Ok, for some reason, I can't get this to upload and publish correctly. I will mail the attachment to you katherine. Do you have everyone else's yet?
A Profile in Courage: Sherry Bertram
In the early sixties, Senator John F. Kennedy authored a book entitled Profiles in Courage, a Pulitzer prize - winning novel that portrayed eight outstanding senators from American history. Each one of these men courageously crossed the boundaries of their party lines and faced the wrath of their constituencies in order to follow their principles. I would like to share another type of profile in courage today, and that profile in courage is personified by my friend and fellow cancer warrior, Sherry Bertram.
I met Sherry in early 2004, during the first year of my cancer treatment. I was balding from chemo, and decorated with flashy scarves and gold hoop earrings as I faced my uncertain future with a display of bravado that represented a bit of the internal resources that were supporting and sustaining me. Sherry, was just finishing her treatment for breast cancer, and we sat together that day in one of the small four person rooms at the Arlington Cancer Center’s Infusion Center, getting the medicines infused that we each hoped would ultimately save us.
Sherry and I, both outgoing and talkative, immediately struck up a conversation with a third woman in our infusion room. We made short shrift of the basics:
“How are you feeling?”
“What kind of cancer do you have?”
“Who is your doctor?”
“How is that chemo working for you?”
“What side effects do you have?”
“How are you dealing with each one?
Soon, we moved on to descriptions of where we lived; how far we traveled to get to ACC, what we did for a living, and the details of our various experiences with cancer.
Sherry, a pretty woman in her late forties, had a dry wit and a ready laugh. She quickly relayed she was from Oklahoma, and that she got up early every morning to do farm chores before she went into work at a local utility company. I shared that I was a professor and worked at a local university, and I honestly don’t remember what the 3rd person we talked with that day did, but I remember she was friendly and open, just as we were. There was a fourth person in our room, a man, but he remained fast asleep during our non stop conversation and the occasional whoops of laughter we let out when describing some of our methods in dealing with all our treatment.
We found that we had all gone to the same surgeon for the surgeries that removed our tumors before we each began chemo. That conversation moved quickly into the scars we all had, and before you know it, we each were bragging about how great our scars looked. Well, that is the one and only time that I joined in the Lyndon Johnson-like, shirt lifting-show me your scars- game, but I did that did amidst lots of giggles and laughter.
The situation got even funnier when our male infusion roommate slyly opened one eye as we all put our shirts down and said in a heavy German accent and a twinkle in his eye, “I’m Gunther and I want to tell you ladies, I have never had so much fun at chemo. When will the three of you be back?” The three of us collapsed into laughter that in our chemo, scarry state, we had given a gentleman a good time and a lot of laughs. We skipped right over being embarrassed and mildly horrified that he had heard and seen our medical show and tells, and just admired Gunther’s subtle slyness and his appreciation of what remained of our womanhood.
That day marked the beginning of a solid friendship for Sherry and I. I did not see Sherry for about six months, but when I did I was greatly shocked because she was back in chemo looking very jaundiced. She had been in clinical remission and had not been at chemo for several months. When she returned for a six month check up, the doctor found her cancer had metastasized to her liver. Sherry’s skin was tinged with yellow when I saw her, and her labs revealed very high tumor markers.
Sherry, however, was not jaundiced in her outlook. With her normal extroverted personality, she hailed me, saying ‘Hey, doc, is that you?” Much to my amusement she always called me doc, which seemed a little strange outside the context of my university. I walked over to her and inquired about her health, and we encouraged each other. I, who went into the whole process with a stage four cancer, which had gone to the colon to the liver, knew that I was in chemo for the long haul—perhaps a lifetime of maintenance, but Sherry was a different story. It was such a surprise to see her there and with her metastasis in the same place as mine.
Sherry and I continued to run into each other—in the doctor’s office, in the health food store, on the way in or out of chemo treatment. We updated and encouraged each other, and kept track of our friends that we met along the way. We celebrated people’s successes and grieved the people who lost their battles. We talked often about what we learned from the people we met, and how much it meant for us to have met. Sherry, not an emotional person by nature, had a deep and abiding kindness and interest in other people. I got cards from Sherry and I know she sent cards to others as well. God seemed to bring us to each other just when we really needed to see each other.
Several times we, without any planning at all, ended up at the doctor’s office on the same appointment day and time. Twice, we spontaneously decided to go to each other’s appointments. I can remember as I was starting to bounce around as I was feeling better, Sherry was beginning to have difficulty maintaining her balance and walking. She was beginning to talk slower and with more effort, but she never once, lost her optimism. She and I always set goals, shared where we would go and what we would do once we got well, and knew that we were there for each other no matter what happened.
In May 2006, we got to be together for Sherry’s final battle. She went into the hospital very ill and fought back. I met her husband Steve, and got to see the love and devotion they shared. I came to the hospital almost every day that Sherry was in for the last three weeks of her stay there, and I shared with Sherry and Steve each doctor’s report, struggled to understand the implications of various labs and CT scans, and shared my faith with them.
Sherry and Steve are Baptist, but God does not separate out denominations as people come to him. I brought my dear friend and associate pastor, Fr James to meet with Sherry and Steve, and the three of them made the most amazing connection. Sherry just wanted Fr James to sit with her and read her scripture. She grabbed a yellow highlighter and marked her Bible with the scriptures they shared, as long as she was able to hold that highlighter. The three of them, the four of us, and eventually Sherry’s previously estranged sister, brother-in-law and mom and dad came together in prayer on Sherry’s behalf. It was such an overwhelming joy to witness physical and spiritual reconciliation within that family—within that part of God’s family.
The Saturday before Sherry passed away, I breezed in to see her, just as the doctor was coming in. She wanted me to stay with them, so I listened as the doctor very kindly, and some what euphemistically explained to Sherry that she would likely not live but a few more days. I watched Sherry soak in those words, and then when the doctor asked if she wanted any extraordinary measures taken, I watched her think that through and say, with acceptance and courage, “There’s no point lingering.”
Steve’s eyes and my eyes filled up with tears, but Sherry’s never did. Steve asked Sherry what she wanted at that moment and she replied, “I want to hold hands with Jeannine.” We held hands for a long, long time in complete silence, Toward the end of that silence, Sherry began to pat my hand in a comforting way. and then she asked, “What is heaven like. I know there are many mansions.”
I replied, “Sherry, we could go through the Bible and read what heaven is like, but it’s hard for my earthly self to imagine heaven. I think now what I want heaven to be like and I picture my favorite swimming hole, lots of trees, maybe a mountain, my family and friends, and, oh—no cellulite.” We both laughed at that and then went on to talk about our pictures of heaven and Sherry’s wishes for burial. Sherry wished to be cremated and have her ashes scattered in her flower beds and on her farm.
I walked out of the room and burst into quiet tears. The next day I saw her family gather around her and was so relieved to know that whatever rifts had existed in that family were now healed. I watched Fr James pray with Sherry, Steve, the family, and me, and I watched her Dad and sister have to leave the room as they struggled with their tears.
Tuesday morning, I went to daily mass, and when I got out, there was a voice mail from Steve. Sherry had passed. I just could hardly believed that she had gone to be with Jesus that quickly and I drove to the hospital to find Steve. He, as I later learned, had just left the hospital room with Sherry’s mom and dad as quickly as possible and they just drove around trying to take in her leaving. I couldn’t reach Steve on his cell phone, and neither could the hospital. I desperately wanted to go in and say good bye to Sherry and couldn’t without Steve’s permission. After about an hour, the chaplain finally let me in and in the flash of a second, I knew that while Sherry’s corporal body was there, her spiritual body wasn’t, and I was at peace that she was with the Lord.
When Sherry and I talked about heaven, I told Sherry that she would be able to talk to Steve and in our thoughts and memories, and she does each day. Her courage, humor, tenacity and spirit remain strong in my thoughts and memories as I know the lifetime that Steve shared with Sherry remain in his.
Just as JFK”s senators in Profiles in Courage, took on the near impossible, Sherry did as well, and in the end, this courageous woman did not let cancer take away her heart, her mind, her spirit, but she remained and remains strong—a true profile in courage. I am a better person for knowing Sherry Bertram, and I thank her for sharing her walk of courage with me.
Jeannine Hirtle
August, 2006
