I am a woman who never stopped fighting, even when my body was failing, my home was taken, my boyfriend lost his mother, and the system kept sending me home without answers. I kept pushing through an ice storm, through grief, through harassment, through homelessness—until I couldn’t anymore. When I finally couldn’t, doctors discovered a pituitary macroadenoma—a brain tumor nearly the size of a grape—growing at the base of my brain. The MRI confirmed the tumor is pressing on my optic chiasm, the bundle of nerves responsible for vision in both eyes, putting me at real risk of permanent vision loss. The tumor has also extended into my cavernous sinus, an area with critical nerves and blood vessels, making treatment more complex. It has displaced my pituitary stalk, disrupting hormone signals and causing adrenal and hormonal insufficiency. Bloodwork confirmed my body is struggling to regulate stress, electrolytes, and essential hormones. Without proper medical management, this can become life-threatening.
At this stage, most patients with a tumor of this size and location are already in surgery or actively scheduled for it, with interim hormone management in place to protect their vision and stabilize their bodies. In my case, neither has happened yet. Because treatment has been delayed due to financial assistance processing, the risks to my health continue to grow every day, raising the risk of permanent optic nerve damage and vision loss.
Right now, the funds mean the difference between surviving the waiting period safely and not. Between having a roof, medication, and food while I wait for surgery—and facing a life-threatening adrenal crisis alone, homeless, and unmedicated while a tumor continues pressing on my optic nerves. Interim hormone management and stabilization are critical while I wait for surgery.
I never imagined I would be here asking for help. I am not someone who does that easily. But I have learned that strength is not always about handling everything alone—sometimes it is about being brave enough to ask. If you are reading this, you are already showing up for me in a way that matters. Whether you give or simply share my story, you are helping me survive a waiting period that no one should have to face alone. Every dollar is not just money to me. It is a doctor’s appointment I can get to. It is a medication that keeps me out of a life-threatening crisis. It is a roof over my head while I wait for surgery. It is one less thing Greg has to worry about while he is already carrying so much grief. We have been through things this past year that would have broken most people. We are still standing. We are still fighting. And with your help, I will come out the other side of this. I promise to keep you updated every step of the way. Your kindness will not go unacknowledged or forgotten. From the bottom of my heart—thank you for seeing me.
At this stage, most patients with a tumor of this size and location are already in surgery or actively scheduled for it, with interim hormone management in place to protect their vision and stabilize their bodies. In my case, neither has happened yet. Because treatment has been delayed due to financial assistance processing, the risks to my health continue to grow every day, raising the risk of permanent optic nerve damage and vision loss.
Right now, the funds mean the difference between surviving the waiting period safely and not. Between having a roof, medication, and food while I wait for surgery—and facing a life-threatening adrenal crisis alone, homeless, and unmedicated while a tumor continues pressing on my optic nerves. Interim hormone management and stabilization are critical while I wait for surgery.
I never imagined I would be here asking for help. I am not someone who does that easily. But I have learned that strength is not always about handling everything alone—sometimes it is about being brave enough to ask. If you are reading this, you are already showing up for me in a way that matters. Whether you give or simply share my story, you are helping me survive a waiting period that no one should have to face alone. Every dollar is not just money to me. It is a doctor’s appointment I can get to. It is a medication that keeps me out of a life-threatening crisis. It is a roof over my head while I wait for surgery. It is one less thing Greg has to worry about while he is already carrying so much grief. We have been through things this past year that would have broken most people. We are still standing. We are still fighting. And with your help, I will come out the other side of this. I promise to keep you updated every step of the way. Your kindness will not go unacknowledged or forgotten. From the bottom of my heart—thank you for seeing me.
Organizer
