Before you begin, you should know that the story of the Peterson Family Foundation is both a joyful story and a tragic story. It may make you cry. But we didn’t create this web site to share our sadness. We’re here to give you peace, hope and inspiration during a very difficult time in your life. To connect you with a community of wonderful and talented people. Most of all, we want to share the love, kindness and generosity we’ve experienced throughout our family’s journey, so that you can pass it on.

Karen and I met at Berkeley. I was a junior and she was a freshman. Midway through our first real date at the Pi Phi Spring Dance, we knew we were on to something special. Fast forward to 1998 and we’re married with two incredible 3-year old twin boys and loving every minute of our life together. One day, we noticed that Eric was constantly thirsty and seemed to tire more easily than his brother Kort. A routine visit to the pediatrician was just the beginning of our lifelong relationship with pediatric diabetes. Months later, during treatment, we discovered Eric also had leukemia. If you have children in your life, I don’t need to say anymore about what that was like.

A few years later in March 2001, Karen, a beautiful, athletic, dynamic, native California girl who hiked, swam and skied, felt some pain in her back. Then she got a cold that wouldn’t go away. Finally, she went to the doctor, thinking that maybe it was another bout of pleurisy, a lung inflammation she’d had during pregnancy. When an abdominal X-ray revealed a small, dark spot, we reacted as any young, healthy, successful couple would. We told ourselves that whatever it was, we’d treat it, Karen would recover and life would go on. One month, two specialists and one five-hour surgery later, we were shell-shocked to learn that the spot was mesothelioma, a rare, asbestos-related cancer that had metastasized from her lungs. As we learned more about mesothelioma, the nightmare became even more unreal, as this form of cancer affects only about 300 American women each year. We couldn’t believe this was happening to us, especially with Eric’s illnesses. Our life was rapidly crumbling around us.

We soon learned that Karen’s cancer had begun decades earlier, during her childhood in southern California where her father owned a lumberyard. The lumberyard was no longer there, and her father had died two years earlier of ALS, also known as Lou Gehrig’s disease. Fortunately, her mother still had all his files in the garage. They showed that over the years, the lumberyard had stocked products containing asbestos from 23 different manufacturers. Together with the doctors, we surmised that Karen must have inhaled an asbestos fiber either while playing in the lumberyard or hugging her dad when he came from work with microscopic fibers on his clothing.

We immediately began consulting surgeons across the country. On September 11, 2001, we walked into Columbia University Medical Center in New York City for a chemotherapy follow-up with one of her physicians. We entered the hospital moments before the first plane crashed into the World Trade Center. By the time we left, both towers had crumbled, releasing vast amounts of asbestos and other toxic materials into the air. Today, the magnitude of the post-9/11 health crisis is only just being understood. On a subsequent visit to New York, we met with one doctor who seemed not to notice that Karen and I were even in the room. He just looked at Karen’s scans and muttered, “There’s nothing that can be done.” We left his office, too numb to even speak.

During all of this, Eric was being treated successfully by Byron Smith, MD. This amazing pediatric oncologist works at the John Muir Medical Center in Walnut Creek, California in conjunction with UCSF. I’m happy to report that Eric is now cancer-free. After our fruitless travels across the country, UCSF is also where we found some measure of hope and healing for Karen. After waiting three hours to meet with David Jablons, MD, we were delighted when a young, vibrant man bounded into the room, looked directly at Karen and gently asked her to talk about what was going on. After listening carefully to her, he said, “I can make things better for you.” Dr. Jablons then described how he could drain the fluid in her lungs and strip as much of the tumor as possible, allowing her to breathe normally. Karen rebounded from the surgery and for the next nine months, she spent less time coughing and more time laughing with Kort, Eric and me.

My wife Karen was the strongest, most valiant person I’ve ever known. She stayed with us through Christmas 2002 and then passed away on December 27. Since then, I’ve devoted my life to being a good father to Kort and Eric and honoring Karen’s divine spirit with this foundation.

Jeff Peterson