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What is brain cancer? A malignancy? An abnormal growth of cells, usually treated with chemo, radiation, surgery, or sometimes all of the above? Well.. this is my take on it, completely raw and unfiltered, because you can't sugarcoat cancer.
I learned at the age of 20-years-old exactly what cancer was. I was newly living in Virginia as a live-in nanny, that was previously living in Tennessee. (Go Vols!) I was involved in Crossfit for a little while in Tennessee, which is a form of workout, which can be pretty intense. One day while in the middle of a workout, I came up from a sit-up and my world spun. Being the motivational sport it is, and the stubborn soul that I am, I was encouraged to finish. Next part was a 200 meter run. I remember looking at the road and how it looked like a swarming colony of ants. I knew this was absolutely not okay. I stopped the workout and scheduled a doctor visit on the way home.
When the doctor visit came, they checked vitals, asked me a few questions, and told me I for sure had vertigo. They prescribed me something for motion sickness, and sent me on my way.
Moving forward to Virginia. Life as a nanny, of course, was a blessing to be a part of, especially to watch little humans grow. Day to day life could be hectic, as to be expected, but also very rewarding. Little did I know at the time that I had a lesion of brain tumors lingering in my head. During day to day activities, I noticed more and more odd symptoms. I was EXHAUSTED. All. The. Time. Part of me just thought, naturally, it was because I was caring for three children all under the age of 4, which very well could have been a part of it, but just knowing myself, I knew instinctively that that was not just it.
Symptoms progressed along with some anxiety, wonder, and growth of my tumors. Headaches were the first; next was a shooting pain that shot up my spine into the base of my skull whenever I would sit on a hard surface. Symptoms heightened into odd orbs in my peripheral vision, seeing halos, and my vision would brighten to almost being blind for no apparent reason. This also brought on getting dizzy and losing balance. "Is this really vertigo?" I thought to myself as I hung over a toilet bowl vomiting every morning routinely. Any quick switch of the neck and head would send me swirling. The most bizarre symptom to me was the odd whirling I would hear inside my head. I remember plugging my ears to see if it was external, but the sound still remained. A whirlwind inside of my head. A whirlwind that would change my world as I knew it.
Skip ahead a few weeks, and it's the holidays. Oh Christmas time how I love you. Or... so I did at the time. Time for family, friends, and celebrating the birth of Jesus. I headed back home to North Carolina where my family resided. It was about a four hour long trip back home. First stop, Mama's house. A sweet little mountain home, a Christmas setting dream. I was there for a few days to celebrate with my mom, step father, brother, and his girlfriend, who is now his wife. It was a wonderful couple of days.
Nighttime came and so did the vomiting like never before. I was used to only having sickness in the morning time, but it wouldn't be cancer without a few curve balls. It was a little after midnight and I woke up uncontrollably vomiting all over the beautiful white bedding. My mom, of course, instinctively woke up to the noise and rushed in. I remember profusely apologizing for ruining the bed set but that was the least of her worries. My step dad wandered in and they helped me to the bathroom toilet. There I was again, faced down, staring at porcelain.
Since I was living in Virginia, I was advised to just see a doctor there after I left home.
Next was a pit stop to my best friend's house, before heading to Greensboro, NC to my dad's. I unfortunately don't remember much detail of spending time with my best friend and her family that night. We wandered off to bed and I awakened again to severe nausea. I rushed down the stairs, sick to my stomach. I slept basically hugging a trash can beside the bed that night. I woke up the next morning and it was torrentially pouring rain. I said my goodbyes and got on the highway back home. Like mentioning before, my eyesight would almost completely white out and basically just about blinded me. The rain didn't help whatsoever. I was on a busy highway, in the pouring rain, with my vision acting up and praying to God over and over that I would get there safely.
I made a spur of the moment decision to find an urgent care before going to my dad's. My vision was almost completely blinding me at that point. With the mix of the severe rain, it wasn’t safe. The urgent care basically ran the same tests. They stuck stickers all over my chest and stomach to check my vitals. They had no answer for what it could be. They said if the vomiting started again then I should just go to the hospital. I left the urgent care feeling completely defeated.
I arrived at my father's house; he had a little while left at work, so I figured I'd shower and relax until he got home. My eyesight was still a little funky. If I can help you understand a little bit, you know when you wake up some mornings and the sun is in your face? Your eyes are used to the darkness, you open them, and it’s way too bright for comfort so you just baby squint until they get used to it? Or those movie scenes where someone sees the light at the end of the tunnel while dying, and everything is all white? That had become a constant episode at this point.
I made my way up the stairs and got into the shower. I guess that's the best place to throw up, if you're going to, and sure enough it happened again. I had enough at this point. I called my dad and told him that something was just not okay and that I'm admitting myself to the hospital. He told me to do what I felt was right. I called my mom, frantic, as I headed to the hospital. I told her I'd keep her updated.
Here comes the hard part for me. I got there and ended up waiting well over two, maybe three hours to be seen. I finally got back into a hospital bed, completely unknowingly about to have my life come to a complete halt as I knew it. I grew extremely frustrated because I had already waited so long, and just wanted to be at home in my own bed. CT scans were done, and then the dreaded MRI. Claustrophobia wasn't the only thing I was about to be diagnosed with.
They wheeled me back into this makeshift section, where the only thing separating patients were curtains. It felt like I was in quarantine.
Finally, someone came and alerted me that I was going to need to be kept overnight, and that they were going to transfer me into my own comfortable room. My mind was racing a mile a minute. Why was I having to stay? How long is this going to take?
I sat in a quiet area, mind racing with what this could be. The doctor finally came, "Miss Morris, you have a brain tumor. Actually it looks like a lesion of them." I went numb. What does this mean? Maybe no big deal, probably something they can treat with medicine or something. He also told me that they were benign, which means non-cancerous. Or so he thought. ANOTHER misdiagnosis. I was so dumbfounded. I casually called my mom and dad. "Hey, they say I have a lesion of brain tumors."
My mind blanks out at this part. I apologize. The next thing I remember was my mom getting there. I still remember the intensity of concern on her face. What baffles me the most about this whole situation was how casual I was about it. I honestly don't think it settled with me what was about to happen. The seriousness and severity of it. The fact that life as I knew it was about to be knocked completely out of proportion.
Christmas Eve. I was once again in a new room, a much nicer one with a view. I remember how wonderful, lively, and funny my nurses were. At this time, I was still at Moses Cone Hospital in Greensboro, North Carolina. I was finally told that i was being scheduled for brain surgery on December 30 at Wake Forest Baptist in Winston-Salem, North Carolina, with one of the most skilled brain surgeons in the country.
Before I went home the next day, I had friends and family come visit me. They knew the seriousness of it, but I was still completely numb and honestly not really reacting extremely to it at all.
I spent the next few days leading up to my surgery back at my mom and step dad's mountain home. My mom and I looked up my surgeon and read all about what to expect. Little did I know, I should have expected much more, still not thinking that it was actually cancer, considering that that's what I was told by "skilled professionals."
The last night home for a long time was a blur. I finally drifted off to sleep and awoke the next morning. I hopped in the shower. That was unknowingly going to be my last normal, unassisted, shower for a long time. I broke down. I cried as quietly as I could as I knelt on the floor of shower. I turned the water as hot as I could bare because it was about the only thing that could make me feel. I finally stood and got out of the shower. I stared in the mirror and brushed my hair, still crying, because I thought I was about to lose it all. I finally got myself together, threw my hair up in a bun, got dressed, and my mom and I headed to the hospital. That night my dad, brother, and sister-in-law brought me dinner. Little did I know that it would be my last real meal for months.
Surgery time came; my family was there. All I remember was being wheeled into this dimmed room, awaiting surgery. My family came to pray with me and say bye before going back. I don't remember being told that I was about to be put under.
Six or so hours later, I awoke. My mouth was as dry as the desert. I begged profusely for water, but they refused. Why? I felt like I was dying of dehydration, the dryness of my mouth was by far one of the most uncomfortable things I've ever experienced. A nurse finally agreed to give me some water, which I'm sure shouldn't have been done. I took a sip and began to cough my lungs out. I thought I was just about to choke to death, they quickly took a suction tube to get out as much as they could. I was still so drugged up and numb, the only obvious issue to me was the intense cottonmouth at that moment. I was completely clueless to the true state of my body.
I went into surgery thinking it would be no big deal; they'll put me under, get the tumors out, keep me for a few days to heal, and I'll be on my merry way back home. False.
I'm sorry for not being able to think up much detail days after my surgery. I just knew I spent days in the ICU. I quickly realized my symptoms. First, I could no longer walk. No big deal I thought, not knowing that I actually was basically a toddler again and was going to have to learn it all over. A factor that played into that was my eyes were crossed and I had double vision. Ever seen someone after they just had a stroke? The sunken face? That was me, times ten it felt like. Second, I couldn't speak well at all, my voice was very exhausted and winded. I had a paralyzed vocal cord and lost all of my hearing in my left ear due to the invasion of those nerves. Third, because of my vocal cord paralysis, along with a possible few other things, I couldn't swallow. The cottonmouth was still doing a number on me. I desperately wished that I could chug a whole gallon on water. My lips burned. They brought me these moisture sponges to suck on, which didn't help. My mom took a trip to the gift shop and brought me back about four different types of chap sticks. They helped somewhat. I remember a berry flavored one that smelled and tasted so good. It was little things like just having some senses stimulated that gave me a small sense of normalcy.
Due to my inability to swallow, they had to put me on a feeding tube. If you're not too familiar with that process, it's where the run a tube through your nostril down your throat until it reaches the proper placement in your stomach. It was painful. The bag of liquid looked like a sack of mayonnaise. It felt like it just sat in my stomach. They finally did agree to bring me some ice chips to help with hydration and to try and relieve the dryness of my mouth. I had so much backed up mucus and would use the suction tube to get rid of it after coughing it up. Sorry if that sounds gross, but this is the naked truth.
Having to use the bathroom was one of the worst parts. Due to being so hyped up on pain meds, I had no movement happening whatsoever. I had a catheter for a while, but that didn't cover the number two side, if you know what I mean. It was enema after enema that still didn't work. All of my modesty was gone after that. I remember being up and down all night trying to use the restroom, and I honestly think that was my try at having just a small bit of normalcy back. It was trial and error over again. It even included me having a dream of running water and awoke to me actually losing control of my bladder and wetting the bed for the first time since I was a young child. My mom and I had both been napping and I still remember calling for her and told her, while holding back tears, that I peed myself. I was beyond embarrassed. I felt completely out of control. A few people suggested getting up and moving to try and motion some things into progress. I'll never forget a sweet man who was the first to get me up on my feet and try to stand. I wasn't yet in rehab but he got it started early. It first started with sitting in a wheel chair and just using my legs to wheel myself up and down the hall. He visited me every night before his shift ended and would peek around the doorway and say "Heeey, Miss Morris, are you ready to walk with me?" I usually would roll my eyes and catch an attitude, but I did it anyways.
Doctors started testing my vocal cords to see what was going on with my swallowing. It was just as painful of a process as the feeding tube. They had this high tech machine with a camera tube attached to it that went through my nose, down into my esophagus. The only cool part was being able to see inside of my body. It had been confirmed that my left vocal cord was in fact paralyzed.
A list of different types of therapies that were going to be needed were discussed. The Sticht Center across the hospital campus was going to be my new home for the next couple of weeks. Doctors, oncologist, nurses, etc, went over with me the process and the types of therapy I would need. This consisted of physical, vocal, recreational, occupational, and six weeks of the dreaded radiation.
The process of getting a room over in the rehabilitation center took a few days. I had to take a few tests to see if I qualified, which I, of course, did. I asked lots of questions about what to expect. I was a little anxious about what it would be like. Usually when I hear "rehab" I think of some secluded institution. It was far from that. My usual day consisted of waking up for breakfast, I was finally allowed a liquid/soft diet, which was a huge celebration. After a few swallowing tests, which was one of the hardest tests I've ever had to pass. Granted, you'd try hard too if you were tired of having a tube down your esophagus, with a liquid the consistency of mayo being pumped into your stomach. I basically ordered the same thing every morning, peaches, grits or oatmeal, two chocolate milks, and jello. After breakfast, the usual physical therapy was first. I was wheelchair bound for the first few days, so we began with taking laps around the hallways while seated and just using my legs to move myself. We did a few upper body exercises too, which consisted of lifting my arms; my left arm was basically jello still. Moving forward, we got to standing and walking with the assistance of a walker. I knew I was getting better but it was frustrating at the same time. Being involved with crossfit before, I was able to bust out squats like nobody's business. I was able to lift quite a bit too. Now I couldn't even lift my left arm on its own.
Following physical therapy was usually occupational therapy. There was a kitchen that we went to one day to bake brownies. My task was to make my way around the kitchen and gather all of my materials with the assistance of my walker. There was a basket that we attached to the front which made it easier. After I finished with my occupational therapist one day, she told me that my task the next morning would be taking a shower. "Finally!" I thought, little did I know it meant that I was going to take a shower and she was going to help along with my mom, who I'm pretty sure hadn't seen my naked developed body since before puberty. It was extremely humbling. I had to use a shower chair. I would start off in my wheel chair, make my way onto the toilet to get undressed, and then slide over onto the shower chair. As I got stronger, my therapist and my mom would challenge me to stand with just the assistance of the metal bar on the side for stability. I will tell you one thing, though, nothing felt better than that warm water running over me, I never wanted to get out. Getting dressed afterwards was quite the process too. I had no strength on my left side so just putting on a bra was an absolute struggle. My mom went out a couple of days after my surgery though and went on a spree of getting me super comfy clothes and sports bras. Showers always made me feel a million times better. That was finally a glimpse of normalcy that I so longed for. But that came to a minor halt when I finally saw my post-surgery face one night. I realized I hadn't seen my face in weeks following my surgery. Out of curiosity, I asked my mom to help me off of my bed and into my wheelchair to use the restroom. I wheeled myself into the restroom where a dim light was on and I melted down. For the first time ever, I had acne. I was cross-eyed, my face sunken on the left side, and I was growing hair in places women shouldn't have it, because of the steroids I was on to prevent my brain from swelling. My mind immediately started racing about how ugly I was. Was this permanent? Who's going to want to be married to me one day if I look like this? I can't ever post another selfie again.
One day that I'll never forget was when my incision started leaking during physical therapy. I had sutures, staples, and stitches holding everything together. It started leaking more and more by the minute. We ended therapy for the day and got back to my room. I was told that I was going to need to be sewn back up. My stomach instantly turned. After a little while, I had a lady come in with an assistant. I can't remember their exact titles. She told me she was going to give me an injection into my skull to numb the area. I had to roll over almost onto my stomach so she would have easy access to the incision. She began the numbing. I slowly started drifting off. My whole body began to tingle and felt extremely heavy as if I was sinking into the hospital bed. I overheard my mom asking me if I was okay. "Jennah, are you okay? Can you hear me?" I tried extremely hard to respond but I couldn't. The next thing I faintly heard was "code blue" being announced over the hospital campus intercom. Code blue basically means that a patient is slipping under and fading quickly, emergency team get your tails to this patient ASAP. I remember seeing lots of people in my room, talking and examining me. I was rushed down quickly to get an MRI. My mom told me that I was talking crazy and wasn't making any sense. It turns out that I was basically overdosed on novacane. It got into my bloodstream. Until this day I still think that she should have been fired but that's in God's hands. My nightmare started all over again the next day when it started leaking again. I was told it would have to be restiched for the second time now. Two men came in my room. I was horrified and told them about the episode the day before. I had two choices, be numbed again and trust their word that they would be extremely cautious, or get sewn up and be able to feel everything. I agreed to trust them to numb me. I turned on my side once again and prepared myself with my face basically in a trash can just in case I threw up.
I was also made aware weeks later, the day I would get my stitches out, that they were actually left in too long. Skin had begun growing over them. My mom and I didn’t even realize this. We trusted doctors to know when they needed to come out. The first nurse that came in for the removal took a look and told my mom and I that she couldn’t do it. She was absolutely furious, we had no idea why though. She left and came back with someone else. They looked and told us that the incision was left way too long stitched up. I couldn’t believe the negligence. The first nurse that looked at it reported it. What should have maybe taken no longer than ten minutes, turned into almost an hour long procedure. I was laying on the table sobbing as quietly as I could holding my moms hand as they basically had to dig the stitches, staples, and sutures out.
Days continued, things got a little easier physically, but not so much mentally. After some days in the Sticht Center, I went to go see a radiation oncologist. At this point still not knowing that it was actually brain cancer, he mentioned it. I still remember not registering it quickly, but he left the room and I looked at my mom and said "it was cancer?" He returned to the room and began talking about possibilities of recurrence. That was absolutely horrifying. I found out that day that it was in fact a malignant stage 2 Ependymoma brain tumor. I felt anger, betrayal, and confusion. All of that time I was told that it wasn't cancer. I broke down. My mom hugged me and my oncologist finished up and left. A sweet nurse came in and prayed with my mom and I. It was little things like that that showed me how complete strangers can add so much hope.
Before starting radiation I had to get a mask made (pictured above) that would help direct to the target spots for the radiation. I was told before that appointment to style my hair in a style that I wouldn't have an issue committing to daily for six weeks. This was because the mask was going to be tightly shaped and it strapped down to the table. They slid this strange molding substance over my head to form to my head shape. I chose a simple side braid to commit to, which my mom styled for me every day.
Before radiation started, I was discharged from the rehabilitation center. My mom and I had to discuss where we were going to stay. She lived a little over an hour from the hospital so traveling to and from, five days a week, was a huge no. Many people told us about this place called the state employees credit union family house aka SECU House. They offered extremely discounted rates specifically for cancer patients and their families who were undergoing chemo, radiation, etc. My mom called to find out the rates and a few other things. Originally, they said it would be $30 a night. That was based off of my mother's salary. She then was asked if I was employed; my mom said no. Well, that put it down to just $15 a night which was doable.
I finished my time at the Sticht Center for the next few days until we would transition to the SECU House. The last few days consisted of a Carolina Panthers game watch party, a surprise visit from my dog, and some tears as I said goodbye to my sweet nurses and therapists. I thanked them for always having extra jello and ice cream cups when I would get a late night craving, and ring them on my call bell.
My mom never left. She spent weeks sleeping in reclining chairs, and a fold out chair that was probably half the size of a twin bed. She tried to hide the fact that her body was in pain from this. I honestly was more happy for her to stay at the SECU House than I was. That meant a real bed, a normal bathroom, better food, and more privacy. We got nothing but good reviews about the place and it definitely fulfilled. We were greeted upon arrival with sweet smiling faces from people who genuinely cared about our situation and comfort. Our room was absolutely wonderful. It included two queen size tempurpedic beds, a TV, and a nice bathroom. We got moved in and ventured around a little bit. The kitchen downstairs was massive, and included a community pantry and dinner every night so we were never hungry. Unfortunately, I still struggled with swallowing so I couldn't eat much to enjoy it anyways. People would volunteer to cook dinner for the patients and their families who were also guests there. We had pet therapy visits, bingo nights, and a big piano that people would come play on.
I met many people there, some that had it way worse than me, and some that weren't as extreme, and yet, all fighting the same sick disease. It was extremely humbling to see how cancer doesn't discriminate against anyone at all.
Radiation started. Six weeks of it. In that six weeks, I met some amazing friends. One day I saw my oncologist and he told me about a program that some students from Wake Forest University had called Take The Fight. It was meant for you to basically have someone to assist you keeping up with your appointments, doing research for you, etc. For me, it was so much more than that. My oncologist asked if it was something I would be interested in. I had my reservations about it because I'm such a "I can handle it on my own" type of person. A couple of days later as I was waiting for my radiation session to start, I had a sweet face approach my mom and I. She introduced herself and told us about the Take The Fight program. Still hesitant, she told me that she had the most perfect fit for me and was eager to get me involved. She told me that they were actually going to be cooking dinner that night at the SECU house. I agreed to meet with this "perfect fit" person.
Dinner time came and my mom and I headed down to the dining area. I was quickly introduced to one of the most spirited, energetic, and happiest souls I had ever met in my life. We sat with the founder of the program, along with a few other students. I finally was convinced that I wanted to be involved. I expressed that I wouldn't need any research done or any help keeping up with my appointments, but just to have a positive soul with my mom and I would help tremendously.
She developed into a great friend, along with some other members of the program. Just having that constant positivity around five days a week was encouraging.
Little did I know before how much more encouragement I would need. Radiation took so much out of me. Five days a week we had the same routine, I also had to start doing physical therapy as an outpatient at another rehabilitation center. We'd get up. My mom had to basically beg me to eat and get out of bed as radiation progressed. I constantly felt as if I was full, along with not being able to swallow normal foods without coughing or choking, I hated eating. All I wanted to do was sleep. I hated doing anything otherwise. One thing that really kept me going though was the group of people i saw every day for radiation. I had the blessing of having a support system that were always having a good day. The radiation therapists made me feel as if I was their only patient. I still have the two of them as friends on Facebook.
Coming to the end of radiation and getting closer and closer to going home, I had my highs and lows. Being strapped down on the radiation table had become painful. The incision area was on the back of my head so when my mask was strapped down it would squish that place down. It was such an odd sensation, it gave me a headache instantly, and then as the rays started I got this odd sense of warmth all over my body, which was weirdly relaxing. The rays also made me have a weird smell in my nose like gas, which I can still smell to this day if I think about it. The room was always dim and they always asked me what kind of music I wanted to hear for the 15-20 minute process. It was usually old school.
My mom and I began going home on the weekends which was always nice. Earlier on in my story I talked about having double vision. I wore an eyepatch for a while so I wouldn’t have to deal with the cross eyed sensation. There was no real practice to fix this. The first time going home I wore my eyepatch, I couldn’t deal with seeing double highways. The next time, about 20 minutes into the trip, I realized that I no longer had double vision. It wasn’t a shock of realization. I guess my brain processed it as a normal thing and I didn’t realize it immediately. All of the cars on the highway were single, I just remember exclaiming to my mom that I could see normally again. It was a huge deal for me. I just remember listening to my favorite worship songs for the rest of the trip home and thanking God for that miracle.
Nothing like the comfort of your own home for healing. It was also nice to be able to have privacy. My stepdad also moved furniture around to make the house more easy to navigate through since I had a walker, and also installed my shower chair. I longed so bad to take a bath though. One night back at the SECU house I told my mom I was going to take a bath. She told me absolutely not and didn’t take it seriously. Well, I rolled into the bathroom by myself after she left the room. I was still extremely weak and lost pretty much all muscle mass on my left side. I’m extremely stubborn though and it seems like being told no to something I want to do just makes me want it more. I struggled to sit in the bath but I finally got spread out and comfortable. I heard the room door open. My mom was back. She called my name and responded that I was in the bathroom and told her to come in. She peaks her head in and I smile at her. It seemed like she was angry that I risked falling and hurting myself but also proud that I took a big step. I was ready to get out and quickly realized that I made a big mistake. I didn’t have the strength to pull myself up. I proved my mom's point of it not being a wise choice. As always, mother knows best. I called to her that I needed help.
The last few weeks were extremely routine. But the fatigue and loss of appetite from radiation settled in more and more. I could have slept for days if I would have been allowed. I lost around 50 pounds through this whole process. I had my definite highs and lows. I became my normal stubborn self again progressively. I wanted to do things on my own so desperately. I was over the whole “being babied” phase.
March 7 2015 was my last day of radiation. I got to ring the bell. The special bell is for patients to ring to let those that can hear it know that another person finished treatment. I was handed a special certificate of completion. My family came down and my friends from Take The Fight even threw me a surprise celebration. I was finally leaving, after three long months of faith tests.
I was set up to only continue physical therapy when I got back to my moms at a rehab center in that area. I was originally told that it could possibly be up to two years or longer before I started doing normal things again such as walking, eating, etc. Well... I learned how to walk on my own again in three months post surgery, started driving after four months, and started working as a bank teller after eight months.
I can’t lie and say that I’m fully recovered; emotionally and mentally, I suffer from anxiety and depression. I’ll have random episodes where I’ll just overthink and get extremely down and upset about something, even minor things. I’m still deaf in one ear, and have a paralyzed vocal cord which has done in the beautiful singing voice that I once had, even though I have my days where it’s somewhat back.
Things will never be the same as they once were. It took a lot from me and still does. I didn’t write this for pity. I wrote this with the hope and prayer that it will truly help someone. It’s okay to not be okay. I couldn’t ask for a better testimony. I still don’t know God’s reasoning for this chapter in my life and I’m learning to not question it because I may never know. My whole inspiration of writing this and getting it exposed to the world is that God will just let the right set of eyes read it that needs some inspiration, and faith. Whether 1 person reads it or a million, as long as it gets to the right person it will be enough for me.
I don’t know what you may believe in but I’m not ashamed to say that I believe in Jesus. Without His faithfulness and the many prayers I received, I wouldn’t have had the courage or motivation to be putting this completely unfiltered story out so naked and vulnerably. I’m extremely humbled. Prayers are also still valid no matter what you may believe in. I encourage you, for whatever you may be battling with whether it’s sickness, depression, anxiety, or even school/work wise, to stay positive and pray. Slow progress is better than no progress. I feel extremely honored and blessed that I was able to write this. I’m also offering in advance a huge thanks to family and friends for being my biggest support system. And a huge thanks to you for making it this far and caring enough to finish reading. Please don’t hesitate to reach out to me if you need a friend, a prayer, or just a listening ear. (Because I only have one ear to offer anyways)
God bless you.