“I Thought I’d Lost Him Forever That Night”: Krystal Keith’s Tearful Revelation on Husband Andrew Sandubrae’s Brutal Cancer Fight
The call came at 1:45 a.m. on a stormy Oklahoma night in late October 2025, shattering the quiet of Krystal Keith’s bedroom like glass under a boot heel. Her husband, Andrew Sandubrae, the rugged energy executive who had been her rock for fifteen years, was gasping for air in the guest room downstairs—his face blue, body convulsing, convinced it was the end. Country music’s resilient daughter, still grieving her father Toby Keith’s death just months earlier, raced to his side, dialing 911 with one hand while cradling his head with the other.
Krystal relives the horror of that midnight seizure as the moment her world fractured beyond repair.
“I held him down while he thrashed, screaming his name like it could pull him back,” she tells People in an exclusive interview, her voice breaking into sobs. Andrew, 44, had woken her with a muffled cry; by the time she reached him, he was frothing at the mouth, eyes rolled back. Paramedics burst through the door seven agonizing minutes later, stabilizing him with emergency meds before airlifting him to OU Medical Center. Their daughters, Hensley, 10, and Kirby, 6, huddled terrified in the hallway, clutching their late grandfather’s old guitar.
Just days later, scans confirmed the unthinkable: stage IV pancreatic cancer, the silent killer that had metastasized to his liver and lungs.
Andrew’s symptoms—unexplained weight loss, fatigue he’d blamed on work stress at Sandubrae Energy LLC—were textbook signs he’d ignored for months. “The doctor said we caught it too late for surgery. Chemo and radiation are all we have left,” Krystal whispers, clutching a faded photo of their 2010 wedding where Toby walked her down the aisle. The diagnosis hit harder than the 2023 car wreck that nearly claimed them all; this time, there were no miracles, only statistics: 12–18 months, if they were lucky.
The first chemo infusion was a descent into hell that tested every vow they’d ever made.
Andrew, once a 6’2” powerhouse who coached little league and chased daughters through pumpkin patches, swelled like a balloon from steroids, then withered to 140 pounds. Krystal canceled her fall tour dates, trading spotlights for hospital gowns, learning to flush ports and manage nausea meds. “There were nights he begged me to let him go, said he didn’t want the girls seeing Daddy fade away,” she confesses. “I’d climb into that bed, hold him, and sing ‘Daddy Dance with Me’—the song I wrote for our wedding—until he slept.”
Through the agony, their love has forged armor no tumor can pierce.
Krystal shaved Andrew’s head herself on day three, turning it into a family ritual where the girls wielded clippers too, laughing through tears. He taught her to tie his ties for Zoom meetings with his oil firm partners; she taught him breathing exercises to fight the pain. When Andrew’s voice weakened, they communicated via whiteboard: “You’re my forever co-writer,” he scrawled one dawn, referencing the lyrics they’d penned together for her albums.
Social media glimpses reveal a family clinging to joy amid the wreckage.
A November Instagram post shows Andrew in a recliner, daughters curled on his lap, Krystal strumming guitar: “Cancer fights dirty, but so do we. #SandubraeStrong.” It garnered 2.8 million likes, with fans sharing purple ribbons (pancreatic cancer’s color) and stories of their own battles. Toby’s old bandmate, Eric Church, FaceTimed a bedside concert, belting “American Soldier” as Andrew mouthed every word.
Oncology reports offer slivers of defiance: tumors shrunk 25% after round two.
Doctors at MD Anderson, where they relocated for specialized trials, call Andrew a “fighter outlier.” Remission isn’t promised, but stability is—enough for Christmas plans: a low-key Norman tree-trimming, with Krystal promising a new single inspired by their saga. Andrew, ever the optimist, jokes about “trading rigs for remissions,” but privately tells her, “If I don’t make it, promise you’ll keep singing for the girls. For Dad.”
As winter deepens, Krystal chooses faith over finality.
She’s launched a Sandubrae Family Fund for pancreatic research, raising $450,000 in weeks. “I need to be by his side… no matter what,” she vows, echoing the line from her father’s eulogy she delivered in February. “Andrew’s not just my husband—he’s the man who held me when Toby left us, who danced with our babies to my songs. We’ll face this like we faced everything: together, loud, and unapologetically alive.”
In a year that stole her hero and now threatens her heart, Krystal Keith’s story isn’t defeat—it’s defiance wrapped in melody. A love tested in fire, emerging not unscathed, but unbreakable. Fans, shattered yet inspired, flood her messages with one plea: Keep fighting. Because in country music, the ballads of loss always end with a chorus of hope.
