Craniotomy #2

Coming Home: The Hidden Challenges

Being home from rehab had its own challenges. Like I mentioned before, fatigue was—and still is—one of the hardest parts. I was barely sleeping, which made everything feel twenty times heavier. I used to be able to function off little sleep, but now, if I have a bad night, I’m basically useless the next day.

My shoulder was also causing a lot of pain, which I’m sure was contributing to my lack of sleep. There were days I felt desperate.

Eventually, I got on medication that helped me sleep and adjusted a couple of others that were likely contributing to the fatigue. Once things started to level out and I began sleeping better, I honestly felt like a whole new person.

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Small Wins, Big Hope

The small victories kept me going.

I entered rehab with first only able to lift up my sweatpants with one arm… then finally with two. Being able to pick up my watering can again to water my plants. These moments might seem small, but to me, they were everything. They gave me hope.

I was still shaky doing most things, but I could see progress every single week—getting just a little bit stronger each day.

Before all of this, I was a Massage Therapist before I was a pastor, and trained as a powerlifter/bodybuilder, so I wasn’t unfamiliar with movement or how the body works. But this was different.

It wasn’t that my body wasn’t strong enough—it was that my brain didn’t have the right connections. I was literally retraining my brain to do everyday movements I’d never had to think about before.

Even now, I still default to using my left arm. I have to consciously remind myself to use my right, because it doesn’t feel natural—it almost feels foreign.

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The Reality of the MRI

When I saw my first MRI after surgery, I was honestly shocked.

It started to make more sense—because my tumour is diffused in my brain, they can’t remove all of it, which means it will continue to grow.

When I met with my surgeon, he showed me an area he believed he could still remove. After meeting with him and my oncologist, we decided to wait three more months to allow more healing, and then reassess.

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Hard Conversations & Unexpected Grief

My oncologist also presented a newer immunotherapy drug—something specific to my mutation and tumour grade.

But it wasn’t something I could just start, stop, and restart. So again, waiting was the best option.

This season was really tough.

I was having conversations with my family doctor about fertility, because once I started this drug, we wouldn’t be able to have children.

Honestly, Andrew and I hadn’t been planning for that, but we always said if it happened, we would be thrilled. But when the option is taken away from you, it hits differently.

I’ll share more about that in another post—but it brought up a level of grief I wasn’t expecting, and one that was harder than I thought it would be.

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Facing a Second Surgery

I had my next MRI on November 24th, met with my surgeon on the 27th, and we decided to move forward with a second surgery.

I remember getting emotional with him. I was scared we had waited too long—that maybe the tumour had progressed from grade 2 to grade 3, which would mean losing the opportunity for immunotherapy.

He reassured me and said he highly doubted that was the case.

Spoiler alert—he was right.

At first, I was told surgery would happen before Christmas. But then I got the call that it would be scheduled after. I only found out the week before Christmas—even the pre-op team didn’t have a date when they initially called.

But in a strange way, it was a gift. It allowed me to fully enjoy Christmas and the holidays with my family.

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A Peace That Surpassed Understanding

January 5th came.

I was nervous—but I also had peace. A peace that truly surpassed understanding.

I didn’t even cry like I did the first time.

As they wheeled me into the operating room, I looked around, caught my surgeon’s eye, and said, “Let’s get this over with.”

He chuckled, placed his hand on my shoulder, and reassured me.

He really is the best of the best—and a big reason I felt so confident going into surgery was because I trusted him, literally with my life.

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A Completely Different Recovery

Waking up this time was completely different

I remembered the recovery room. I wasn’t paralyzed on my right side like the first time—no new deficits. I didn’t feel nauseous. I didn’t throw up once. Hallelujah.

I was slow, but overall, everything went as well as it possibly could have. I was discharged just two days later.

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Still Healing

I think I forgot just how exhausting recovery really is.

It’s April 5th as I’m writing this, and fatigue is still something I struggle with daily. My awareness is improving, but I still get overwhelmed easily.

Healing isn’t linear. Every day looks different.

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“A Picture is Worth a Thousand Words”

I had another MRI last week and met with my surgeon again.

He was really happy with how I was doing. When he pulled up my MRI, all I could say was, “WOW.”

He smiled and said, “A picture is worth a thousand words.”

And honestly—it really was.

He told me it was the best outcome we could have hoped for, given my circumstances.

I got emotional. Even though this journey has been incredibly difficult, I felt so thankful that we chose to move forward with the second surgery, and I told him that.

Now, the next step is waiting to hear from my oncologist and begin immunotherapy.

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A Year of Healing

I truly believe this is a year of healing for me.

More than anything, I keep picturing myself fully stepping back into what I know I’m called to do—to worship the Lord and share His Good News.

That Jesus is the only way to heaven. That He died so we could live.

Walking through this has made me reflect deeply—especially this Easter season. It’s made me think about my mortality, and the reality that death isn’t the end—it’s the beginning.

Do I want to die tomorrow?

No.

But would I be okay if I did?

Yes.

Because of what Jesus has done for me, I don’t have to fear what comes after.

And while I truly believe I still have many years ahead—that my time here isn’t finished—it has given me a deeper peace when I think about the “what ifs.”

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Looking Ahead

I’m still healing. Every day is different.

But one thing hasn’t changed—this deep vision I carry of myself worshipping the Lord.

I know that’s what I’m called to do.

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A Note Before the Images

Below are photos of my MRI, shared in the order they were taken.

If you’re sensitive to this kind of content, I would gently advise not scrolling further.