Wednesday, April 19th, 2006:
I saw Dr. KK again the following Wednesday after my radiation was complete. It was a follow-up appointment that I was scheduled for, but it would turn into nearly six weeks of hell on earth for me. I was still talking, but I was weak and unstable. Dr. KK had to send me to the hospital for a CT scan, since the good old insurance wouldn’t pay for me to get scanned at her office.
I was admitted to Southwest WA Medical Center that evening after my CT scan. I don’t think anyone is quite sure of what went incredibly wrong with my brain, but my symptoms were enough for anyone to know that I was in no shape to be at home. I don’t remember very much, so I have to tell my story through the memories of my family.
I was put in a small room on 3 north. Eventually they would move me to a larger room at the end of the hall. It may have been because I was doing so poorly. I had so many visitors, some of which were coming to say “goodbye” to me, not knowing if they would see me again. I was shaking constantly. I couldn’t do anything. I could no longer swallow, so a naso-gastric tube was placed so I could be fed.
During this dreadful stay in the hospital, a nurse named (well, I won’t say her name here) was assigned to take care of me at times. My mother tells me that she was incredibly cold, treating me as a waste of time since I appeared to be dying. She would come into the room and see my family all around and then just walk out. She wouldn’t check on me unless she had to, and would come and give me my meds and leave without saying a word. Maybe this was how she dealt with the dying, but all I know is that it made my family very uncomfortable. I’m saddened that people get treated this way when they have no control over anything. It’s not right. I have since learned that this woman was extremely saddened and this was her reaction to the awful situation my family was in. But, nurses who are reading, please know how this comes across to families. Nonverbal language is very powerful.
One morning, Dr. Markham, the neurosurgeon on duty, came to the door of my room. He had his head down for a long time. My mom was looking at him, wondering if he was saying a prayer. She didn’t know why he was pausing for so long at the door. Finally, he picked up his head and entered the room. He told my mother and my husband that my outlook was not good. I’m not sure if he said I was going to die, but he implied that I was near the end. My mom seems to remember him say that I was dying, but my husband doesn’t remember these words.
My mother left the room to call my sister in California. My sister was unwilling to accept this. She told my mom, who is hearing impaired, that she must have heard him wrong. She convinced my mom to go back into the room and ask Camron what Dr. Markham had really said. Camron confirmed that Dr. Markham had implied we were near the end.
I’ll never know the exact conversation that took place that day, but I’m glad I didn’t hear it. I believe strongly that I would have given up if I had lost the little hope that I had left for recovering. I don’t think anyone has the right to take away our hope. Sometimes hope is all you have. My family was so distraught that they decided to make me a DNR (do not resuscitate). Dr. KK, who was finally alerted to my condition after a few days, signed my DNR order. A year or so later, she explained to me that it was the logical thing to do, given my condition. If my health declined due to my brain mass, there wasn’t a whole lot they could have done to save me. I remember her words, “There are worse things than death.” And now I understand. But at 29, I was not ready. I had too much to do. Perhaps the man upstairs agreed. I have no other reason to believe I should still be here, writing this, than I was healed somehow. But first, things would get worse, and we would hit rock bottom and my family and coworkers would make some difficult decisions along the way.
On April 25th, 2006, my husband sent the following email out to our friends and family:
As many of you know, my wife Kari Norick was diagnosed with a tiny non-malignant tumor in her
midbrain just over a year ago. On April 1, 2005, she had a shunt placed in her head to drain spinal
fluid which had been collecting in her ventricles due to blockage. She spent most of the year
healthy and happy, and we were married on July 2. This shunt functioned for several months, but
required a “revision” late in the summer due to clogging. The shunt clogged again late in the year,
was replaced, clogged again, replaced, etc. She had a total of 9 shunt-related surgeries between
April and the following January, mostly in December.
Finally she was out of the hospital in mid-January after a 3-week stay, gaining her strength back
through physical therapy. A couple weeks later, however, her strength plateaued and started to
decline. A New MRI scan showed that the tumor was becoming malignant; it is likely a grade 3 or
grade 4 glioma. (Because of its location in the midbrain, a biopsy was deemed impossible, let alone
surgery to remove the growth.) Kari was put on medication to help cope with brain swelling, and her
strength improved just enough for us to complete a 6-week course of radiation therapy on “Good
Friday”, April 14, 2006, as well as chemotherapy with a new type of cancer-fighting drug with low
side effects.
That should bring everyone up to date. So this is where we are right now:
A recent MRI proved that the radiation and chemo were effective at killing the malignancy – this is
very good news. However, this does not mean that the tumor has just disappeared, but rather the
cancer-detecting dyes used in the MRI scan no longer light up. In other words, there is still a
mass in her midbrain, which may (will) become cancerous again sometime in the future.
Right now Kari is profoundly weakened; She was admitted to Southwest Washington Medical Center in Vancouver (where she works as a pharmacist, and where her mother Sharon also works as a nurse) on Wednesday April 19 after a follow-up with her Medical Oncologist. What was supposed to be an
overnight observation has so far turned into a week-long stay and counting. She can no longer stand
or walk, she can barely speak or sit upright on her own, she cannot swallow food or liquid of any
kind (a feeding tube was placed just before noon today), she is confused, suffers from headaches,
and is very jittery and sleepless due to steroid medication used in hopes of reducing swelling
around the tumor in the very sensitive midbrain. She can, however, usually answer yes-or-no
questions accurately with a nod or shake.
There are a few scenarios we are facing at this point.
1. The high-dose IV steroid medication could finally kick in within a week or so and help to
stabilize the swelling from radiation, so that she can do physical therapy and get strong enough to
go home. She had been on the medication, called Decadron, on relatively low doses since January,
and she may be becoming tolerant of it even now that she’s on very high doses.
2. The steroid dosage that she is now on could be too high (my opinion, not necessarily the
Doctors’), and that is the source of most of her symptoms right now – jitteryness, inability to
swallow, etc. – due to side-effects (though weak, Kari could eat with little problem, and walk
around the house with assistance, even the day she was admitted to SWMC).
3. Her weakened condition could improve if the radiation and chemo are able to make the tumor shrink
down somewhat, relieving pressure on her vital midbrain. No one has given us an exact timeline on
how long this would take, but it would be a couple months before shrinkage would be complete.
4. This is very difficult for me to write this, but we may very well be near the end. It is very
hard for me to accept this scenario, but the high doses of medication to combat weakness from brain
swelling should have helped by now, and they clearly have not (yet)…. she has only gotten worse.
The tumor may not shrink, and may even be continuing to grow, despite all of our hard work. It is
extremely painful to think of going on without this wonderful, vibrant, beautiful girl, as it is to
see her suffering so much right now.
I might not have another chance to ask for thoughts and prayers of healing from everyone, so I am
doing it now. This is my call out. To those that know and love Kari as much as her family and I,
as well as to those that I dearly hope get to meet her in the future when things get better, lets
all put our hearts together for her. We love our Kari!
Sincerely,
Camron Crouse (husband), Sharon and Randy Norick (parents), Stephanie and Amanda (sisters)
Edie and Bill Crouse (mother- and father-in-law)
Kari is Currently in room 306 at SWMC, though we are expecting to move her to rm 311 by tomorrow,
Weds., April 26. We ask that you do not call the room because sleep is a precious commodity for her
right now. Other correspondence can be handled through our home address:
509 Cedar Street
Vancouver, Wa USA
98661
360-693-3997 (home)
360-991-6914 (cell)
Thank you so much, Everyone!
karinorick 