Katie Corun: Kicking Tootles Out For Good

» Read Part I and Part II of this series.
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March 8 began like many other days that Fallston's Katie Corun had spent at the Robert Preston Tisch Brain Tumor Center at Duke University in Durham, NC.

"When we went down there we were thinking, 'It's another appointment,'" Ron Corun, Katie's husband, said. "It's a regular appointment. We're here to see what the update is. We know this is going to be another year."

It was simply a continuation of Katie's "new normal," as she put it. Dealing with an inoperable optic pathway glioma was a part of life—just like work and school.

"It makes you put your life into perspective, and you really take a step back and look around and you become more aware of those around you, what you want to do with your life, your dreams. It brings you back to reality," Katie said of the brain tumor diagnosis she received in the fall of 2011.

"It was a blessing in disguise for me. I always planned for everything. I always planned things out six months ahead. it made me grateful for what I have, and value the day you have in front of you."

That was Katie's mindset as her oncologist, Dr. Annick Desjardins, brought up her patient's old MRI scan to have something to compare against the new scan, as she occasionally did on routine visits.

Then the new scan went up.

Something didn't look right.

"There's no tumor," Ron Corun remembers thinking.

The tumor—the one that blurred Katie's vision in September 2011 and that led her to Duke to begin with, the one she named Tootles and that had tested her will and changed her perspective on life—was gone.

"We're not really sure where the tumor went. No idea. No clue at all," Kathy Robinette-Stoneberg, Katie's mom, told Patch recently. "I'm not a religious freak, but if that's part of it, I'm in."

Of course, it doesn't end there. Chemotherapy on a daily basis for more than a year will take its toll.

But Katie has her support group in place.

"When you're diagnosed with cancer, you truly find out who is there for you, meaning family and friends. We are no longer in touch with (some) family members," Katie said. "I've lost several friends. The way that one of our therapists kind of talked to us about it: Sometimes people just can't deal with it. That's just the way you have to deal with it."

Aside from the "angels" at Duke, it was Katie's own fleet of angels—Ron, Kathy and a close group of friends—who gave her strength.

In particular, Kathy said her "son-in-love," Ron, has been a rockstar.

Katie agrees. The two met in 2008 and had just gotten married and purchased a home before her diagnosis.

"We'd only been married 10 months. All of the sudden we're hit with, 'We don't know if you're going to make it.' What do you do?," Katie said. "The dream of the picket fence, the 2.5 children, the dog running around. It all came shattering down. He's been my rock."

Katie finished nursing school—she gave the commencement speech on the same day in which her grandmother, Dot Robinette, passed away—and she now works as a nurse at Harford Memorial Hospital.

She recently visited a niece in Texas—"mini vacations" have became a way of temporarily escaping from reality for Katie. She and Ron are back at their Fallston home after moving in with Kathy after the diagnosis.

Her "new normal" is starting to welcome back some of the aspects of the "old normal," but with an important difference—an urge to reach out to others in her situation.

"If I could just help one person," Katie said. "It's amazing how many people are effected by brain tumors.

"My focus now really is working and helping others, and we don't have any big plans," she said.

After living through a miracle, big plans can wait.

This is Part III of this story. We'll continue to share Katie's story via Fallston Patch. Sign up for Fallston Patch's newsletter to receive it in your in-box.

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Take part in a fundraiser to benefit Duke's Preston Robert Tisch Brain Cancer Center, on behalf of Katie Corun, from 2-6 p.m. this Saturday at Half Pints in Bel Air.