Meet Laura Littner

My story is really my family's story. It started in January of 2002 when my 32-year-old sister, Tracy (pictured right at Race For Life, a few months after finishing treatment), was diagnosed with cancer. A new mom, who thought she had a blocked milk duct or an infection, got the news that she had breast cancer. Our journey started with her. First came the chemo, then the surgery and finally the radiation. How helpless I felt watching her. I was the big sister, I was supposed to fix things — but I couldn't fix this. All I could do was cook her some meals, watch her kids, hold her hand and occasionally cry with her. Nine months later we celebrated the end of the treatments, thinking this was the end of the story.

Fast forward to October 2004. My sisters, our parents and children were participating in a breast cancer walk in Chicago. As we walked with and for Tracy, I choked back the tears — not for her, but because I had found a lump on my breast and under my arm just a couple of days before. My appointment would be the next day. Only two people knew, Tracy and my husband. I didn't want to ruin the weekend. Most of all, I didn't want to tell my parents. I didn't want to see that pain in their faces again, not because of me. But, Monday came and my mom and Tracy went with me to the doctor. We knew by the tech's face what the outcome would be and that night the doctor confirmed our fears. I received the diagnosis that I had breast cancer. How could this be? We had no family history. Tracy had tested negative for the cancer genes. Like it or not, we prepared for round two with cancer.

In many ways I was lucky. For one, I was better informed than most and knew exactly what that year would hold for me. I was surprised how difficult it was emotionally. I was the oldest and had spent my life taking care of others, be it my children, my parents, my sisters, but now, I had to allow others to care for me. I am a person who takes charge of her life, some would say a control freak. I organize, plan and execute. My first response to the diagnosis was to begin making lists of what I needed to do before surgery — for instance, renew drivers license now while you have hair, finish Christmas shopping, etc. Some would say I was in denial, I saw it as damage control. My future was out of my hands and it scared me to death.

As my journey with cancer began, my mom was there every step of the way. She moved in with us. At every chemo treatment you could find her holding my hand. Tears would fill her eyes every time I winced in pain, and quietly she wished it was her and not me. To me this was more painful than any drug they gave me. I needed to get her to focus on something positive. Lying there, I remembered a friend who had done something called Bunco for Breast Cancer. My mom had been the head of a not-for profit for 20 years and nothing got her going like raising money for a good cause. It was there in a Loyola Chemo room that Woodstock Bunco for Breast Cancer was born. It was our way of fighting back and focusing on something more than my increasingly thin hair. After a great deal of research, we decided that The Breast Cancer Research Foundation would be the benefactor of our efforts. Just about the time my hair was coming back, we had our first event and raised $15,000 in one day for BCRF. The following year it increased to $30,000, and in 2007, $40,000. We are the largest Bunco event in the country. We thought what a happy ending to our story, but that was not to be. (pictured: Laura (left), after she finished treatment, with her parents on their 40th wedding anniversary, with sisters Tracy and Michelle.)

In the summer of 2008, the entire Martino family prepared for a long awaited trip. We were going on the Disney Cruise together. A week before we were to leave, mom told us that she had a bad mammogram and needed a biopsy. Tracy, my sister Michelle, my dad and I made the trip into the city with mom. We found out a couple of days later that she, too, had breast cancer. Here we go again. She worried about Bunco, she worried about the trip, but most of all she worried about the grand kids. How would they take this?

My 10 year old son, Jack, and Tracy's 12 year old son, Alex were the first she told. They asked questions about the size of the tumor and what stage she was in. Alex said the little kids might not understand, but he thought things sounded pretty good. The boys said we need to raise more money to find a cure and that they wish we had something that they could help with, like a golf outing. By the time we left that day, the two of them had planned their event and had even designed the t-shirts. This may not sound normal to most people, but given what they had been through, it made complete sense.

From the beginning, Mom was determined to get this "thing" over with. She had things to do and in her mind it was nothing compared to watching her two girls go through it. Many a night gone by, she had asked God to spare us and give the cancer to her. Now it was her turn and she was not about to let it slow her down. Only a few weeks after a double mastectomy, she had been making calls from her bed to make sure the donations kept coming in for Bunco. Cancer wasn't going to be the reason we failed! Less than 7 weeks after her surgery, my mom prepared for her first big outing — yep, it was our Bunco for Breast Cancer Event! There wasn't a dry eye in the house when she took the stage that day. Our event raised $50,000 that year, and last year we topped our wildest dreams when my mom was able to personally deliver BCRF a check for $62,000.

BCRF has been our biggest cheerleader every year and we have never once regretted our decision to support their efforts. Some in our community criticized us for not supporting local efforts. We don't deny the importance of those programs, but our push has always been research — finding a cure. There is a sense of urgency for our family, one I feel every time I look at my beautiful little girl.

Our full circle moment came last year as we finally were able to do the full battery of genetic testing on the three of us. We all came back negative for the BRCA genetic mutations. Some would say that was great, but for us it was discouraging. There is no denying there is a genetic link to the cancer in our family now, but nobody knows what it is. We don't know what other cancers, if any, we have a greater risk for. After the results came back, we were asked if we would be willing to participate in Dr. Mary Claire King's study to find other mutations. There was a unanimous yes! Over the next few weeks, we gave our blood and filled out all the paper work. It was while filling out that paper work that we saw the study was funded by BCRF. Coincidence, fate or divine intervention - you decide.

(Laura pictured with her family this year at Easter.) Personally, I believe that everything happens for a reason. People have said how could God do this to one family? God didn't give my family cancer, but he gave my family and me courage to endure it and made us stronger for it. Cancer has helped me appreciate and embrace every day of my life. One day on the way home from chemo, I thought how much I missed Woodstock (my hometown), how nice it would be to move back. Then I thought that is just silly...you're a tenured teacher at a well paying public high school, you'd have to sell the house, move the kids. I came home and shared my crazy idea with my husband. After the shock wore off, he said "why not". So I quit my job, sold our house and moved back. Two weeks before school started, the principal from my alma mater called and asked if I would like to come and work there. I said yes, and the rest is history.

Cancer gave me the courage and opportunity to change my life, and I couldn't be happier. Cancer was not a death sentence, rather it was a wakeup call to live the life I wanted. Because of Bunco, we have had the opportunity to be inspired by so many amazing women. We have heard their stories and shared our own. Sometimes I have heard survivors say they don't wear breast cancer ribbons or pink because they don't want to dwell on the cancer or be a billboard for a cause. Well, I want to close by telling you why I wear pink and play Bunco:

">I do it for the estimated 207,090 women in 2010 that will be diagnosed with breast cancer.

I wear it for the women who every 3 seconds are diagnosed with breast cancer, and the one who dies every 13 minutes from it.

I do it for my middle sister, Michelle, who has been told it is not if she will get this, but when.

I do it for my baby sister, Tracy, for the surgery, chemo and radiation she endured. I wear it for every tear we shed and as a tribute to her courage.

I do it for myself. For the terror that struck my heart as the doctor uttered those words "you have cancer" and for the doctors who treated me, giving me my hope back.

I do it for my husband, Barry, who sustained me through the months of chemo. Who did whatever I asked, from moving to shaving my head so I didn't have to watch my hair fall out strand by strand.

I do it for my mom, who faced cancer with the attitude "better me than my children again".

But most of all, I do it for my daughter. I do it to find a cure. A cure so that this disease will NEVER touch her.