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I’m no stranger to brain injuries. I was a competitive figure skater and had a few concussions on the ice — one was significant enough that I had trouble remembering where my classes were at school the next day.
I became a med/surg optometrist, partially because of the neurological connection between the eyes and brain. During my training, I did a neuro-ophthalmology rotation where I got a front-row seat to the ways neurological conditions can deteriorate our sense of self and how we interact with those around us. Neurology is incredibly complex, and while diagnostic and treatment options continue to progress, not all conditions are treatable. Since eyes are an embryological extension of the brain, I have personally managed cases where someone’s neurological condition has affected their eyes or have ordered the MRI that found the underlying cause of their symptoms (and multiple cases, a tumor).
After being rear-ended and inducing yet another concussion in my late 20s, I obtained my first MRI, which revealed a meningioma attached to my superior sagittal sinus (SSS). Given its smaller size and lack of other symptoms beyond the concussion, it was recommended to simply monitor. I was reassured that most meningiomas were very slow-growing and that this would not be an issue for years, if ever.
It did remain fairly stable with minimal growth for some years. I had two children and didn’t think about it. But at age 34, I noticed I was having worsening migraines and constant daily pressure at a focal part of my skull that aligned with where my tumor was.
I had a break between patients when the MRI results arrived on my portal. For whatever reason, I thought the scan would prove my tumor was stable, so I quickly checked the results: doubling in size since the previous scan, new mass effect, and narrowing of the superior sagittal sinus. I didn’t need my neurologist to tell me what this meant. I knew right there that I was going to need brain surgery. I didn’t know how soon, but I knew at that moment it was part of my future. I allowed myself five minutes to calm the panic that was rising — the feeling of both the floor dropping out and walls closing in — then collected myself and went on with my day, providing the same high-level patient care I always do.
How did I just go back to work? I think as health care providers, we learn how to compartmentalize. We train ourselves to stay in the moment, so we can be entirely focused on the patient and their problem, then close out the encounter and focus on the next person. This ability to be present and move on from whatever your last moment was, whether being someone’s hero or giving them their worst news, is helpful both at work and in life in general.
I was lucky to have access to a world-renowned university medical system and matched with a neurosurgeon who specializes in my tumor and its location. Given my younger age, I would need surgery within the next few months to prevent further mass effect or infiltration into the SSS vessel wall. As I prepared for surgery, I compartmentalized. I locked away the part of me that wanted to deny this reality.
I lived my life as I always had, but now with a new appreciation for even the small, normal moments in life. To not just let the days pass by, but fully live in them. While death during a craniotomy is unlikely, I didn’t know what the future held in terms of how much of myself or my abilities would be retained, so I held on tightly to the present. Each day with my children, family, and friends was a gift instead of a given.
Having been a patient, dealing with an uncertain outcome is the worst part of the experience. While we take our sense of self for granted, anyone who has survived a brain tumor knows the unique gratitude to still be here. While I still deal with side effects from the tumor and surgery, I am a better person and provider in many ways than before. As a provider, I’m a stronger advocate for my patients when they have neurological symptoms. I find more conditions because I look for them. I educate patients more on what I’ve learned and to never dismiss new or worsening headaches. On the personal side, I have more gratitude and resilience. I’m more present. I now KNOW I can handle anything.
