when it technically is brain surgery
In just a few days, I get to have brain surgery. Saying that out loud, even to myself, is almost unbelievable. Now, as far as brain surgeries go, gamma knife surgery is one of the easiest and breeziest, so… big deal? Absolutely. But on the smaller side of big deals.
This whole experience has been a lesson in learning to live boldly, fully, and as loudly as you can while doing hard things, not just waiting for an end result. The destination isn’t guaranteed, so it’s about how you move through everything in between.
Most of my chronic health issues began after the pregnancy and birth of the twins (that story is a chapter book on its own). We went through a season of very low iron, blood transfusions, iron infusions, and a lifetime of anemia that ebbs and flows depending on life’s many variables. When the twins were little, we were navigating life without solutions, without systems in place, and with doctors who wouldn’t listen.
I would go in for help because I was so tired, fainting, and experiencing all sorts of other symptoms, only to be told, “Well, you have little twins, of course you’re tired; that’s just the way it is.” Every health issue was dismissed as a byproduct of motherhood. The fainting episodes worsened, eventually leading to a tumble down the stairs that turned everything upside down. Every bruise and bump was blamed on the fall, and the fainting itself was somehow out of everyone’s purview, so I joined a waitlist for an internist.
Months later, I had a phone call appointment with the internist who never actually saw me. In her report, she wrote: “Lab work looks fine; all symptoms are because she is a mom.” I wish I were joking. After enough time passed, I still experienced severe, unrelenting pain on the right side of my face and neck, behind my eye, across my jaw, down the entire side of my face.
Our family doctor at the time said I should be grateful to feel pain in my head because it meant, as a woman, I had a brain, and that wasn’t always the case. I left that appointment gaslighting myself, thinking there was no way he actually meant that. At the next appointment, I asked Ryder to come with me, and we were told I was probably making up the pain because I wanted him to do more dishes. I left with no help, but at least a husband who refused to gaslight himself, and a hunt for a new family doctor began.
Our next family doctor was the holy grail. She did so much testing, believed me when I said I was in pain, and pushed further when initial results didn’t show answers. She was honest about not having all the answers, and I was so grateful. Grateful to be believed. Grateful to be seen as a person beyond just a mother.
When she came to the diagnosis of trigeminal neuralgia, my life suddenly became bright again. Medications helped alleviate the pain, and regular life almost resumed. Even with an effective treatment plan, she connected me to neurologists and internists, ensuring the diagnosis was officially confirmed, a game-changer in our medical system. I had a name for what was happening, and a dream team to help me navigate it. Life was still managing medications and their side effects, but I was dancing in the rain.
Eventually, the side effects became troublesome for important organs, like my kidneys and liver, and surgery entered the conversation. Around the same time, the world went into shutdown. Slowly, step by step, we navigated MRIs, consultations, and long waits for specialists. Appointments stretched over years.
On a random summer Tuesday, while taking the kids out for coffee and snacks, the gamma knife surgical team called. My intake and confirmation appointment was scheduled for that Friday, and three weeks later the surgery would finally happen. I wasn’t about to argue. After years of waiting, navigating appointments, and managing medications, it felt like this moment had been quietly building in the middle of everyday life.
Throughout t all of this, there was so much real life in between: breakfasts at the beach, building forts, trips to the mountains, and all the little moments in between. Everything moved a little slower, with more rest before, after, and during, but it was deeply real, full of presence, and lived with intention. This chapter hasn’t stopped us from showing up fully for our kids, our family, and our adventures, it’s just been woven into the rhythm of everyday life.
I’m so grateful for every step of the journey, and I can’t wait to share more about the surgery itself and what it’s like to move through that next chapter.
I’m so glad you’re here.
~ Jasmine
