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In 2002, I was diagnosed with a brain tumor called craniopharyngioma when I was five years old.
Before the diagnosis, my mom had noticed something wasn’t right. Around the age of two or three, I started gaining weight very quickly, even though I wasn’t eating enough for that to make sense. My mom took me to different pediatricians and doctors, but instead of listening to her concerns, they told her she was feeding me too much and that I needed to go on a diet. She knew that wasn’t the truth — something was wrong.
Eventually, I was admitted to the hospital for tests. They discovered that I had zero growth hormone in my body, so more testing was planned. But before that could happen, I was in a beauty pageant that lasted all weekend. The entire time, I had a terrible headache. I kept a smile on my face for the pageant, but inside, I was in pain. My mom thought maybe it was allergies and gave me medicine, but nothing helped.
That Sunday night when we got home, I was lying in bed, holding my head in pain. My mom looked at me and knew something was seriously wrong. She told me to get up because we were going to the hospital. That night, doctors did a CT scan, and it revealed I had a brain tumor.
At first, I didn’t know the details. All I knew was that I couldn’t go home, and the only thing I wanted was my little Precious Moments Bible. A friend brought it to me in the hospital, and I clung to it. When my parents and a child life specialist eventually told me I had a brain tumor and would need surgery, I was terrified. I remember being so angry, crying, stomping around, and even telling my parents, “You just brought me here to die.” At five years old, I didn’t understand what was happening, but I understood enough to be scared.
The doctors warned my parents that they didn’t know what my life would look like after surgery. They weren’t sure when I would walk or talk again. But when I woke up from surgery, I proved them wrong. The first words out of my mouth were, “I want my mom, and I want something to drink.”
Lifelong Hormone Challenges
During the surgery, they removed not only the tumor but also my hypothalamus and pituitary gland. Due to the tumor, my pituitary gland never worked properly to produce hormones — a condition called panhypopituitarism.
From that point forward, I would need to take daily hormone replacement therapy — growth hormone injections, hydrocortisone, desmopressin, and other medications. As a child, I didn’t fully comprehend what it meant, but I quickly learned how important my medications were. Even today, I’m still on growth hormone, and my other doses have had to be adjusted over the years. It was a huge adjustment, but it became my new normal.
My body doesn’t handle heightened emotions the way most people’s do, whether it’s from happiness, sadness, or anxiety. When my emotions run high, I can go into adrenal fatigue or even an adrenal crisis. I know when it’s happening because I get extremely tired, thirsty, and sometimes my body feels off-balance. I adjust my hydrocortisone intake during these times, but occasionally, I require hospitalization for IV fluids. Managing my health has always been part of my daily life.
Sometimes people are shocked when I tell them I take a growth hormone shot every day or that I’ll always depend on medication. But to me, it’s just normal. This is my life. It’s what I’ve always known. And instead of seeing it as something that holds me back, I choose to see it as part of my path.
Creating Abstract Art
“Complicated”
From the night I went to the emergency room until my release from the hospital after surgery was a total of three months. When I finally came home, my mom gave me a small canvas to help me process everything I had been through. I painted my very first piece and titled it “Complicated.” That word perfectly described what I was feeling. At five years old, I didn’t fully understand everything, but I knew it was complicated. Looking back, that painting marked the beginning of my journey with art.
Art has been my safe place ever since. When I paint, it feels meditative, like I’m in another state of mind. Hours can pass by, but it feels like only minutes. Creating helps me release my emotions and connect with myself.
My style has always leaned toward abstract, even from that very first painting, but it has evolved as I’ve learned new techniques and worked with new materials. Today, I use acrylics, watercolors, pastels, and paint markers. I also like to add crystal powders — rose quartz, amethyst, citrine — because they add texture, energy, and deeper meaning to my pieces.
Every painting I create comes with a handwritten poem on the back. Writing has become another way for me to express myself, and it gives people a more personal connection to each piece. For example, my mom’s favorite is a painting called “Fight of My Life,” which I paired with a poem about struggles and resilience. To me, art and writing go hand in hand.
“Fight of My Life”
“Fight Of My Life”
Life ain’t always easy We stumble and we fall I cry out As I try to get around these walls
The ones that sometimes Cave in on me But in spite of it all I got to believe
There’s a spark In the sky I can’t explain Call me crazy But trust me I’m okay Day by day Night by night This journey that I’m on This fight of my life.
I hope that when people see my art or read my poetry, they feel inspired or encouraged. One of the beautiful things about abstract art is that different people see different things in the same piece. My goal as an artist is to uplift others, to spark hope and inspiration through my work. Beyond my art, I use my blog and social media to share my journey as a brain tumor thriver, along with content centered on lifestyle, wellness, and spirituality.
Brain Tumor Thriver
If I could go back and talk to my five-year-old self, the little girl who was scared and angry in that hospital room, I would tell her, Just keep going. It will get better. You will overcome everything you’re going through.
That’s why I don’t just call myself a brain tumor survivor. I call myself a brain tumor thriver. To me, thriving means more than just surviving — it means living fully, bettering myself, and finding joy and purpose in life. It means choosing to see possibilities where others see limitations.
