Dear Friends and Family,
It all started with Sue…
In 1985, while my Aunt Sue was nursing her youngest son, she found a lump in her breast. Shortly thereafter, at the age of 27, she was diagnosed with breast cancer. Fifteen years later, after several transitions into and out of remission, Sue lost her battle; she was 42. Her death came just 19 months before her youngest son graduated from high school. While cutting my hair, she once told me that it was her unofficial goal to see all of her kids graduate — she almost made it.
While Sue was fighting for her life, my Uncle Joe died from cancer on May 9, 1991.
Nine years later, on Sept. 20, 2000, my grandfather, John Schafer, died of cancer; little did we know, 2½ months later, we would reconvene wearing the same funeral clothes for Sue.
As if to add insult to injury, in February of 2000, my Aunt Rose was diagnosed with breast cancer. Few people knew as Rose wasn’t very public about her cancer, but one can only imagine suffering from the same disease that you have just watched your sister die from. Rose died 10 years later - February 28, 2010; she was only 50.
Is your head spinning with dates? Imagine being my grandmother, who not only had to bury her husband, but also three children.
Shortly after Rose was diagnosed, she handed me a paper with a bunch of medical jargon on it. She told me to show it to my OBGYN at my next visit. I humored her, not understanding what it was about. In a fleeting moment, I mentioned my dad’s family history with cancer at my annual exam. She told me that having a paternal aunt with breast cancer wouldn’t raise my chances. In fact, she made it sound like I was way too young to worry about such things. If I had only brought that piece of paper…
While Rose was fighting cancer, my Aunt Sally was diagnosed on Nov. 15, 2006; today, she is cancer free—a flower among the thorns.
It was at this point that common sense overpowered grief, and we all began scrambling to find that piece of paper Rose gave us two years prior. This was more than a coincidence; something Rose had figured out way before the rest of us were willing to admit it.
After some research, we discovered that my grandfather carried the BRCA-2 gene mutation, which has a 50/50 chance of being passed onto offspring. Though the gene doesn’t affect men in as drastic a way, my dad, who has watched one sister, one brother and his father die and was currently watching two sisters go through cancer treatment, looked at his three daughters, and he knew he needed to get tested. About two weeks later, my dad advised me to get tested because he had just discovered he was a carrier of the gene.
In all respects, we were lucky. My two sisters tested negative, but I was positive and had some hard decisions to make. After many doctors’ appointments and hours sitting in front of the internet, the bottom line was revealed: my family history combined with the effect of the gene put me at an 87-89% chance of being diagnosed with breast cancer.
With advice from physicians, I had a hysterectomy in July 2009, and I have a double mastectomy scheduled for this coming July. A few weeks ago, I asked my oncologist if these surgeries were an overly dramatic reaction to the gene mutation. Her response will stay with me forever; she said, “You know what else is dramatic? Chemo.”
There is no doubt in my mind that I owe my life to Rose. Her “knowledge equals power” tenacity forced me to face the reality of the situation. To thank and honor her, I will be participating in the 3-day Susan G. Komen Breast Cancer Walk on Nov. 5-7 in Dallas. My goal is to raise $2300. Many of you were so generous two years back when I participated in the 2-day Avon Walk in Chicago. For that event, in total, I raised $2000. Donations of all sizes are welcome. No gift is too small.
Gene and I are dreading the day that we have to sit Mary and Geno down and discuss this life-altering possibility. It’s hard to believe that within their small healthy bodies could lay a sleeping monster that could claim their lives. These fears may be for not, however, if efforts from fundraising campaigns find new ways to treat cancer or even cure it.
It all started with Sue…let it end with Rose.
You can help me thank Rose three ways; there are payment plans for those of you who wish to spread out your donation:
1. Mail me a check: 9103 Rainland Dr. Arlington, Tx 76002. Make the check payable to “Susan G. Komen for the Cure.” I will mail you a tax number.
2. You can donate via my facebook profile page by clicking on the “donate” link on the left side under my fundraising progress bar.
3. Or you could donate via their website by following these steps:
· Go to http://www.the3day.org/
· Click on the “Donate” link on the top gray tool bar
· Click “Search for participant”
· Fill in my name “Angela Kanak”
· This will bring you to my personal page
· Click on the bright pink box above my progress chart
Thank you so much!
Love,
Angie (first and always in my heart a Schafer) Kanak
It all started with Sue…
In 1985, while my Aunt Sue was nursing her youngest son, she found a lump in her breast. Shortly thereafter, at the age of 27, she was diagnosed with breast cancer. Fifteen years later, after several transitions into and out of remission, Sue lost her battle; she was 42. Her death came just 19 months before her youngest son graduated from high school. While cutting my hair, she once told me that it was her unofficial goal to see all of her kids graduate — she almost made it.
While Sue was fighting for her life, my Uncle Joe died from cancer on May 9, 1991.
Nine years later, on Sept. 20, 2000, my grandfather, John Schafer, died of cancer; little did we know, 2½ months later, we would reconvene wearing the same funeral clothes for Sue.
As if to add insult to injury, in February of 2000, my Aunt Rose was diagnosed with breast cancer. Few people knew as Rose wasn’t very public about her cancer, but one can only imagine suffering from the same disease that you have just watched your sister die from. Rose died 10 years later - February 28, 2010; she was only 50.
Is your head spinning with dates? Imagine being my grandmother, who not only had to bury her husband, but also three children.
Shortly after Rose was diagnosed, she handed me a paper with a bunch of medical jargon on it. She told me to show it to my OBGYN at my next visit. I humored her, not understanding what it was about. In a fleeting moment, I mentioned my dad’s family history with cancer at my annual exam. She told me that having a paternal aunt with breast cancer wouldn’t raise my chances. In fact, she made it sound like I was way too young to worry about such things. If I had only brought that piece of paper…
While Rose was fighting cancer, my Aunt Sally was diagnosed on Nov. 15, 2006; today, she is cancer free—a flower among the thorns.
It was at this point that common sense overpowered grief, and we all began scrambling to find that piece of paper Rose gave us two years prior. This was more than a coincidence; something Rose had figured out way before the rest of us were willing to admit it.
After some research, we discovered that my grandfather carried the BRCA-2 gene mutation, which has a 50/50 chance of being passed onto offspring. Though the gene doesn’t affect men in as drastic a way, my dad, who has watched one sister, one brother and his father die and was currently watching two sisters go through cancer treatment, looked at his three daughters, and he knew he needed to get tested. About two weeks later, my dad advised me to get tested because he had just discovered he was a carrier of the gene.
In all respects, we were lucky. My two sisters tested negative, but I was positive and had some hard decisions to make. After many doctors’ appointments and hours sitting in front of the internet, the bottom line was revealed: my family history combined with the effect of the gene put me at an 87-89% chance of being diagnosed with breast cancer.
With advice from physicians, I had a hysterectomy in July 2009, and I have a double mastectomy scheduled for this coming July. A few weeks ago, I asked my oncologist if these surgeries were an overly dramatic reaction to the gene mutation. Her response will stay with me forever; she said, “You know what else is dramatic? Chemo.”
There is no doubt in my mind that I owe my life to Rose. Her “knowledge equals power” tenacity forced me to face the reality of the situation. To thank and honor her, I will be participating in the 3-day Susan G. Komen Breast Cancer Walk on Nov. 5-7 in Dallas. My goal is to raise $2300. Many of you were so generous two years back when I participated in the 2-day Avon Walk in Chicago. For that event, in total, I raised $2000. Donations of all sizes are welcome. No gift is too small.
Gene and I are dreading the day that we have to sit Mary and Geno down and discuss this life-altering possibility. It’s hard to believe that within their small healthy bodies could lay a sleeping monster that could claim their lives. These fears may be for not, however, if efforts from fundraising campaigns find new ways to treat cancer or even cure it.
It all started with Sue…let it end with Rose.
You can help me thank Rose three ways; there are payment plans for those of you who wish to spread out your donation:
1. Mail me a check: 9103 Rainland Dr. Arlington, Tx 76002. Make the check payable to “Susan G. Komen for the Cure.” I will mail you a tax number.
2. You can donate via my facebook profile page by clicking on the “donate” link on the left side under my fundraising progress bar.
3. Or you could donate via their website by following these steps:
· Go to http://www.the3day.org/
· Click on the “Donate” link on the top gray tool bar
· Click “Search for participant”
· Fill in my name “Angela Kanak”
· This will bring you to my personal page
· Click on the bright pink box above my progress chart
Thank you so much!
Love,
Angie (first and always in my heart a Schafer) Kanak
Good job, be sure to mail that one out.
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