At 5 months pregnant, I started to experience vision changes. It started off as slight double vision, and not long after, I lost function of my left eye. That’s when I was diagnosed with a brain tumor pressing against my optic nerve and growing towards my brain stem. It all made sense: my slow-growing vision changes, my recurrent headaches, my extreme fatigue.
I thank God every single day that it is non-cancerous, but the rapid growth fueled by my pregnancy hormones made it incredibly dangerous. Already in a high-risk pregnancy, I lived on high alert — monitoring every symptom, every change, knowing things could shift at any moment for both my baby and me if the pressure in my brain got to unsafe levels.
After delivery and multiple neurologist consults, I was told my brain tumor was inoperable due to its location around vital nerves and arteries, and with radiation, there were no guarantees my vision would return. “Whatever damage is done, is done.” The goal was simply to stop the tumor from growing.
Today, I stand here stronger than ever, having completed 25 radiation sessions, and I can see without my eyepatch to compensate for my double vision.
After I found out I had a tumor during pregnancy, I lived in fear that at any moment things could progress and be life-threatening for my baby and me. I was unable to proceed with any treatment until after delivery, and was slowly trying to live with partial eyesight. Now, although my sessions are complete, I still feel like there is so much that is unknown about the future.
I have my eyesight back; however, I still need extra monitoring to ensure my tumor doesn’t grow, extra monitoring to ensure I don’t develop any more tumors, extra monitoring as it is unsafe for me to have more children, extra monitoring of signs and symptoms of my brain tumor, and radiation side effects.
Finding the NBTS community made an enormous difference after the diagnosis. Hearing shared experiences, practical advice, and words of encouragement reminded me that I wasn’t alone — and gave me strength, hope, and confidence to face each step forward. Although my support system is strong, having someone who is fighting the fight with you sits just a little bit differently.
Gray May
As a brain tumor warrior, May carries powerful meaning for me. It represents survival, resilience, and the strength it takes to keep moving forward after a life‑altering diagnosis. Brain Tumor Awareness Month is important because it brings visibility to our fight, honors those we’ve lost, and pushes for better research and support for future warriors. I go gray in May to stand proud in my journey, to show others they are not alone, and to remind the world that brain tumor warriors are strong, seen, and still fighting.
One thing I wish more people knew about the brain tumor experience is that survival doesn’t mean life instantly goes back to normal. We are forever changed in ways no one will really understand because a lot of us are fighting battles nobody can see — the fatigue, memory struggles, emotional exhaustion, fear, vision changes, hormone shifts, and the pressure to still show up for life while healing internally. Sometimes the strongest thing we do is simply keep going.
People see the appointments, the scans, the surgeries, the radiation…but they don’t always see the quiet grief that comes with a brain tumor diagnosis. The parts of you that change. The fear that lingers. The exhaustion that sleep doesn’t fix. The moments you smile while secretly trying to hold yourself together.
A brain tumor doesn’t just affect your body; it changes the way you move through life. It teaches you how fragile time is, how precious ordinary moments become, and how strong someone can be while still feeling completely broken inside.
To anyone fighting silently right now, I see you. And I’m proud of you for making it through another day.
