For the next twenty years my life continued as normal. I lived a seemingly normal life, singing in my church, learning to play the piano, clarinet, and hand bells. I had sleepovers, ballet classes, and learned to wear makeup. I was even given the chance to perform again in the annual Calgary Stampede, which I had missed two years early because of my surgeries. My family moved back to the states where I started the seventh grade. My life was very normal. I experienced normal pre-teen/teenage struggles of not fitting in, finding my place in school, and making new friends. I had first crushes, a first love, and first heartbreak. I went to my first dance, joined marching band, and became the captain of the colorguard. I loved to perform and landed the lead role in my school’s performance of “Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat”. For the most part, I kept my condition hidden and secret out of fear. Fear of being further ostracized, fear of others not understanding, and fear of ridicule. I never wore a two piece swim suit so my scars were never revealed, and styled my hair so my bald spots were hidden. I opened up to only a very few about my condition. Some, like my best friend in middle school, understood my insecurities and the severity of my condition. Others did not. But God surrounded me with people to who loved me, and so though others misunderstandings hurt, it did not greatly affect me. Life went on, I graduated from high school, and moved on to college.
When I started college, it had been almost 10 years since my last surgery, which seemed a lifetime ago. I made new friends, lived in an apartment with my sister, and got involved with clubs. That’s when I met my now husband. We began hanging out on our common love to dance. I opened up to him about having hydrocephalus. He did his own research, and asked me many questions. To some this may have been annoying, but I really appreciated his genuine interest in my condition. He didn’t just take what I had told him about my story, but also looked into the condition as a whole. Our friendship grew, and a year later decided to officially start dating. I continued through college, finishing my degree in Mechanical Engineering from a top Engineering school. I then took my first job, which sent me to Delaware. My father, years later, admitted to me this was a very difficult for him. He did not like being so far from me, not knowing if I was ok, and knowing that no one knew of my condition up there. I really never worried about it. It seemed like a part of my past, something that no longer affected me. But it was always there. Something I did need to be aware of.
About a year after graduation, my boyfriend proposed. I knew then I could no longer ignore the condition I had. There was still so much I didn’t know about my condition that would affect this man’s life. I tried to look into information of women who had had children and were hydrocephalic. I found nothing. I was not sure if I could have children. So, about a year after our engagement, I had to let him know I was unsure if I could give him his own kids. That, if he stayed with me, there was no guarantee he would have his own children. I was heartbroken knowing what his answer could be. Knowing, that for some men, adoption was not a choice. But this was not his response. He told he didn’t care whether or not I could get pregnant. What he wanted was a life with me. He said if we decided we wanted children, then we would adopt. He reassured me. We were married a year later.
About two years after we were married, we found out I was pregnant! God started to move. We were living in a very small town at the time, and my doctor had never had a patient with hydrocephalus. I visited my neurologist, and he said he was not concerned. A month after we found out I was pregnant, my husband lost his job. So there I was, pregnant, uncertain what was going to happen, working 10-12 hour shifts, and the sole provider for our family. I was scared, but little did I know this was God’s plan. A month later my husband had found a new job, but in a bigger city. I continued to work, with my husband over an hour drive away from me. At about 10 months pregnant, I had an episode. I don’t remember much about the episode or anything that happened the entire weekend. I know my mother gave me a baby shower, at some point I blacked out, began spotting, and had severe headaches and nausea. They took an MRI, but everything looked normal. A couple of days later I went to an eye doctor who discovered I had lost my peripheral site. My doctors were not sure what was going on, but thought the additional fluid in my body from the pregnancy was causing extra pressure within in my body, causing the loss of site and headaches. They put me on restrictive driving, and sent me home with headache and anti-nausea medicine.
On my actual due date I went into labor in the middle of the night, and after 24 hours of labor and an emergency C-section, I had the baby I was never sure I could have. My baby had gotten stuck, meconium was released, his heart rate started to lower, so they had to get him out quick. My obstetrician was not sure what to do with the pipe that popped out during the C-section, so he just stuck it back in. A week after my son was born, my shunt failed. At this point, I lose two weeks of my life.
This time my symptoms looked nothing like they had in the past. My husband said he realized something wasn’t right in the middle of the night. He found me in the living room. I said I was waiting to let the dogs inside. They had been at my parents’ house for the past two weeks. I did not remember giving birth to our son. He quickly rushed me to the nearest hospital, where they refused to admit me. They told my husband that I had post-partum depression, and he should just take me home. It would pass. This is where I know God chose THIS man for me. He refused. He told the nurses they did not know what they were talking about, and he would not leave. So we sat in the ER. He called my mother, and when she arrived they tag teamed between taking care of a newborn baby and insisting that I be admitted. The nurses continued to say “She’s just a post-partum depressant. Just like Brooke Shields”. Well, if the nurses were wanting to enrage both my husband and my mother, this was exactly what they needed to say. They didn’t care about Brooke Shields. They cared about me. When morning arrived, my husband called my neurologist. He tried to tell my husband to just schedule an appointment. My husband said NO, you’re coming down now. My husband also called my obstetrician. He was the only doctor who seemed to see the urgency in the situation. I was a neurological patient, not a post-partum depressant. While we waited for them to finally admit me, God took the reins again. A neurosurgeon just happen to walk by me and my husband. He sensed something was wrong with me, and asked me to look up with my eyes. When I couldn’t, the neurosurgeon looked at my husband straight in the eye, threw papers at him, and said “Here is the paper work to admit her. Sign it, or don’t, but I’m getting her into an OR.”. Finally! He relieved the fluid off my brain, and put an emergency external shunt on my brain to regulate the fluid. He told my husband that as long as the pressure stayed below a certain number, I was doing ok. My husband later recalled to me he would listen to the sound of the machine increasing in pressure, and praying for the pressure to go down. I remember none of this. While my husband and mother fought for my life, God was moving again. My dad was contacting an old friend from 30 years ago. He was a doctor who had suffered the loss of a child around my age 30 years ago, and my father had carried the child’s casket. My father now turned to his friend for his child, me. He asked if there was anywhere I could be transferred to. His friend said that his son-in-law was completing his internship at UT Southwestern, and would see if he could get me admitted. A few hours later, my husband and I were in ambulance to UT Southwestern, one of the top neurological hospitals in the nation.
Though my story of my healing is amazing, what I hope you learn from my story is how awesome God is. For 30 years my parents prayed for a cure for me, and He delivered. God had me deliver my first child in a place that was unfamiliar with my condition, which lead to my shunt failing. God used the challenging childhoods of my dad, mother, and husband to create extremely strong fighters who would not accept what “the professionals” were telling them. God knew I would not survive the ETV surgery without a reason to fight for life, so he gave me my son as my reason to live. He nourished a life long bond between my parents and a couple 30 years ago so that they would be the way He used to get me to UT Southwestern. He allowed my C-section incision to be infected so the doctors would have more time to investigate my condition. God knew the importance of nursing to me, so He placed nurses on every shift at UT Southwestern that were willing to express my milk every three hours so I could continue to nurse my son once I was released. He healed my body so I could return to working as an Engineer only a few months after having two major brain surgeries. My story is not one of all the difficult things I and my family endured because of hydrocephalus, but is a story of a glorious God that answers prayer in His timing.