Ever since I saw the movie “Love Story” as a kid, my number one fear was getting cancer. To deal with this fear, I reassured myself that the likelihood was small, since my family had no history of cancer on either side. All of that changed in November, 2004 when my mother was diagnosed with breast cancer. This would have been devastating had the prognosis not been excellent. It was a tiny spot - stage 0 - that required a few weeks of radiation to eradicate. My mom would suffer some discomfort, but would be fine. Phew! 

At the time, I had recently noticed changes in one of my own breasts that caused me some concern, so my mom’s diagnosis made me worried, but my doctor reassured me that since my mom was pushing 80, her diagnosis didn’t constitute a genetic predisposition. I was somewhat relieved, but still concerned.

A few months later, in January of 2005, my younger sister, Judith, was diagnosed with breast cancer. She was 37 and her kids were 1 and 5. Her situation was more serious than my mother’s. Her cancer was aggressive, and it was already in the lymph nodes. The tumor was 2 cm - stage 2. She would have to have a mastectomy and undergo chemo and radiation. This was devastating.

Now, all-of-a-sudden, I had a family history of cancer and I began to take my own concerns more seriously. Unfortunately, my doctor did not. For the next year, while my sister was going through treatment, I was trying to get some answers about my own condition. A mammogram showed nothing. An ultrasound showed nothing. I wasn’t convinced and I was getting more anxious about the changes I was noticing, so I finally saw a genetic oncologist who recommended an MRI.

In February of 2006, I was diagnosed with breast cancer. By that time, my tumor had grown to 14 cm and the cancer had spread to the lymph nodes. I was stage 3. My biggest fear was staring me in the face, and I had no choice but to walk through it. So I did. I underwent the same treatment as my sister.

For as long as I can remember, I’ve been getting around by bike. I rode my bike to high school, to college and to graduate school, in Boston, LA and Chicago. I proudly rode my bike to surgery the day of my mastectomy, and I continued to commute to work by bike throughout chemo and radiation.

My husband rode the one-day (111 mile) Pan-Mass Challenge that year to raise money for Dana-Farber Cancer Institute where my sister and I were being treated. The following year, in 2007, we rode the Wellesley loop (47 miles) together. It was an emotional experience for me. I was so grateful to be strong enough to ride, and felt so desperate to make a difference in the race towards a cure for cancer. Sadly, my sister had been diagnosed with metastatic breast cancer earlier that year and her time was running out.

From the moment I completed the Wellesley loop in2007, I knew I wanted to ride the two-day PMC someday (190 miles) and be in the “Living Proof” photo of survivors who rode. Between the two of us, my husband and I had raised nearly $30,000.00 for cancer research and care in just two years. Riding the two-day PMC would not only be a personal accomplishment, it would raise crucial funds to help save lives.

In 2008, however, instead of riding the PMC, we decided to create our own ride to raise money for my sister. Conventional treatments had begun to fail her and she began to rely more on alternative treatments that weren’t covered by health insurance. We raised enough money for her to get any treatment she could find that helped, but in the end no treatment was able to stop the progression of her disease. On Aug.15, 2008 my sister Judith died of breast cancer.

Unfortunately, our family cancer story doesn’t end there. While my sister’s health declined in the Spring of 2008, we received yet another piece of shocking news: my father-in-law had breast cancer. Nobody could believe it. When would it ever end? Not only that, but he was tested for the gene that carries breast cancer and, unlike my mom, my sister and me, he had it. This meant that my kids now had a potential genetic predisposition towards breast cancer. Just great.

So, in 2008, while my sister was dying, my father-in-law in Illinois was going through the same drill of surgery, chemo and radiation that we had been through. He did well, but his health steadily declined after that and two years later it was discovered that he had developed chemo-related leukemia and he passed away on March 6, 2010.

In January, 2011, my 16-year-old son (Elias) came to me and said he wanted to ride the two-day PMC with his dad (Matt) and me. I immediately signed us up. Even though I had started a new job and was working long hours, I figured I wasn’t getting any younger and I better ride while I’m healthy and strong. One thing I’ve learned is to seize the moment, because you never know what life may throw at you.

In 2011 and 2012, Matt, Elias and I rode the two-day PMC and it was a life-changing experience in so many positive ways. First of all, we all rode strong and had a blast doing it. Secondly, the positive energy of the hundreds of people along the route cheering us on and thanking us for riding was invigorating and moving. It made us feel so good about what we were doing and it made it much easier to do it! Thirdly, I made it to Bourne for the “Living Proof” photo - a dream come true. Last, but by no means least, we raised close to $30,000 for cancer research and care.

When my father was diagnosed with terminal cancer last September, Elias and I decided once again to hit the pavement on our bikes. Cancer is a family disease for us and by riding the PMC we’re doing what we can to find a cure. I’ve survived 9 years now, and I hope to survive 50 more, but if I’m ever diagnosed with metastatic breast cancer, like my sister was, my only hope is in a cure. The same goes for our children. I hope none of them is ever diagnosed with cancer, but if they are, my experience tells me that you can’t rely on early detection. There’s no substitute for a cure, and preferably through treatment that doesn’t come with the risk of other health problems, like leukemia, down the line.

This is why I ride. I ride for myself and for others. I ride for those I love and those I don’t know. I ride in celebration of life and in the wake of death. I ride for the thrill of the moment and for the assurance of a better future. I ride out of desperation and out of hope. This is why I ride.