and telling them about the Cancer is Colorblind campaign. I’ve recited our mission so many times and to so many people that I know it better than I know the alphabet. I do it because I believe in the campaign and I believe we can make a real impact.

In a previous post, Ashwin did a great job tackling two tough questions – Why CiC? and Why NetIP? Now, I want to tackle the next question – Why me? Why should I join this cause? Why should I be spending my personal time to fundraise for this campaign?

In 2007, cancer caused the death of 7.6 million people. That’s more than 20,000 people a day that lost their life to cancer. Once you factor in collateral damages to friends and family almost every person on this planet has been impacted by cancer. When talking to people about CiC, every single person has told me that cancer has affected them either directly or through a friend or family member. The worst part is that all research indicates that it will more than double in the next couple decades.

That’s why I joined. I’ve seen what cancer can do to a person and how it changes the world around them. I want to bend the curve and see cancer rates drop in the next decade. I want to see less deaths. I want to see less collateral damage. I want to see the CiC campaign fulfill its goal and make a real impact on cancer. So how am I going to do that? By participating in the Cancer is Colorblind campaign. We can raise the money that Children’s Memorial needs for their STAR program. We can raise the money that Sinai Health System needs for their Patient Navigator program. We can mobilize the city of Chicago and unite behind this worthy cause.

But I can’t expect the momentum from this one post to carry you through a 6 month campaign. That’s why the CiC team has setup events throughout the year to continue to carry the momentum to our Gala on Nov. 20th. Starting with our CiC Pub Crawl on June 12th, which will be free to all CiC Particpants that can raise $125 by June 10th. We’ll follow that with the CiC 5k Run/Walk on August 14th; free to all CiC participants that have accumulated $250 in donations. Our last pre-gala event will be the CiC Celebrity Golf Outing on September 25th, which will be free to CiC Particpants that have accumulated $500 in fundraising.

So, how do you join the CiC cause? You start by creating a personal fundraising page. We’ll be sending regular updates to our participants including fundraising tips and details for our CiC events.

Participate and start helping others.

[image attribution to piermario]

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What is “CiC” and Why NetIP for $100,000?

By Ashwin | Published: May 21, 2010

Our first blog launching the Cancer is Colorblind (“CiC”) campaign simultaneously responds to two questions we’ve heard throughout the course of the last six months while developing and planning our fundraising campaign benefiting pediatric and adult cancer patients at Children’s Memorial Hospital and the Sinai Health System:  What is CiC? and Why NetIP?

Everyone wants to help the kids (i.e. our pediatric cancer patients at Children’s Memorial Hospital) and adults fighting cancer (i.e. our partnership with the Sinai Health System).  But why NetIP?  Is cancer NOT colorblind?  What does cancer have to do with a group of 5,000+ South Asian professionals?  Does cancer uniquely affect South Asians?  Are various types of cancer more prevalent in the South Asian community?

It’s true that researchers compile information about cancer diagnoses and track cases using a number of variables including ethnicity and gender to understand the factors affecting cancer risk and how cancer impacts society.  It’s also true that rates of certain cancers, such as liver and stomach cancer, are relatively higher among Asians than certain other segments of the general population.  (See, e.g., USC Comprehensive Cancer Center, 2006 Cancer Report).  But it’s equally true and voluminous statistical data support the proposition that cancer affects all races, genders, and ages.  (See American Cancer Society, Illinois Cancer Facts & Figures 2008-2009)  Since no subset of the population is immune, the theme and direction of our campaign focuses on the “colorblind” nature of cancer.  It’s also our namesake.

But many potential supporters may still wonder why a group called the Network of Indian Professionals of Chicago (“NetIP Chicago”) would invest significant resources, time, and money launching a six-month campaign dedicated to raising funds for cancer-related programming and research and honoring cancer survivors and fighters. After all, there are numerous “South Asian-specific” charities and causes ranging from Apna Ghar (domestic violence shelter catering to immigrant populations) to Akshaya Patra (meal program for hungry school kids in India) to the Association for India’s Development (movement promoting sustainable and equitable development in India).  And these are just a few South Asian focused community groups starting with the alphabet “A”!

While NetIP Chicago partners with and/or supports each of these noted organizations, we designed the Cancer is Colorblind Campaign, which includes our signature year-end gala, to highlight the new and improved NetIP Chicago.  Our mission entails fostering the development of all segments of the Chicago professional community, who have an interest in South Asian culture.

Cancer is Colorblind provides a unique opportunity to achieve our mission by mobilizing and leveraging the success of the entire Chicago community, while recognizing and supporting the cancer struggle shared by all.  Individual participants are presented with an avenue to make an impact, help save lives, and work with like-minded professionals throughout the course of the CiC Campaign.

Getting involved is easy. Participate and start making an impact today.

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Our Purpose

The Cancer is Colorblind (CiC) campaign seeks to raise awareness and funds for pediatric and adult cancer prevention and treatmeant, while honoring cancer survivors and fighters who have made an impact in the local community.

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All proceeds benefit Children's Memorial Hospital and Sinai Health System in Chicago.




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