Memoir Monday: The Day The World Changed

My story matters. And so does yours. Not because there is anything significant about me or you, but because together our collective stories reveal truth about God. Who He is. What He cares about. How He loves us. When we all link up together we can tell a story that reveals God’s glory, God’s power, and God’s heart. Our story is HIS story.

Go ahead. Share your story.

Today’s post is a guest post from my mom, Charlie Berry. It seemed like a good idea to share our family’s cancer story from her perspective as well as mine. This part of the story dates back to before I was aware anything unusual was happening. I know many people will benefit from hearing her thoughts. She wrote all these things down years ago, some of them as they were happening. I have only lightly edited her compiled thoughts in order to create a cohesive story.

When I look back on December 1997 it doesn’t seem so different. the holidays were a rush of activities. Christmas was great. We had 22 people over for dinner. Scott spent the whole day in the kitchen with me, helping wherever he could. It felt so good, a real team effort. His family, my family, our family.

The day after Christmas Scott and I went to the mall. Scott bent over suddenly. When he stood up he had to hang on to the clothing rack. He said he had a sudden headache, he just needed a minute. He told me he’d been getting these at work too. He said when he got them he could smell something horrible.

January came. On the 15th Scott wen to the doctor. On Friday, January 16th, Scott had an MRI. The weekend was busy. My dad was in Palm Springs. He had very painful kidney stones and needed a machine that wasn’t available there. Scott and I talked it over. We decided to fly hi here to Portland where he could get the treatment he needed.

I called our family doctor on Sunday morning to make the arrangements for my dad. Dr. Henry said he was gldad I had called. He said he was glad my dad would be in town. He said he needed to see Scott and I on Monday.

I hung up the phone. I knew something must be wrong. I called Dr. Kocarnik, a neighbor, friend, and a great radiologist. Dr. Kocarnik worked at the office where Scott had had the MRI. I told him what Dr. Henry had said. I asked him if he could meet us at the clinic. If there was bad news I’d rather hear it from a friend. Dr. Kocarnik agreed to meet us at 6:00 PM, after his daughter’s game.

My dad arrived. It was good to see him. My aunt and uncle were coming up from Medford to see my dad and stay with us.

At 5:30 PM on January 18th Scott and I rode in quiet anticipation toward the doctor’s office. We tried to act normal, even stopped for coffee, but the air between us was full of worried anticipation. We pulled into the parking lot. It was dark, the wind was blowing, and the rain was pouring down.

We remained sitting in the parking lot, holding hands. We said a little prayer. I was still telling myself that things were going to be fine. I reminded myself that my dad had had a brain tumor 4 or 5 years earlier and he was fine. Sure, brain surgery was always scary, but I knew we’d get through it. Scott was young and healthy. This was just a little bump in the road.

Doctor Kocarnic arrived late. The game had run over, so he had brought his daughter with him. He went and found the MRI’s, a series of pictures that look like x-rays of your brain. He put them up in sequence, top to bottom. He explained the first picture was of the top of Scott’s brain and the last picture was the bottom, back by the spine. Imediately I could see a large light spot, most apparent on the middle picture. Whatever I was looking at was clearly in the center of Scott’s brain.

Dr. Kocarnik fumbled with medical texts to show us what we were looking at. He was having a difficult time. Scott joked and asked if it would effect his golf game. Dr. Kocarnik continued, showing us the mid line shift in Scott’s brain, explaining the tumor had taken up so much space it was pushing his brain out of the way.

My head filled with questions. Tumor? Huh? What kind? Cancer?

Scott excused himself to use the restroom. Dr. Kocarnik asked me how much I wanted to know. He wanted to know if Scott would be able to take bad news. I asked him to give us as much information as he could.

Hours passed as he explained the tumor in more detail. Scott had a text book case, he showed us the pictures in the text book to confirm that they looked exactly like Scott’s MRIs.

Glioblastoma, stage 4.

These tumors are rated by agressiveness, starting out with an Oligo Astrosytoma 1-2-3 then becoming Glioblastomas 1-2-3-4. The higher the number the more aggressive the tumor.

“How are they treated?”

Dr. Kocarnik explained there was no treatment. In some cases a debulking surgery can be done to relieve pressure. Pressure on Scott’s brain was what was causing his spells, headaches, and sleepiness.

“How long do we have?”

Some people live as long as 6 months.

Disbelief flooded my mind. This can’t be happening. Scott looks fine.

We parted with tears and hugs. Dr. Kocarnik promised he would look for more answers.

Scott and I got into the car. He drove home. We decided he would tell the kids and I would tell his family and friends. He was more concerned about how this would effect everyone than he was about what was going to happen to him.

And I remembered all those nights I couldn’t sleep. The nights God had spoken to my heart. This was not what I had thought He meant, I had thought the whole world was going to shift, not just my world. I knew God had brought us into this and He had a plan, a big plan, and Scott and I were part of it…

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