The rain has moved out, and an overcast sky bathes the world in a misty shimmer. If this were the first scene of a movie, the film would surely be an emotional rollercoaster, filled with glorious happiness, heartbreaking sadness, and at least one epiphany. In other words, like life itself.
To be more specific, like Kris Scott’s life. She is sitting in a recliner in her living room, flanked on one side by her walker, and on the other by her husband Andy. The Fort Smith, Arkansas couple complement each other. He is taciturn; she is outgoing. He ruminates before speaking; she answers quickly, her hands moving like sparrows to emphasize a point.
Andy, leaning forward on the nearby couch, watches Kris as she unspools their love story. Kris laughs. “I knew who he was in high school, but he was a year younger. I had a friend who dated his brother. We called him ‘little red-headed Andy.’”
Little Andy grew up, and by the time they’d reconnected during a friendly canoe trip on the Buffalo River, Kris was seeing him in a whole new light. “There was something about communicating with him without words, which you have to do while canoeing together, that made me want to know him more,” Kris says.
By then, she’d had other adventures, like competing in the 1997 Miss Arkansas pageant, where she won a talent award scholarship. She’d designed many of her evening gowns, and her mother had sewn them.
After the canoe trip, Kris told her girlfriends she wanted to see Andy again, and they planned a cookout. The two have been inseparable since.
“His family became my family,” she says. “His parents, Evelyn and Linden, had two boys, so my daughter Raya and I became their two girls. I loved them instantly.”
Kris became part of the family business, Sewtown, which includes the Central Sewing Center in Fort Smith, which opened in 1982, and Sewing Machines of Tulsa.
When Andy and Kris welcomed another daughter, Aidan, Andy’s mom was ready with a closet full of baby girl clothes. Kris felt like she was living in an especially wonderful dream.
But then, in 2015 her mother passed away, and ten months later, her father died.
Kris did her best to piece together her new reality. When she was ready, she began driving to the Tulsa store four days a week and keeping tabs on the Fort Smith location.
When Covid hit in 2020, Kris saw a resurgence in the art of sewing. “We were having between fifty and sixty sewing machines being brought in for service every day… And then, unrelated to Covid, one of our service technicians passed away, and Andy stepped in to help, which he’s still doing today.”
In October 2022, Kris was working on a quilt show in Fort Smith. While setting up, she lifted boxes, overexerting herself. “I had a strain in my neck, a little knot, and I thought that was odd. I let it go for a little bit, because I’m stubborn. I finally got an X-ray, but it didn’t’ really show anything. They put me on steroids, but it didn’t go away.”
In February 2023, Kris had a CT scan on the upper half of her body. The edge of a mass was visible on the top of her left kidney. The scan revealed another tumor on her clavicle, and one on her vertebra. She was diagnosed with Stage 4 Renal Cell Carcinoma. Kris had her left kidney removed, started immunotherapy, and began taking a chemotherapy pill. Later, she underwent radiation therapy.
Her friends and family stepped in, offering support and fundraising for the overwhelming medical bills. And then there was her work family. “The staff at Central Sewing Center made me a quilt, a lot of our customers chipped in and made a square for it…When you talk about sewing and quilting people, they’re compassionate, loyal, creative. One of the things that drew me to the business was that I could see a little of my mother in every woman who brought her sewing machine in.”
The bright, happy quilt is one of Kris’s treasures, one of the things she says helped get her through a dark time. For a while, it looked like the worst was behind her. “I was feeling better, everything was looking good, but then around Christmas I started losing feeling in my feet. There was another tumor on my spine… A brand-new radiation proton treatment had just begun at UAMS in Little Rock. We knew God was good and He was leading us every step. They normally wouldn’t do radiation on the spine, but the proton treatment is extremely targeted, so we had an option. The tumor did shrink, although it left me with permanent leg damage. I’m basically numb from the waist down.”
In July 2024, on a trip with Andy to Jackson Hole, Wyoming, Kris was feeling inspired for the first time in a long time. But once she came home, she had a cough and was prescribed a steroid and antibiotics.
“One day, Andy found me incoherent and called the ambulance. I don’t remember anything for about two weeks. I was in the hospital for a month with double pneumonia and Legionnaires disease. Once they asked Andy to get my daughters, that it wasn’t looking good.” And then Kris says, “Before that, I knew that Andy loved me, but then through everything, I actually saw the measure of his love for me.”
Andy has not taken his eyes off his wife. Emotion cracks his voice when he says, “I’m obviously crazy about her. She’s my best friend. I can’t do without her.”
Kris says there were lessons in her struggles. “I think everybody sometimes wonders what their worth is. But to see so much love from so many people displayed in such genuine ways, was overwhelming.
“I think if you talked to someone about me, they’d say I was bubbly and outgoing and didn’t let things get me down. But there were dark times when I didn’t know if I could make it much further, but because of the love and their belief in me, I drew strength.
“It could be as simple as a text on a random Wednesday, with someone saying they were thinking of me. That would snap me out of it, take me outside the four walls of a hospital room or home, and let me know the world was out there still. Or I’d tell someone I was fine, I didn’t need help, because I’m proud, and they’d still show up with a pizza or dinner. And even though I didn’t want to see anyone, once they were here, I’d feed off their joy.
“I think people expect you to come through something like this and have a great epiphany. I can’t say that I have, except my faith in God. The epiphany of life is God. If I didn’t have such strong faith that His will will be done, it would have been easy to give up and quit.”
These days, Kris cherishes every new morning. “It may be just another ordinary day, but it’s a day,” she says. “I’ll get to Facetime my daughters and visit with Andy.” Recently, three more tumors were discovered, and Kris will undergo additional treatment. Even of that she says, “God is so good. The timing was good. I was able to move my youngest daughter Aidan into her dorm at OSU [Oklahoma State University] and get her settled. It would have broken my heart not to do that.”
Kris lifts her glasses, wipes her eyes. Outside, the neighborhood is rallying. There are places to go. People to see. The errands of everyday life. Andy and Kris are content where they are, together. At this moment, on this shimmering morning, they have everything they need.
Renal Cell Carcinoma (RCC) is the most common form of kidney cancer in adults. It begins in the tiny filtering tubes of the kidney and is sometimes discovered during scans for other issues, since early symptoms can be subtle. Learn more about kidney health and Renal Cell Carcinoma at the American Cancer Society (cancer.org) or the Kidney Cancer Association (kidneycancer.org).
