My Life With a Brain Tumor

I lay inside the machine, surrounded by loud beeping, thumping, and whooshing noises. A padded coil around my face held my head in position. An overwhelming sense of fear rushed through my body. I knew something was wrong. I was 15 years old, and I was having a magnetic resonance imaging (MRI) test to check my brain for tumors.

For several months, I’d been suffering migraine headaches that were so severe all I could do was sleep. I’d also been having periods of intense fatigue. At first, I wasn’t overly concerned about my symptoms, because my family has a history of migraines. But eventually my mother took me to see a neurologist, which is a doctor who specializes in the brain. The neurologist suggested the MRI. 

The morning after the MRI, I found my mom locked in the bathroom. When I asked her to let me in, she refused. Her voice trembled, and it sounded like she was holding back her tears. I could only hear whispers and mumbles until I finally made out the words “brain tumor.”

The following months were filled with frequent trips to the doctor. Finally, the surgeon told me I had a choice: I could have surgery immediately, or I could wait to see if my symptoms got worse. If I had surgery immediately, there was a possibility I would lose function in my hand. But if I waited, the tumor could continue to grow and turn into cancer. I felt like there was a chance my dreams could be crushed before I could even pursue them. 

After agonizing over what to do, I decided to hold off on surgery. At that point I was still able to attend my classes, participate in extracurricular activities, and maintain my GPA. I was almost able to forget about the tumor for a few months.

Then, three months later, things began falling apart. I started experiencing tremors. My hand would shake for a few seconds throughout the day. I took anti-seizure medication to stop the tremors, but the medication caused waves of fatigue, dizziness, and nausea. I felt like a zombie. I could no longer sit back and wait for a miracle or a disaster. I decided to have the surgery to remove the tumor. 

The reality of what I was doing didn’t hit me until the morning of the procedure. My mom couldn’t go farther into the hospital than the waiting room. I vividly remember walking myself to the operating room in tears. Two nurses walked with me, holding my hands and encouraging me. I felt like I was walking into impending doom. 

When I woke up from surgery, I tried to move my right arm. It didn’t move. I tried to wiggle my fingers. Nothing moved. My arm and hand were paralyzed. The doctors reassured me that I would be able to regain some function in my hand once the swelling in my brain went down. 

Despite the temporary paralysis of my hand, the surgery had been successful. The doctor had been able to remove the entire tumor. When they took the bandages off my head, I was shocked by how much hair they’d shaved off. I had a cut running from the top of my head to the top of my earlobe. 

Recovery was tough. At times I felt relieved that the tumor was removed, but other days I felt frustrated by my inability to use my hand. Finally, after six months of occupational therapy, my life is relatively back to normal. My scar is barely noticeable, my hair has grown back, and my hand is functional again. 

When I look back at all I went through, I get spooked by the thought that I had abnormal cells infiltrating the most important organ of my body. I can’t help wondering, if I hadn’t complained of headaches, if my mom hadn’t noticed how often I was taking pain relievers, if the neurologist hadn’t performed the MRI scan, would my tumor have progressed to cancer? 

While it’s scary to think about what might have happened, I’m grateful for what I’ve learned. My experience taught me the importance of advocating for myself. Being a teenager going through a health crisis is difficult. You’re old enough to think for yourself, but legally you can’t make any decisions. Even so, your opinion matters. 

My advice to other kids in similar situations is to do research about your condition, and make sure your voice is heard. I always asked my doctors to speak directly to me because I was the patient. It was my body and my future we were talking about.

Overall, I feel proud of the way I dealt with the circumstances. I’m excited to put what I learned about the brain into practice as a neurosurgeon someday. And, because of my experience, I will always be patient and compassionate with my patients, no matter how old or young they are.