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God, family and golf: How Charles Perry defeated lung cancer

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When the Verizon Heritage rolled around last year, the rumbling voice of Charles Perry was silent. For the first time in 21 years, Perry was not there in his knickers, red coat and straw hat, announcing each player as he approached the 9th green.

A year ago, Perry had just been hit by news that makes the chase for a little white ball seem trivial. He had been told he had lung cancer.

As the giddy crowds swelled around the Harbour Town Clubhouse, Perry was in a stone-cold quiet room on the island's north end, getting a full-blown chemotherapy treatment.

"I am not sure how many more days I can take of this," he wrote in his diary. "It is depressing. In fact, just walking into the room and seeing eight to 10 people sitting there with deeply sad faces and taking chemo is not a happy sight."

Those who know the born salesman won't be surprised to hear what he did next. He sang them a song:

"I get so excited,

I get so excited,

I just can't hide it

You know, you know

I'm gonna get me some mo' chemo."

This week, after a year that's a blur of doctor appointments, needles and nausea, Perry will be back at the 9th hole -- announcing, not singing.

He calls it a miraculous gift from a good God.

He's been through lung surgery, chemotherapy and radiation. He's battled depression, low white blood cell counts, a violent reaction to chemotherapy that almost killed him, dizziness, a brain scan, loss of hearing, loss of energy, steroids, an endoscopy, a colonoscopy, hallucinations, anxiety attacks and enough side effects to fill a book of small print.

But he didn't lose his hair, his humor, his voice -- or his hope.

"In spite of all this, I am alive and kicking," he told his diary. "My kick may not be as high or as fast as it used to be, but that happens even if you do not have lung cancer. I feel pretty good most of the time and I believe that I am going to be cancer-free. Jesus Christ is in my heart and soul and is with me always -- so how can I lose? I cannot lose, only win."

Perry started the journey by digging up statistics. He was told that someone his age with Stage 3b cancer has a 25 percent chance to live five years. But his thoracic surgeon, Dr. Carolyn E. Reed of the Medical University of South Carolina in Charleston, told him he didn't need to know the prognosis for a complete recovery. She told him he's a person, not a number.

"I don't think about it," Perry said last week. "You know it's there, but you don't think about it. If you really thought about it, you'd probably be depressed the whole time."

Perry's message is much different. Perry says that it is through his faith; his wife, Patsy; his family; his doctors and nurses; his Providence Presbyterian Church; prayer; and friends that he has made it all the way back to the 9th hole.

Over the past year, he recorded his experiences and feelings in great detail. He's turned it into a 68-page booklet produced on his home computer: "My Journey With Lung Cancer."

"I hope the booklet can do two things," Perry said. "Document my experience and my witness for Christ, and maybe help people who are trying to quit smoking."

Perry grew up in Winston-Salem, N.C., in an era when nobody questioned smoking. It was sophisticated and cool. In that time and place, non-smokers were almost considered unpatriotic. Perry smoked with great gusto for 50 years, until Jan. 31, 2007, the day before a patch of cancer that didn't hurt and didn't even seem real was removed from his lung on a surgeon's table. He and Peggy, a daughter and son-in-law, all quit cold-turkey on the same day.

He recommends making God your partner in the effort.

"Make up your mind to quit smoking today," he writes. "Tomorrow may be too late. Do it for yourself and discover the benefits you will derive from not smoking. Just keep on trying. Never, never, never, ever give up."

Perry now goes in for check-ups every three months, and the doctors tell him things look good.

"They say I'm a cancer survivor," he said.

He's had a lot of time to reflect since the last Heritage tournament went on without him.

"I believe that God performs miracles every day," he writes in his booklet. "And I believe it to be a miracle in what he has done for me, not just this experience, but all through my life."

Then he recites Psalm 66, an appropriate one for the voice that was singing in the chemo room and is now ready to boom over the din around the 9th hole this week:

"Shout with joy to God, all the earth! Sing the glory of his name; make his praise glorious! Say to God, 'How awesome are your deeds!' "

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