Personal Narrative: My Father's Battle With Brain Cancer

Kevin Kirby: My Father's Battle With Brain Cancer It was December 19, 1996 a day nothing short of the typical start to New England winter. With a Pre-Christmas blizzard, Mom was home from work because the roads were bad; Dad was out making the proceeds of the “White Gold.” Nothing was any different from any of the other storms before where Dad would return home intermittently during the day for lunch and dinner breaks, a quick power nap and head back out. It was during one of those breaks when all hell broke loose. My father Kevin, a very healthy, athletic man who was never sick or at least never admitted to, did not make it in from the truck when he arrived home. Mom was curious and assumed he snuck out with the guys for a cold one so curiously

She began to question him, his speech was slurry, and she assumed he was drunk and told him to go sleep it off. The next morning she awoke to go to work, was Dad complaining he was sick, and did not feel well enough to plow so he stayed in bed. Later that morning I heard my father on the phone complaining to my mother about her being late coming home from work, saying it was dark, the weather was bad and she should’ve been home by now with the storm. This was not the case. It was 10 in the morning and my Dads “lights went out. “ This is when our lives seemed to move to warp speed. For about five months prior, Dad had been experiencing minor dizziness, disorientation, and occasional numbness of his face, tongue, and left fingertips. He ignored the majority of his symptoms never telling a soul thinking they were temporary results of 16 hour work days pouring concrete throughout New England, New York and Connecticut to beat Old Man Winter, an intense gym workout, training for the Boston Marathon, and playing hockey three nights a week, etc. Dad was thirty-two years old, and for all intents and purposes, thirty-two year-olds don't get sick. I mean an

My mother was a Cancer Program Coordinator at that time and had worked for years in research; she had experience with studies, diagnosis, treatment, and outcomes. She could spit out stats with the best of them and his team of doctors knew that, she had been a study coordinator with them since college. The plans were to biopsy the mass and get a definitive histology and find out if they were dealing with a benign or malignant tumor. The biopsy was done and the diagnosis was a Grade 3-4 astrocytoma, aka Glioblastoma multiforme. We were told astrocytoma’s and oligodendroglia’s come in four grades, with Grade 1 being the most benign and Grade 4 being the most malignant. Glioma’s are tumors arising from glial cells and may occur in the spinal cord or the brain. Glioma’s are the most common type of brain tumor and can be either supratentorial or infratentorial. Glioblastoma multiforme (GBM) is the most common and most aggressive type of primary brain tumor. It was after all this information was absorbed through osmosis that Dad asked the question, one in a million years my Mom never thought she would hear anyone ask, much less her healthy, athletic, wise cracking husband: "How long do I have?" The doctors explained the next step was to remove as many tumor cells as possible with surgery. Dr. William Butler was the neurosurgeon of choice and well respected amongst his peers and colleagues on the field of