​In the late summer of 2003, a vicious forest fire ripped through central Oregon. When it was finally contained after 34 days of incredible battle, the B&B Complex fire had left a devastating mark on over 90,000 acres of pristine woodland. That summer, I spent a week teaching at a music camp in Sisters, Oregon. I’ll never forget the feeling of being so close to such a massive and powerful fire. The air was thick and smoky, and it felt like you could cut it with a knife. Large forest fires often create their own weather patterns, and the atmosphere felt volatile and unpredictable, as storms would rage through for several minutes at a time. The little mountain town that is usually crawling with tourists all summer long was dead, except for the thousands of woodland firefighters who were camped nearby.
 
Fifteen years later, the Santiam Pass still shows the deep scars of that fire. Since my medical team is in Bend, I drive that stretch of highway often, and in all seasons. With any long drive that you make repeatedly, you start to get the rhythm of the mile markers. I know exactly where the cell phone and satellite radio signal coverage cuts in and out, where all the passing lanes are, and the precise point at which you feel like you’ve left the Willamette Valley and officially made it to the mountains. The thing that I love the most about the drive from Salem to Bend is the way the terrain changes so much along the way. From the farm fields and orchards in the valley, to the lakes and huge evergreen trees in the mountains, no matter what time of year you make the drive the scenery always breathtaking. Then when you get up onto the pass, and you see the acres and acres of land still affected by that incredible fire, it’s shocking. Thousands of burned trees stand like charred scarecrows, with their arms stretched to the sky. In the winter months, when the snow is on the ground and the skies are gray, the 10 miles or so of skeleton trees seem more eerie.
 
Last weekend as I drove over to my neuro appointment, I suddenly noticed how much regrowth has started to happen in the pass. It has taken a long time, but the ground cover is vibrant and healthy… bright green against the blue sky, with summer wild flowers scattered among the trees. The mountains stand solid, strong, and unchanged, and the burned trees create a charcoal picture frame for all of this natural beauty. As I drove, it dawned on me that this regrowth is a perfect metaphor for life after challenges. I often speak about the power and peace that comes with accepting the fact that you are going to be different and changed on the other side of major life events – whether that is a new diagnosis, brain surgery, or a relationship change. Sometimes those events leave us feeling like this forest land – devastated and burned out. But faith is the confidence in things unseen-- the belief that eventually the landscape will grow and flourish again, if we simply keep standing tall – reaching for the sky with everything we have left.
 
Pain is going to change you.
You’re going to be different on the other side, and that’s ok.
We’re ok. We are HEALING.
The storms pass, and the wildfires die.
The soul remains, and the heart will stay strong if we will it to do so.
Be willing.
 
Find beauty in the broken.
Love,
Am  
 
for erika
#we.

I walked into my hotel room at 12:15am in the morning on July 1st, and shut the door behind me. Leaning on the door, I took a deep breath and finally let the tears fall freely. The emotions of the weekend flooded over me, and I sat on the floor and stopped fighting it for a solid 10 minutes.
 
Just a couple of hours before, the 2018 HACONNECT National Conference on Hydrocephalus had concluded, with all the participants on the dance floor. As I watched children, teens, neurosurgeons, researchers, HA staff, and family members smiling and laughing as they danced to the “YMCA”, I told myself that THIS. This is why we do this. This is what is important. We might not always have the opportunity to forget about pain, worry, and brain surgery – but we can always make the time to pause life, and connect with those on a parallel path.
 
What have we learned?
We have learned to support and educate patients grasping for answers relating to their own unique diagnosis-- because we are all different. Some of those patients and families are seeking a neurosurgeon that is a good match, while others may discover a shunt valve or product they were unaware of. I attended an excellent session about setting up special needs financial planning, a topic that many families have anxiety about.  As always, there were many sessions relating to symptoms of hydrocephalus, and detailed information about the treatments that are currently available. Patients and caretakers were supported with content related to mental and emotional health challenges that come from battling a chronic illness. In the research keynote, we learned where the future of surgeries and treatments may lead. And we had the opportunity to honor the pioneers of pediatric neurosurgery.
 
In terms of information, we all learned a lot. But the most powerful take-away for me is always learning more about the individuals in the hydrocephalus community, and having the opportunity to connect face to face. I love sitting with people and listening to their story. I was humbled to see the youth supporting each other. The joy and laughter of the kids, as they got out on the dance floor and shook their booties. Seeing parents sharing emotional moments with each other. It was amazing to have two of the girls that I've had the honor of mentoring there at the conference, and to see them connect with each other. I’ll never forget the hug I got from the young man after the relationship panel that I spoke on, or the exclamation by one teenager that I am much taller than I appear on Instagram. All of these moments are lessons. They teach me to be more aware. They show me the resiliency of the people in my community. And they drive me towards love and inspiration.
 
On the days when I cringe at the public nature of my own journey, I go back and read the messages that I have received from so many parents – sometimes only hours after the diagnosis of their child. I think about the terror and pain they are faced with, knowing their precious little one will be undergoing brain surgery. Even though they may find hope and comfort in reading my story, they are often devastated to find that I have had a total of twenty-one brain surgeries.
 
I said it several times that weekend – I will not stand for these children to go through their lives with only the treatment options that we currently have. The diagnosis of hydrocephalus almost always results in brain surgery, because right now the only treatment options are surgical—and often not permanent. I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure that this madness ends with MY generation. Everybody plays a part, and perhaps my part is to share my story and encourage others. But I can also support the ones whose role is in the research department, because they are the silent, unsung heroes in this fight. I believe in their talent, and I choose to believe that we will see advances before the next HACONNECT Conference in 2020 in Houston, TX! 
 
I sincerely hope that many of you will be able to attend the next conference, so I can meet you and hug you in person. If you are unable to attend, there will be opportunities to attend virtually – just like there was this year. As a side note, you can still register on the Hydrocephalus Association’s website, and view over 20 sessions that were live streamed – including my panel discussion on Relationships & Hydrocephalus. https://www.hydroassoc.org/watch-recorded-sessions-from-ha-connect-2018/
 
I have been truly blessed by the support I have received, and I vow to continue to battle.
 
In the famous “Man In the Arena” speech (for which my website is named), Theodore Roosevelt talks about the credit not belonging to the critic, who watches the fight from the sidelines. Instead, he says the credit belongs to the man that is actually IN THE ARENA – bloodied and falling, again and again. Every time I read this incredible statement, it strikes me that the man who is in the arena has made a choice to stay…. And that choice is the catalyst. We all get knocked down again and again in life – but each time, we have a chance to decide to stay in the fight, or bail. And the only way to win is to stay. So, my friends… I hope you choose to stay.
 
Stay strong.
Stay beautiful.
And stay in the arena.
 
It’s where the magic happens.
 
In relentless pursuit,
Amy

In January of 2016, I wrote a blog post titled “When are they going to get this thing figured out??”  I had just established my website the month before and I had no idea how much sharing that one piece of writing would change my life. At the time, I was recovering from back-to-back shunt surgeries, and I posted it primarily to answer the common questions about hydrocephalus that I received from my own family and friends. But it was also a bit of a personal rant… the things I needed to say, in my own plain-English, non-technical words, to help me process what I was going through. Perhaps, because of that rawness, it definitely hit a chord in the community – with literally hundreds of people contacting me and messaging me. And since that initial post, I have reposted it every time I have had another brain surgery. Over the past two years, it’s been shared all over the internet, and read more than 20,000 times total.
 
This week, I will be undergoing another shunt revision surgery – my 21st brain surgery. As shocking as that is for my family and friends, it’s not shocking for many people in the hydrocephalus community, who have walked a parallel path. While I am certainly hesitant and naturally apprehensive about going through this process again, I have complete confidence that my team has put incredible care into making this decision. And even though I’ve been really sick off and on all year and my pain is high, I’m physically and mentally strong right now, which I know will make a difference. I am well supported and we are focused.
 
That original blog post is still very applicable today and I’m still humbled that it has touched so many people around the world. But today, I decided to do an updated version with the same concept. These are the 10 most common questions I get regarding my condition and these are my own raw, unfiltered responses to these questions. More or less, I wanted to answer these questions as if we were sitting together and you were asking them. I hope that in some way, by sharing these experiences and thoughts, I can provide you with some comfort and information. Knowing that there are others out there who are going through similar experiences is one of the most incredible things that the internet has the power to provide. And when you can get some positive input in regards to a very negative experience, it can truly change your path. That being said, I have to remind you that I am not a doctor or any type of medical professional, and this is not intended to be educational at all. It is simply my own answers, about my own diagnosis and experiences.
 
As we move forward towards better answers for hydrocephalus, may we always remember that the credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, willing to stay, and battle – even when he fails again and again. May we band together in solidarity and strength, carrying those who need support, and remembering every day that the only thing that truly matters is human connection and trust.
 
1. What is hydrocephalus? Hydrocephalus is defined as an abnormal accumulation of cerebral spinal fluid (CSF) in the ventricles of the brain. When I explain it to people, I tell them that my brain does not drain spinal fluid properly. I developed obstructive hydrocephalus in my teens and was diagnosed at age 17. There is currently no cure for hydrocephalus and all treatment options include brain surgery. For more information, visit www.hydroassoc.org 

2.   Why have you had so many surgeries? The most common way to treat hydrocephalus is with a shunt, which is a valve and catheter system that diverts the fluid from the brain where it has built up and deposits it elsewhere in your body, where it can be absorbed. Hydrocephalus is shockingly common – even though many people have never heard of it. In the United States alone, there is a hydrocephalus related surgery every 15 minutes and it is the leading cause of pediatric brain surgeries.
While some patients are able to go many years without trouble with their shunt system, statistically, 50% of all shunts fail in the first two years. That being said, there are a lot of us that have a really hard time with our shunts – the only way to fix them or replace parts is brain surgery.
Click here for more information on my medical story.
 
3.   Why don’t the surgeries work? Honestly, this is a frustrating mystery and I think every neurosurgeon in America would tell you that. Again, I am not qualified to answer this question, but there are many reasons a shunt (or ETV) will fail. They occlude (clog), the catheters get brittle and break, they come unhooked, etc. I have averaged 3-4 shunt surgeries a year for the past several years – until this last one, which lasted almost one year.
 
4.   Who is involved in your care? I have been absolutely blessed and have put together an incredible team of physicians and therapists over the years. Of course I have a neurosurgeon, a primary care physician, and a pain management doctor. In addition to that, I have a strength coach that is very involved in my care, and a mental coach. When people ask me about how I manage my hydrocephalus, I tell them it takes a village. I have more information on the Resources page of my website, as well as the Hydro Treatments & Therapies page.
 
5.   How do they decide to do another brain surgery? My neurosurgeon makes the decision to operate only when he feels like that is the only remaining option. He has been my surgeon for a number of years and he knows me very well. I feel like this has always been an advantage for me, because he knows what I function and look like when I’m doing well, versus when I am having serious issues. From time to time, he has consulted other neurosurgeons to look at my case and I always appreciate how thorough he has been. In my opinion, the most crucial decision you make is to establish care with a neurosurgeon who is a good fit for you. I personally travel 3 hours from where I live to see mine, because he is someone I trust and can communicate with. It has made all the difference in the world for me.
 
6.   Is a shunt the only option for treatment? Some patients are candidates for a procedure called an Endoscopic Third Ventriculostomy (or ETV). Whether or not a neurosurgeon may decide to go with this option rather than a shunt, has to do with the patient, the neurosurgeon, and primarily the cause of the hydrocephalus that they have. It’s not an option for certain types of hydrocephalus. I had this surgery when I was 19 years old and while it is still viable today, my brain also needs a shunt to keep up. 
 
7.   How do you prepare for brain surgery (assuming it’s not an emergency surgery)? I try my best to prepare for surgery by getting things organized to the best of my ability. This includes unplugging from my job as much as possible, getting some good food options prepped, and making sure I have someone to stay with me during the process. In addition, I work on mentally preparing myself for the process, using visualization, meditation, and affirmation. It’s incredibly important for me to go into surgery feeling relaxed and confident in my team. There is always uncertainty with brain surgery and staying mentally in control of my thoughts and emotions are very important.
 
8.   What are the concerns and risks? As with all surgical procedures, there are risks involved. The concerns can also change from surgery to surgery and from patient to patient. But in my case, there has always been a high level of concern about the risk of infection and seizures. I have had a lot of trouble with my head wounds sealing up as well, so there are concerns with wound infection.
 
9.   What is the projected or estimated recovery time from your shunt revision surgeries? The correct answer to this question is that it’s different for every patient and for every surgery. I have had many shunt revision surgeries that have had similar recovery timelines, but then I’ve had others that have been much easier or much harder. That being said, in my own experience, I would say that my average recovery time to get back to 100% strength and energy is about 6 weeks. I am very physically active and I do my best to return to activity as soon as possible. I usually am off of work for about 4-5 days, then slowly integrate back into daily life. 
 
10.   How does this process affect the people who are close to you? I am incredibly fortunate and have an amazing network of family and friends that support me. I know that it is frustrating and painful for them to watch me go through the repeated surgeries and the chronic pain issues that come along with them, but I am thankful beyond words that they choose to walk beside me on this path. In my life, I see that as one of the blessings I have received and that I never take for granted. As a family, as a tribe, and as a team, we go through all of this together. We win and we lose together. In my blogging, I often use the hashtag #we. This is because when I speak of my journey, I use the term “we” as an authentic representation of the fact that I don’t do this alone. I walk this road with the most brilliant and loyal humans, and I am grateful.
 
To my Loves:
We are ready.
We fight. We love.
We stay in the arena.  
Here’s to the relentless pursuit of everything important.
Thank you for holding my head and my heart.
 
Peace,
Amy

In the past five years, an incredible battle has been fought in me internally. 


Picture an epic battlefield scene in a movie. 


On one side, we have my physical brain, challenged and damaged from hydrocephalus, and continuously putting me through the ringer of shunt malfunctions and brain surgery. 


On the other side of the battle lines, we have my heart. The values and work ethic that I have are a combination of my personality traits, and how I was raised. My heart is fortified by the fact that I know God has a purpose for my pain, and is with me every step of the way. I’m also just naturally a fighter, “a scrapper” as my dad says. I don’t back down easily, and I don’t give up. 


And so, the battle rages. 


But as time goes on, and the difficult days stack up, I end up with some fatigue, emotionally and mentally. This is where my the strength of my mind comes in. This past year, I’ve sharpened my focus on mindset, and I have found that it has absolutely become a factor in my success. 


My mind teams up with my heart in the battle for my wellness… and fights against the physical challenge. Even right now, as I am working through some intermittent shunt failure, I am confident that my mental strength plus my heart will beat out any physical challenge that is ahead. 


When I met Freddy Sandoval, I knew of his work as a professional mental skills coach. I knew his story… a highly motivated and incredibly intelligent kid from Tijuana, Mexico, who persevered through many challenges to become a major league baseball player, and now a successful mindset coach in professional sports. Freddy and I talked at length about my health issues, my family and career dynamics, and the way I see my role in the world around me. His insight and guidance has been instrumental in strengthening that bond between my heart and my mind… which allows me to overcome the physical pain and brokenness brought on by my hydrocephalus. I’ve worked extensively at understanding myself, steering my thoughts and giving purpose to the way that I think. I am more positive, and have learned to eliminate negativity from my life. I make choices every day, to control everything I can control about my situation - and I take responsibility for those choices. Even though Freddy doesn’t train me as an athlete, we prepare my mind in a similar way. His programming is centered around controlling the subconscious mind through conditioning, thought replacement, relaxation and affirmation. I am forever grateful for the role he’s played in my story, and for his unwavering dedication to me. It’s been a game changer. In times when life’s roller coaster is screaming down the tracks, I feel peace, and I’m safe and still. 


Being mentally strong does not mean that you don’t have emotions, or that you don’t feel pain. There are times when life feels like a giant gravel pile that we are trying to climb. As you take one step up, you slide back down to where you started. When these times come, and it feels like the physical army is beating the mental army, I stop and reset my resolve. 
I speak of myself in the present tense. “I am… I do… I can…” 
These statements replace the ambivalence of “I might… I wish. I think… and I want…” The simple act of only saying things as they are right now, in this moment, will change your thought process. So much fear and anxiety is rooted in thinking in the past or the future, so eliminating those things keeps me focused on the truth that is right now. 


I strongly encourage you to concentrate on staying in the present tense. The good thing about staying present, is that time is only truly experienced in the here and now. This means that if you are going through a difficult or painful time, you only have to live those moments one time. Just keep walking. The fastest way through the shit is straight through the shit… no detours. 
But in a parallel statement, you only get to live the beautiful moments in life one time… so stay present and enjoy the beauty that lies in the small things as well. 


Hydrocephalus is always a factor in my life, and may always be. I have no control over the things that lie ahead, but I am confident that I am able to get through what I’m going through right now.  


I am strong.
I do love my life, and trust that God is in control. 
I can put in the work that I know will help, even when it’s painful or difficult. 
Today. Not tomorrow, or next week. 
Today. 


In relentless pursuit, 
Amy​

for freddy - four years in four hours. #proofoflife 

Have you ever heard a phrase or thought that you knew or understood for a long time, and suddenly takes on a new meaning?

Time is money.  
Benjamin Franklin

I think almost everyone has heard this quote, and it applies to so many aspects of life and business. I believe that most would consider the meaning of this statement to relate to the idea that money can be earned if time is spent wisely. However, recently I have been thinking a lot about this quote, and I’m starting to understand the phrase a little differently. 

At the beginning of the new year, it’s natural to take a look at your goals, and set some resolutions for what you’d like to accomplish in the next twelve months. I find that it’s easy for me to be disciplined and driven with certain things, while I procrastinate and fail to prioritize other tasks. Even if I claim that those things are important to me, or have added value to my life in the past, my lack of discipline says otherwise. And anyone who knows me well, knows that at the top of my pet peeve list is when people (even when it’s me) express that they are going to do something, but then they don’t do it. It ranks right up there with complaining about something if you are unwilling to take action to change. I definitely don’t want to be one of those people. 

So, I’m working on this in my own life. I’m taking the time to notice the differences between the things I am committed to, and the things I regularly neglect… and asking myself what makes the difference in these choices. For example, why am I able to make it to strength training 4-5x a week, grinding out workouts, even when I’m in a lot of pain? Or get up super early so I can read my bible and have a little time to study and meditate in the morning before work? Both of these things require a great deal of discipline and sacrifice, but I consistently manage to find the time and energy. On the other hand, it has been really tough to find the diligence to write regularly— even though I totally want to…and there is no physical sacrifice involved. Surely, finding 15-20 minutes to write in a journal every day, or work on my blog, should be much easier than deadlifting with a headache, or studying at 5am, when I could be getting another hour of sleep. 
But that’s not how it works. 
I am finding that it isn’t about how easy or difficult something it is. 
It’s not even how much those things will “pay off”.  
It more or less boils down to the choices you make on how you will spend your time.
It’s a choice. 

So, this is where the “Time is money.” reference comes in. I was thinking about the concept of time the other day, and how the time we are given is like being given a continuous flow of money…that can only be spent in the exact moment that it is received. As the money comes in, you decide in that moment how to spend it— and that’s how time is. 
You can’t count on having it in the future. 
You can’t save it from the past. 
You spend it as you go— but you can choose to invest it. 

Discipline is the part of life that is like investing. You can make a choice to be diligent about certain aspects of life, in order to have the opportunity make the future better.  There are no guarantees in investing - there is only commitment to the work, and faith that it will make the future better. 

Work + Faith = Investment 

In the end… time is money. 
Spend it wisely. 
Invest it carefully. 
And be mindful of your choices to do so… because therein lies the sometimes brutal honesty about what is truly important to us. 

In relentless pursuit, 
Amy
​
#we

There are so many ways to process difficulty, and I definitely have to say that my default is to simply learn as much as possible about whatever I’m facing. On my road with hydrocephalus, I’ve found my way through so many dark valleys by throwing myself into the quest for better understanding, alternative answers, and ultimately, for solutions. Sometimes, this relentless pursuit leads to frustration and sadness, but more often, it leads me to a place of peace - where I can feel like at the very least, I have done my homework, and tried my very best. 


A recent opportunity for learning has led me to research the FDA (Federal Drug Administration) process for approval of medical devices (such as shunts). In my learning about the steps that it takes for a new and improved implanted device to reach the market, I heard a term that struck me in a way I didn’t expect. In order to be granted the opportunity to enter the early stages of approval, such as clinical trials, a company must prove to the FDA that their new (or improved) device meets an “unmet need” for a specific patient population. This makes good sense, from a practical standpoint - but it really got me thinking about how that concept applies to the way I look at so many things. Obviously, it made me think about the future solutions for hydrocephalus, and about the doctors and researchers who are truly passionate about finding a better path for all of us who suffer through this often crazy journey. But I also feel like this concept has so many parallels, in other areas of life. 


As a businesswoman, it made me think about my role in the construction community, and in my family’s business. What is the impact that I can have in the lives of my clients, and I am able to provide them with something they can’t find elsewhere? 


It also struck me that I have encountered the concept of “unmet need” over and over again in advocacy, as I have publicly shared my journey with hydrocephalus with the world these past few years. What is it about me… about my story, that has allowed and cultivated such a incredible community to grow around me? What draws people to my online journal of hope, trial, victory, and struggle? Is it because I am real about the painful parts of all of this, but I refuse to see life as anything but beautiful? Is it because my path hasn’t been easy, but by all accounts, I have been successful at navigating the medical circus that hydrocephalus often brings? Or is it because I have a brilliant medical and rehabilitation team, who have personally invested themselves in my success? 


In the end… I came to this conclusion about advocacy. When I believed that I could make a difference, I took a leap of faith - and opened up my life. I believed that I was given a purpose, and I followed that path, and even though it has been painful and vulnerable - I stayed. I didn’t fully understand it when I started, but I hoped that I could fulfill an unmet need. I aspired to make a difference and encourage others. 


Last month, I re-posted a blog entry I wrote on Mother’s Day of this year. It is entitled “Ubuntu” which is an African word that means “I am because of you.” This particular post is special to me, because I wrote it as a tribute to my own mother, who is an amazing human. But as I read the messages and comments that came trickling in as the re-post hit social media, I was reminded what this whole advocacy thing is about. This is about being open, being there, being willing to stay and fight when the battle rages… and it’s about filling an unmet need in the life of another person, as you walk a parallel path - and as you choose to do life together. 
I am, because of you. 


Stay in the arena. 
- Amy
​

This past weekend I was in San Diego, California with my family, celebrating my paternal grandfather’s 90th birthday. If you could choose someone to aspire to be like at the age of ninety, my Grandpa Russ would be the person to be. He is active, joyful, and still traveling the world. He has now visited every continent, and just this year, he has taken trips to Greenland, Iceland, Great Britain, and the Caribbean. 

Russell Hage Thomas was born October 19, 1927, in San Diego. He spent his career as an aerospace engineer, working on all kinds of exciting and monumental projects over the years, mostly in the space program. His accomplishments professionally are equaled by his long list of service and non-profit projects. But more importantly, he has excelled at the roles of son, brother, husband (to my late grandmother, Dorothy), father, uncle, grandfather, and now… great grandfather. To this day, he loves to learn, and keeps his mind active with crossword puzzles, museum visits, and reading. 

As I reflected on the time I have spent with my grandfather, and the influence he has had on my life, I was blessed and humbled that I get to be a part of such an amazing family. I know that I have inherited some very specific traits from my grandpa, and I hope that I can live up to his incredible example. 

Work hard and be steady. Be consistent, and you will be rewarded. 
Stay thirsty for knowledge. Never let the expectations of society squash the curiosity of learning and growing. 
Don’t focus on what you can’t do; instead, focus on the incredible opportunities ahead. There’s a new adventure around each bend in the road of life. 
Cherish the times with your family and friends. In the past year, this is the second time that my entire immediate family has been together, and the beauty of those precious moments will never be lost, as long as you acknowledge the blessing. 

Cheers, 
​Amy

The other day, I had a conversation with a dear friend, who also suffers from hydrocephalus. As she shared with me some scary scenarios that she is dealing with in terms of her health, I was amazed by her fortitude, her upbeat attitude, and her resolve. Her doctors may not have all the answers, but she continues to do everything she can do to live and love between the madness. That energy is beautiful. It’s rare. And it inspired me to write about what the phrase “stay in the arena” means to me. This is what I see in her, and what I aspire to be— within myself.


Theodore Roosevelt became the youngest president of the United States in 1901, after overcoming childhood illness and personal loss. Throughout his life, he was faced with incredible challenges, politically and otherwise. In his “The Man In the Arena” speech in 1910, he laid out the secret to winning, with absolute certainty.


"It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat."


In these iconic words, I have found that the true call to action is to be willing to stay in the arena, to be willing to fight, even when it’s difficult. In my own life, especially in the past year, I have had to remind myself of this again and again. It’s human nature to focus on the negative, walking through this life complaining and blaming. But there is incredible freedom in letting go of all of that, and simply be willing to accept the trial at hand with grace and grit. One day at a time, and sometimes one minute at a time, you move purposefully through the pain, and come out stronger on the other side.


When I was diagnosed with hydrocephalus, I was seventeen years old.
I was healthy.
Driven.
Full of dreams and promise.
I had aspirations of being a professional musician, and planned to move to Austin, Texas after high school. My illness brought those plans to a screeching halt, in January of 1998. In the 18 months that followed, I had four brain surgeries, and my life path shifted significantly. Even though my hydrocephalus stabilized with the ETV surgery that I had at age 18, the dream of life as a professional fiddle player (on the road and in a different place each night) had drifted away on the river of spinal fluid that now dictated my decision making.


But even so, I was reminded that
I was still healthy.
Driven.
Full of dreams and promise.
I was still the same person…
I was just wiser, more experienced
…and tougher.


In 2012, after about 11 years without surgery, I found myself back on the operating table, with a shunt system back in my brain. In the five years since then, my hydrocephalus has been anything but stable. I’ve had 13 brain surgeries in the last five years. Some days are incredible and filled with victory, and other days are difficult and exhausting. But each minute of each day, I get the opportunity to make a choice… to stay, to fight, and to do everything in my power to live the best life that I can.


OneRepublic’s song I Lived sends this message loud and clear - I hope if everybody runs, you choose to stay.


Hope when you take that jump
You don't feel the fall
Hope when the water rises
You built a wall
Hope when the crowd screams out
It's screaming your name
Hope if everybody runs
You choose to stay


Stay in the arena, friends.
Life and love are well worth the battle.


- Am

for Brianne - xo

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