Three things you need to know about Bill Karriker:
He’s a good man.
He has many friends.
He has a brain tumor.
Those friends are getting together Saturday to host a fish fry in Bill’s honor, from 11 a.m. to 8 p.m. at the Millbridge Ruritan Club on Sloan Road. Donations will be accepted.
On Sept. 10, Bill was diagnosed with a grade four glioblastoma, the nastiest, most aggressive brain tumor there is.
A few days earlier, he had a seizure at the lunch table at Hitachi Metals in China Grove, where he’s worked since it opened in 1990.
He felt fortunate, he says, because two friends sitting with him were trained in CPR and first aid. They immediately sprang into action.
After the diagnosis, Bill and wife Micki say they felt like they’d been slapped across the face.
Then they decided to fight it.
From the big bay window in his living room, Bill, 57, can look out over land in Bear Poplar that’s been in his family for generations. He and Micki built their house on the site of his grandparents’ homeplace.
He belongs here.
He wants to stay here.
After his diagnosis in Charlotte, he and Micki went to Duke for a second opinion. They ended up meeting with Ted Kennedy’s surgeon.
You’re not a candidate for surgery yet, he was told.
He started a round of chemotherapy, along with 30 days of radiation.
He didn’t respond as well as they’d hoped, so now he’s on his second round of chemo with stronger medicine.
But here’s the thing about the radiation treatments.
Because of the seizures, Bill hasn’t driven since September. He took radiation five days a week in Mooresville.
“People just came out of the woodwork saying, ‘I’ll take you.’ I didn’t have to ask anybody,” he says.
Five days a week. A different driver every day.
So you ask him, Bill, what have you done to have friends like this?
Bill considers the question, and tears fill his eyes.
“I haven’t done anything anybody else wouldn’t do,” he says.
Of course he’d say that. Bill doesn’t go around tooting his own horn. He does things.
Ask his pastor that same question ó and you find the answer you were looking for, even though you knew it all along.
“Bill has always been the first one to respond to anybody in need in the community, especially in the congregation,” says the Rev. Mary Louise Sitton, pastor of St. Luke’s Lutheran Church, just down the road from Bill and Micki’s house.
She ticks off a whole list of church and community activities in which Bill’s been involved.
He cooks a mean chicken, too, she says.
What she’s saying is, he’s been a friend to many folks around here.
“I hope so,” Bill says, wiping his eyes.
And here’s the thing about the fish fry.
“I don’t really feel in need,” Bill says.
“But people want to do something,” Micki says. “Our friends and neighbors said, ‘We’re doing it anyway.’ People want to do things and they don’t know what to do, and this is their way of helping.”
“It’s overwhelming,” Bill says.
“In a world gone bad,” Micki says, “people do want to help.”
These days, the thing Bill wants to do the most, it seems, is go to work.
“I try to go to work every day that I can,” he says. “It’s good for me to go and see the people I’ve worked with for 18 years.”
He admits it’s taking him longer to get his strength back after chemo. He takes treatments every two weeks.
And he admits he’s grown more philosophical in the last four months.
“You make plans for your life,” he says, “but what good are those plans when something like this happens? Plans are not important. It’s easy to get into the self-pity thing, too. But you just have to trust that God’s going to take care of things.”
These days, the thing that’s most important to Bill is his family. He and Micki have three children and three grandchildren ó two of whom are almost brand-new.
Bill admits that the chemo makes him feel like he’s on a yo-yo. “You have a treatment and you feel terrible, and you build yourself up. Each time, it’s harder to bounce back. We’ll do it until we can’t do it anymore. Hopefully, I’ll go into remission.”
He continues, “I’ve always been a Christian. You find that strength to go on through trusting in God.”
Bill knows he’s on prayer lists all over the county.
“I do greatly appreciate that,” he says. “I didn’t know I knew that many people.”
He glances over at the prayer shawl and prayer quilt draped over the back of the recliners.
“I could have had that seizure anywhere,” he says. “But someone was looking out for me. That person is still looking out for me. We have high hopes.”
His community has high hopes, Mary Louise says. “He’s just a fabulous person. Bill is ready to fight this. The rest of us are right there with him.”Two things you need to know about Bill Karriker:
He is a good man.
He has many friends.