In the summer of 2020, about halfway through my fourth pregnancy, I started having headaches that got progressively worse, until by the end of pregnancy, they were completely debilitating. We thought maybe the headaches were a sign that I was having a boy. I also noticed, around that same time, that I had lost the hearing in my left ear. The corn was pollinating, and I chalked it up to allergies and being congested. But by the end of August, I started noticing that I was having issues with my balance. Like, I couldn’t walk in a straight line, and I was always bumping into doorways. Again, I chalked it up to pregnancy. We can chalk about anything up to pregnancy symptoms, right? As my headaches worsened, I kept promising my OB doctors that I would get it checked out if they didn't go away after the baby was born.
Four days after delivering our sweet baby girl in October, I was in so much pain from a headache that I could not function. My husband Matt took me to the emergency room (ER) in Scottsbluff, an hour away, where an MRI showed that I had a large brain tumor and severe swelling in my brain. I needed brain surgery, and I needed it as soon as possible.
My first hurdle was just getting to Swedish Medical Center in Denver — the best neurology hospital in the Midwest — where the surgery needed to be performed. It was sleeting, foggy, and icy outside, so a helicopter ride was out of the question. Due to other emergencies, no ambulance crew was available, either. But the ER physician that night was one I had worked with for seven years when we lived in Scottsbluff. He went above and beyond and found an ambulance from Torrington to transport me to Denver — a four-hour ride.
Because of the medication I needed immediately and during my transport, a Registered Nurse needed to be with me. While I was having the MRI, Matt had called one of our closest friends, and she was in the ER with us. She happens to be a flight nurse. She clocked in and rode with me in the ambulance to Denver. Once I arrived at Swedish Medical Center, I continued on the medication to decrease the swelling in my brain enough for them to feel confident about attempting a craniotomy.
My surgeon estimated from the size of the tumor that it had been there for maybe five or six years. It finally got big enough that my brain couldn’t compensate anymore, and it was blocking fluid from going out of my brain down into my spinal canal like it’s supposed to.Although I remained optimistic about the surgery, I also was realistic, knowing that there was no guarantee that I would come out of surgery without any lifelong disabilities — or that I would even survive the surgery. Up until this point in my 36 years, I’d never had surgery or been under anesthesia.
In the two and a half days of waiting for the swelling to go down enough so that I could safely have surgery, I wrote messages and made videos on my phone for my husband and each kid. My family was on my mind the whole time. At one point, I broke down, upset that I couldn’t spend those first few precious days after birth, bonding with my newborn. I was using FaceTime to talk to my mother-in-law, who was holding the baby, and I started crying and asked, ‘What if my baby doesn’t know me when I get home?’ I hadn’t really gotten to know her, and I didn’t know how long I was going to be in the hospital.
Speaking of that newborn, my friend who had rode in the ambulance with me had put out the call that night for milk donors. Some of our friends, and even my midwife, donated breast milk for the baby. We had enough to last us the entire time that I couldn’t nurse her.
My surgery got pushed back a few times, so we called a nearby church while we were waiting, and one of the priests came and gave me the sacraments of reconciliation and anointing of the sick.
Just before surgery, I felt calm. I think I was the only one feeling that way. But I knew I was going to be fine. It was strange that I felt so calm because I had struggled with postpartum anxiety after my third baby, and have been off and on antidepressant medication for the last few years. But at that moment, I was completely at peace.
I know that having a priest come pray with me is what helped give me that feeling of peace — the peace of God that surpasses all understanding. If my surgery had been done on time, there wouldn’t have been time for him to come pray with me.
My surgeons prepared my husband and told him to expect a long wait. They predicted that the operation would take 12 to 16 hours because of the size, vascularity, and complexity of the tumor. I was now seven days postpartum — and it was time for surgery.
I started out by going to Interventional Radiology, where they did an angiogram, a procedure in which they went in through a vein in my groin, all the way up to my brain so that they could cauterize some of the many vessels in and around the tumor to make the risk of massive bleeding that might require a blood transfusion less likely. They took me straight from there to the operating room since I was already under anesthesia. Swedish Medical Center is amazing, if I haven’t already said it.
Does anyone want to guess how long the surgery took? Remember, they told us that it would likely be 12 to16 hours. It took four hours. Four hours! They were able to remove the entire 6-centimeter tumor. I was supposed to stay intubated for the day following surgery because my surgeons weren’t sure if I would be able to keep my airway open on my own, or swallow properly. I was extubated just a few hours after surgery (partly because I tried to do it myself), and I had no troubles with swallowing or breathing.
There was a possibility that after surgery I would still have issues with balance, weakness on my left side, or walking on my own. It was an amazing feeling when I woke up and realized that I could move my arms and legs and sit up and talk. A few hours after surgery, I was up and walking on my own. I’ll never forget the look on my surgeon’s face when he first walked into my room after surgery and saw me sitting up in bed. He thought I would still be on a ventilator, as planned. I remember telling him, ‘Well, I have a husband and four little kids, including a newborn, that I really want to go home to.” Later that day I was moved out of the ICU into a regular hospital room.
And then, just three days after major brain surgery, by the grace of God, I walked out of the hospital on my own two feet.
“With people it is impossible, but not with God; for all things are possible with God.” (Mk 10:27)
That tumor was benign, a benign meningioma, to be precise. About six weeks after surgery, the hearing in my left ear returned. And the newborn that I was so worried wouldn’t nurse? When I got back home, after I finished 10 more days of steroids, stopped taking the muscle relaxants, and switched pain meds to just ibuprofen, I got to try to nurse her again. I had so much peace knowing that however she needed to be fed, it would be fine. Looking heaven in the face makes you realign your priorities. Donor milk or formula, I honestly didn’t care, but I knew I wanted to try to nurse my last baby. And I prepared myself that it might take lots of patience and hard work to get her to latch again. It had been 13 days since she nursed. She latched on without missing a beat — of course, I cried tears of joy!
There were just so many answered prayers throughout my story. So many miracles — at least by the worldly definition of miracles — that happened in such a short span of time! Before going through the darkness of a brain tumor diagnosis and surgery, I felt like life was pretty good. I was pretty clear on my priorities, I thought. I experienced happiness. Troubles. Kind of like everyone. But after waking up from surgery, it was like my life began. At age 36.
I knew Jesus before. But did I really see Him? Did I truly understand the incredible power of salvation and the opportunity that we all have to live a life of abundance? Suddenly, I was living a life of unexpected abundance. Life was full. Full of joy, full of contentment, full of clarity about what's truly important. It doesn't mean that suddenly I was worry-free. Or that I would never feel or experience pain again. It means that I have experienced a life full of joy and abundance.
I wouldn't wish the experience of having a baby and an emergency brain surgery within the same week on anyone. But I also wouldn't change a thing about my story — in the suffering and hardship is where my new life started. In the darkness is where a life of abundance and joy began for me.