It Was Always When, Never If ~ Andy's Story 💪
💕 Andy Kahle was diagnosed with breast cancer in 2010, weeks after buying her first drag racing car and starting work toward her licence. She shares how holding onto one very specific goal carried her through treatment, and how that same car eventually became Therapy on Wheels. We are delighted that Andy has offered to share her inspiring story with our community 💕 I was in the shower on an ordinary Wednesday night when I felt it. Dishes done, Mick (my hubby) stretched out on the couch watching the news, the dogs under the dining table dreaming about leftovers they weren't getting. Then, a lump. Within a few weeks I was sitting across from my GP hearing him say the words out loud. "Andy, you have breast cancer." What followed was a double mastectomy with reconstruction, a full hysterectomy, chemo aggressive enough that it had only just come off trial, radiation over Christmas, and a decade of medication after that. I'm not going to dwell on all of it here, because that's not actually what this story is about. Before any of this started, Mick and I had bought an 8-second drag racing Torana. I was learning to drive it, working toward my racing licence, and I wanted it so badly I could taste it. We'd spent months practising the start procedure and the burnout and the launch in a mate's carpark, getting ready for my first real day at the track. Diagnosis didn't take that want away from me. If anything, it's the only thing that got me through what came next. I decided, somewhere very early on, that beating this wasn't going to be my finish line. My actual finish line was going to be an actual finish line, a quarter mile of it, at the track. On my good days, when I could barely manage it, I'd go and sit in the car out in the workshop. Not driving anywhere. Just sitting there breathing in the fuel and rubber smell, hands on the wheel, letting it remind me who I still was underneath all of it. I stuck photos of the Torana in the front of my hospital diary and showed them to every doctor, every nurse, every roommate who'd look. Not to make a point to anyone else. Just so the dream stayed real to me, on the days it would have been so easy to let it go. It was never "if" in my head. It was always "when." That "when" is what got me out of bed on the days people told me I didn't have to. It's what had Mick setting up a treadmill in the living room, right by the front window, so I could still walk without leaving the house when my immune system was too shot to go anywhere near a gym. It's what dragged me to actual rehab once treatment was winding down, doing embarrassingly small workouts. Some days my big win was lasting a whole minute on the cross trainer, then needing another whole minute just to find the energy to climb off the thing. It didn't matter how small the win was. Every single one of them was a step closer to that car. Wanting to survive was never quite enough on its own to keep me moving. I needed something to survive for. Something specific enough to hold onto with both hands on the days everything else felt too big to face. And I wasn't carrying that dream alone. Our whole motorsport family carried it with me, and they carried Mick too. Caring for someone takes a real toll on the person doing the caring, and heading down to the track or the workshop gave him somewhere to just be a person again, not "the carer." That community never once made either of us talk about cancer unless we wanted to. They just kept showing up, kept asking about the car, kept treating the dream as something worth taking seriously, right through the worst of it. Then, finally, my doctors gave me the green light. The hoist came down. The covers came off the Torana. We loaded her onto a borrowed truck and headed for the track, and when we got there I honestly had no idea how many people would be standing behind me. Friends, family, fellow racers, people who'd heard about the dream that had been so cruelly delayed and turned up anyway to see it happen. I don't think I'd properly understood, until that exact moment, how many people had been quietly carrying this with me the whole time. I raced that little car hard. You could not have wiped the smile off my face, or off Mick's, for the entire day. I made it all the way to the finals and came home with a runner-up trophy on my very first official race meet. But it was never really about the trophy, and it still isn't. It was about standing there at the end of that quarter mile, surrounded by every single person who'd believed in the dream when I could barely hold onto it myself, and knowing I was still me. These days I'm 16 years NED, the closest thing breast cancer actually gives you to an all-clear. Mick and I eventually sold the Torana and built a new car with a different job to do. I drive a 900+HP supercharged Hellcat Mercedes now, and that car became Therapy on Wheels, a way of handing other people the same thing that got me through my own treatment: a dream worth chasing, and a community standing behind them while they chase it. If you're in the thick of your own version of this right now, that's the only thing I'd want you to take from mine. Find the dream that's yours. Say it out loud to anyone who'll listen, and let them stand behind you while you go and get it. Mine was a quarter mile long. Yours doesn't have to be anything like it. It just has to be yours.❤️Suzy's Story: Navigating Breast Cancer and Autism
Today, we’re sharing a deeply personal story from one of our own Online Network members, highlighting the intersection of breast cancer and autism, and the unique challenges and strengths that can come with that experience. Suzy was diagnosed with breast cancer in February 2023, and describes the challenge of wanting connection, while also finding social interactions overwhelming - a difficult balance that many can relate to in different ways. Her story reminds us that there is no single “right” way to respond to diagnosis, only what feels right for you. 💪 👉 Read Suzy’s full story here: Living with autism and breast cancer: Suzy’s story 🤝 The Power of Our Online Network Suzy’s story is a powerful reminder of why this community exists. A place where you can: Connect on your own terms Share honestly and safely Feel understood without explanation Find support from people who truly “get it” 💛 Let’s Keep the Conversation Going We are so grateful to Suzy for sharing her experience - and for reminding us that our Online Network is not just a platform, but a community built by each of you. We’d love to hear from you: What helps you cope in your own way? How do you manage connection and overwhelm? What has your experience been like with treatment side effects? Your voice matters here. 💬🧑🤝🧑REAL MEMBER STORY: Ebony's journey with metastatic triple negative breast cancer
We want to express our sincere appreciation to Ebony for so generously and openly sharing her story with us and the BCNA community. By reflecting on her experience and sharing this with us, Ebony has lifted the veil on what it is like to live with metastatic TBNC. We are truly thankful for her openness, her kindness in giving back, and her reminder of the strength we find in one another. " What I want people to know is how important hope is, and how research and medical science are ever-evolving. Also, how much the right supports help." 👉 Read Ebony's Story Here ✨
