Kristen Casillo: 36, legal personnel manager
Type of cancer: Breast cancer
Diagnosed at: 35
Mom to: Sophia, 4, and Nicholas, 1 year
“My treatment, which included getting a double mastectomy and thirty rounds of radiation, was so intense there was just no way I could do it alone. We put our house on the market and moved in with my parents. My mom took a leave of absence from work to care for my kids. After my double mastectomy, I couldn't pick up Nicholas for six weeks. It makes me cry just thinking about it. But having kids and cancer at the same time means there's no time for a pity party. I had to do everything I could to ensure that I would be here to raise my kids. Taking control of your health is not selfish—you do it for your children's sake.”
Debbie Skolnik: 45, senior editor at Parenting
Type of cancer: Breast cancer
Diagnosed at: 41
Mom to: Clara, 12, and Genie, 8
“My right breast hurt, so I had a mammogram. It turned out that my right breast was fine—but my left one had cancer. I was fortunate: The cancer hadn't spread. But I still needed to have a mastectomy (I opted for a double) and reconstructive surgery. The whole thing was painful and grueling. And my situation was unique—right as I was diagnosed, my younger sister, Emily, who'd struggled with her own breast cancer for years, was dying. My first week I was up and around, Emily passed away at 37. That was when the tough questions started, particularly from my younger daughter, Genie, who was five years old at the time. She'd ask repeatedly if I was going to get as sick as Emily had been. I'd explain that I was pretty certain I was going to be fine. I'd say, ‘Do you understand what I'm saying?’ and she'd nod. Then I'd ask, ‘Do you believe me, baby bear?’ and she'd shake her head and burst into tears.
“Despite my sister's experience, I hadn't had a mammogram in five years. Watching what was happening to Emily was so scary and preoccupying, I didn't want to look behind the curtain at my own health. But when I finally did, it saved my life. I had this feeling like I had decided to take an earlier boat instead of the Titanic, and just escaped a major disaster. My cancer wasn't a single lump—it was a bunch of tiny specks I would have never been able to feel on my own. The mammogram found a needle in a haystack—wouldn't you want to know about your needle in a haystack when you can still easily do something about it?”
