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I’m 24 years old now, and life finally feels like it’s my own. I had a brain tumor called craniopharyngioma removed when I was eight, and honestly, life was really hard up until I was about 20.
It took me a long time to understand people, to make friends, and to feel normal socially again. When you have a brain tumor at such a young age, you’re surrounded by adults all the time — you grow up fast in some ways and miss out on being a kid.
Things changed when I finally became an adult and started creating my own life. Two years ago, I opened my own hair salon. I just bought my dream car — a pink and purple Charger Scat Pack. Earlier this year, I moved into the house I built, and I got married to the love of my life, CJ. Looking back at where I came from, I can honestly say success is possible. People don’t even believe me when I tell them I had a brain tumor until I show them the scar.
My surgeon, Dr. Selden, saved my life. He operated through my forehead instead of through my nose. I was actually the eleventh survivor of that kind of surgery, and it ended up being published. They even put me in the newspaper.
Finding the Brain Tumor
But my story really started before that, when no one could figure out what was wrong. Growing up, doctors just said I was “premature,” even though I was born a day late. I was tiny — wearing baby doll clothes as a toddler and 3T clothes as a fourth grader — and no one suspected anything. It wasn’t until my grandma noticed that one of my eyes wasn’t looking straight that anyone took it seriously. She said, “Look at me,” and I said, “I am.” That’s when my mom took me in again, but the doctors just kept brushing it off.
Finally, after switching insurance, I saw a different doctor, who ordered an MRI. Before we even made it home from Portland — about 45 minutes later — they called and said, “She needs to be in the OR now.”
I still remember sitting in a bank parking lot while my mom was bawling, and I was totally confused. Even up to surgery day, I had no idea what was happening because they didn’t think I was going to make it. My tumor was the size of a golf ball, and my chances of survival were around 40 to 60 percent. They told me I was just going to “take a nap.” They put me into an induced coma for a week, and somehow I woke up and healed faster than anyone expected.
When I woke up, they didn’t let me look in mirrors because my face was so swollen and bruised — two black eyes, swollen cheeks, everything. When I finally caught a glimpse of myself, I realized something huge had happened. But I was still just a kid, treating the hospital like a hotel, collecting teddy bears from the nurses and visitors.
Life After Surgery
Going back to school after six months was rough. Everyone was told, “Be careful with Savannah — she can’t hit her head, can’t do PE.” I was super tiny, and I felt like my brain was slower. Math and science weren’t clicking. I remember sitting at latchkey after school playing mancala with the teacher while the other kids ran around, because I couldn’t join them.
From day one after surgery, I couldn’t swallow pills until I was 14 years old. I had to have my mom crush up five disgusting pills and force them down my throat. The only thing that would help with the taste was orange juice with pulp.
Eventually, in seventh grade, they put me on growth hormone injections. They told me I’d never reach five feet without them. I’m 5’3″ now, but it came with side effects like back pain. I had to take those shots for years. My mom would chase me around the house with the needle because I was terrified of them. On top of that, I started on birth control to force my hormones into balance, since my pituitary gland was completely removed during surgery.
Managing Life-Long Medications
That little gland controls everything — your hormones, mood, thyroid, hunger, thirst, and fertility. Without it, your body doesn’t just “go back to normal.” My whole life runs on medication. I take thyroid pills, hydrocortisone, bladder medication, and birth control every single day at 5 a.m., noon, 6 p.m., and 9 p.m. If I forget or run out, it’s dangerous. I have to make sure I stop eating by certain times and get at least eight hours of sleep every night. It’s really rough.
I can’t travel easily because my medication has to stay cold. TSA has thrown away my ice packs before, and that’s a $1,000 vial gone just like that. Two Christmases ago, I forgot my meds when we went to the coast, and my mom had to have someone break into her house to get them and drive them out to us. My life will always revolve around medication, but it’s also proof that I’m still here.
When I started dating, I was nervous to tell CJ. I didn’t want him to think I was on something strange because I have to take pills all the time. But he was amazing about it. He reminds me to take my meds, even used to hand me my growth hormone shot and alcohol wipes when I was too tired to get up. Having a partner who understands makes all the difference.
Don’t Lose Hope
If I could tell someone newly diagnosed with this kind of tumor anything, it would be: don’t go through it alone. Ask for help. Watch your mood, your appetite, and your energy, because everything changes after surgery. And don’t lose hope. You can still build a life, fall in love, and chase your dreams.
Craniopharyngioma changed my life drastically. I wish it hadn’t happened, but I’m also blessed because it taught me strength I didn’t know I had. Just because you had a brain tumor doesn’t mean you have to act like you had one. I try to move forward and focus on my goals, whether it’s getting my dream car, opening my own salon, or even just getting up early to make a smoothie despite feeling fatigued.
I even have a tattoo my mom designed for me — it says “Survivor.” It reminds me that I’m still here, and that I’ve chosen to keep moving forward. (My mom and grandma even got tattoos of the brain tumor ribbon and my surgery date.)
Success after something like this is possible. I’m living proof.
