LDL. “I Haven’t Slept Much Since They Said Brain Tumor”: A Texas Mom Faces Every Parent’s Worst Fear as 20-Year-Old Son Prepares for Surgery

Cherie says she hasn’t slept much lately.

Not because of a busy schedule or holiday stress—but because of two words no parent is ever truly prepared to hear: brain tumor.

Her son, Corey, is only 20 years old. He’s the age where life usually feels wide open—where plans are made casually because the future is assumed to be there. But since October, Cherie says their family has been living inside a new kind of time: the kind measured in appointments, scans, and anxious waiting.

It started with seizures.

After Corey experienced two seizures in October, doctors ordered further testing—and what they found changed everything. Imaging revealed a tumor located on the left temporal lobe of his brain, measuring 2.3 by 1.2 centimeters. The location matters, because the temporal lobe plays a role in memory, language, and processing emotions. And when anything is found in the brain, even the word “small” doesn’t feel comforting.

Now, surgery is scheduled for January 13.

Doctors believe the tumor is likely benign, but the family has been told the truth that sits beneath every “likely”: they won’t know for sure until it’s removed and sent for biopsy. Until then, Cherie says they are living between hope and fear—trying to hold onto the good news without letting the uncertainty swallow them.

Those who know Corey say he’s the kind of young man people naturally root for.

Funny. Kind. Respectful. The person who shows up when someone needs help. The one who would “give you the shirt off his back,” Cherie says, without thinking twice. He wasn’t looking for attention. He was building a life—quietly, steadily, the way good kids do when they’re raised with love and values.

Before all of this, Corey was working at Bass Pro Shops near Tyler, Texas, surrounded by the kind of environment he enjoyed—gear, outdoors talk, and regular customers who start to feel like friends. He was also dreaming bigger than most people his age dare to dream: he had talked about joining a rodeo team, and he hoped to one day become an equine veterinarian—a career that takes grit, patience, and a deep love for animals.

But right now, everything is on pause.

Plans that once felt close now feel suspended in midair, because the priority is simple: get Corey through surgery. Get answers. Get him safely to the other side of this.

Cherie says the hardest part isn’t the paperwork or the scheduling or even the waiting for test results. It’s being a mother and realizing there is no way to “fix” this for her child.

Parents spend a lifetime solving problems—bandaging scraped knees, calming fears, staying up through fevers, doing whatever it takes. But this is different. A tumor is not something a mom can wrap up and make better with love alone, no matter how much love she has. And Cherie has plenty.

That’s why she decided to reach out.

Not for attention—just for support. For prayer. For strong words when hers feel tired. For encouragement she can read in the middle of the night when sleep won’t come. For the kind of community that helps a family breathe when the weight feels too heavy.

In moments like this, what families often need most isn’t advice about medicine—it’s reminders they’re not alone. That people are standing with them. That hope still exists even when certainty does not.

As January 13 approaches, the focus is on one thing: Corey’s surgery and the results that will follow. And in the meantime, Cherie is holding onto every small comfort she can find—good conversations with doctors, calm moments with her son, and messages from people who care.

If you’re reading this, please keep Corey and Cherie in your thoughts and prayers. Leave them an encouraging message—something gentle and strong, the kind of words a family can carry into an operating room.

Because for Cherie, this isn’t just a medical event.

It’s her child.

And right now, every prayer matters. 🙏🤍