ABOUT ME

I was born in the small town of Arcata, California, and grew up in a loving family. I realized I was different at a young age and came out as gay at sixteen. Overcoming the challenges of growing up in a small town, I left at eighteen and eventually settled in Sacramento at the age of thirty-seven. I've been happily married to my husband, Ernest, for the past ten years. We share our lives with a furry friend, love to travel, enjoy Disneyland, and maintain close ties with our families. Our health struggles were typical—Ernest is diabetic, and I have high blood pressure, but nothing out of the ordinary. However, everything was about to change.

 

On that fateful night of November 22, 2023, as I procrastinated on making a Thanksgiving pie and worked on homework in my home office, a mild headache escalated. Headaches were not uncommon for me, but this one felt different. As I struggled to make sense of my statistics homework, I experienced a sudden difficulty in organizing my thoughts and felt a rising panic. Taking a break, I stood up and was hit with an intense bout of vertigo as I navigated the stairs. Feeling sick, I woke up Ernest, who noticed something was off. He suggested the emergency room, but I hesitated, thinking I might feel better. After ten minutes, panic set in, and we rushed to the ER.

 

In the busy downtown Sacramento emergency room, I underwent a series of tests—EKG, CAT scan, blood tests, and a chest x-ray. The nurse, clearly worried about my condition, rushed me through the process. After the tests, I was asked to wait in the crowded waiting room. An hour later, a nurse called me back with a sense of concern in her voice. In the examination room, the doctor, with her unique pink hair, delivered the heartbreaking news—there was a walnut-sized mass on my brain, and the outlook wasn't optimistic. I was being referred to another facility, and they arranged for an ambulance to transport me there.

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As the reality of those words sank in, a deep sense of fear washed over me. The news of such a life-altering diagnosis hit me hard, and I instinctively turned to my husband for support. Tears welled in his eyes as we tried to process the overwhelming information. The doctor's words, delivered with care but tinged with uncertainty, replayed in my mind, leaving us both feeling lost and vulnerable. Soon after, my mom, dad, and sister arrived, their comforting presence offering solace amidst the distress. Despite their efforts to reassure us, the weight of the diagnosis hung heavy in the air, and tears flowed freely as we grappled with the enormity of what lay ahead.

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I was moved to a facility in a nearby Sacramento suburb, specializing in treating both neurological issues and cancer. The doctor I met wasn't particularly known for his comforting bedside manner, but he wasted no time advising the necessary removal of the problem. However, fate intervened—a sudden malfunction with the MRI machines delayed my scan. Days dragged on, filled with a mixture of prayers and tearful moments, often happening all at once. Finally, the surgery was promptly scheduled when the stubborn MRI machines were back in order.

 

The eight-hour surgery was a challenging experience for me and my loved ones, but the outcome was genuinely remarkable. Although the tumors were successfully removed, it's essential to acknowledge that traces still remain. This marks the start of a new phase in our journey, and we're all in this together. In the forthcoming blog posts, I'll share more about this unexpected adventure, exploring the ups and downs and hopefully finding moments of hope amidst the unknown.​

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Get ready for the next chapter, where we'll explore the emotional rollercoaster that comes with Glioblastoma.