Colors of a Miracle

I was born on the night of October 18, 1991. I am twenty nine years old, I am healthy and by the grace of God, I am alive to tell my story.

“Brittany, would you like to read for us today?” Ms. Emile asked, drawing my attention as I laid my heavy head on the desk.

“No thank you, Ms. Emile. I don’t feel good today,” I answered with a sad look dawning on my face. I had been suffering from throbbing headaches for at least a year. They were there from the time I had woken up in the morning until the time I went to bed at night.

At the age of twelve years old, a headache was never anything serious to me, as I still played regularly with my siblings, other family members and some friends at school. All the while, I failed to notice the effect that they were beginning to have on my participation in class activities.

I was the fastest reader in class while my friend Marvin was the second fastest reader. No one else in the class really liked to read outloud, afraid that they’d get laughed at or that the speed of their reading wasn’t as efficient as myself and Marvin’s. After I had declined the opportunity to read outloud, a concerned expression crossed Ms. Emille’s features for a brief moment. It had been three days since I’d last read and two weeks since I’d first started putting my head down.

I was usually awake and full of energy, but the behavior I had been displaying for those two weeks had been only a shadow of the girl that everyone had grown used to.

Other than participating in class, I pushed my limits to have as much fun as the headaches would allow. I loved racing people, I was fast and everybody knew it.

I loved skating and riding bikes. Most of the time, my older brother and I would play outside and go on one of our many adventures. It was something we enjoyed, along with some of the other children from our neighborhood.

When all of us came together, we played tag and sometimes hide and go seek, our favorite. We were all like family around there, building bonds and friendships that was thought to never come to an end.

However, in the time of despair and situations that hinders one from being who they once was, I learned that time change and people do as well.

In August of 2003, Ms. Emile called for a meeting with my mom after school.

Initially, I thought that I’d done something wrong and dreaded the day of the meeting. She had explained to my mom how I had been acting in class and that she was worried that something may be wrong. My mom took heed to what Ms. Emile had expressed, letting her know that she’d take me to the doctor soon because I had also been complaining of headaches while at home.

At first, my mom had thought that me saying that I had a headache was a way to get out of cleaning, as it was coincidentally that everytime she asked me to clean up, my energy levels depleted and a headache wrecked me. She wasn’t angry but she questioned rather I was being truthful or not.

That same day, my mom scheduled a doctor's appointment for me, set for two days after the meeting that she’d had with Ms. Emile.

We’d went to my primary pediatrician’s office to get a checkup, only the pediatrician that I would normally see wasn’t there, as it was his day off.

Within the past, year prior to the current visit, I had told Dr. San about the terrible headaches that I’d been experiencing.

He was an older gentlemen with white hair and thick glasses, he always seemed that he was trying to get people in and out of the doctor's office as quickly as possible. He wrote it off as puberty taking its course. My mom never questioned it, she figured he was a doctor and knew what he was talking about.

“Hello, Mrs. Brown, my name is Dr. Myles and I’ll be the one seeing about your daughter today,” The tall, younger pediatrician introduced himself in a soft, professional manner as he extended his hand for a handshake.

In return, my mom extended her hand to meet his as well. “My daughter has been complaining for a while about headaches and we’ve been here several times about it. I’m not leaving today without knowing what’s really going on with my baby,” my mom expressed in that assertive tone that she used whenever she wanted to be listened to and not just heard.

I sat on the paper covered exam table, cold and ready to get it over with. I had never been a fan of going to the doctor, as with most kids I automatically thought that going to the doctor meant that I was going to get a shot or a finger prick.

Dr. Myles instructed me to walk in a straight line to check my balance. He also had me to read the letters and numbers on the white chart adorning the wall. He then looked in my ears and instructed me to say yes every time I heard a beeping sound. All those things were fine until he’d checked my eyes with the special light. I’ll never forget the look of concern etched on his face.

“Take your child to get a MRI,” he said with urgency.

“Is she okay?” My mom questioned with worry laced in her tone.

We followed him out to a different office where he'd write a referral to see a specialist.

Three days later my mom and I were on our way to the specialist. It was located in Shorewood, Wisconsin, a part of the town that we were unfamiliar with. We were driving from Milwaukee, Wisconsin, which in actuality wasn’t far, it was just the northside whereas, Shorewood was the eastside.

We had to have been driving for about a hour before my mom had finally admitted that we were lost and that we’d have to go on a different day. I gave her the saddest look, not because I was really sad but simply because I was just ready to get the appointment over with.

“Mommy’s gonna get you there, I promise. I need you to be my big girl and go to school today and be good, I promise I’ll get you there tomorrow,” She said with a sincere look on her face. “You promise mom. Okay, I’ll be good,” I said as she embraced me in a tight, loving hug and planted a kiss on my cheek.

The following day, my mom asked her younger cousin to take us there, as she was much better with directions than my mom.

We arrived at a medium sized, brown brick building with reflective windows. After going through the entrance, we stopped at a front desk where the receptionist was. The short brunette instructed us to sit in the waiting area while she handed my mom a clipboard full of papers and a pen.

I could read the nervousness all over my mom’s face, although she did her best to hide it.

The place wasn’t fancy but it was well put together. Midnight blue carpet decorated the floor. There were three different tables there, all oak colored. The two smaller tables were for children, each with their own design and purpose; One with sand on the inside while the other had the wire block rollercoaster atop.

I sat close to my mom in front of the bigger table that had magazines sprawled across the table, overlapping one another almost like a handmade, paper fan. The wait was short lived as we were called to the back within ten minutes.

“Brittany, you may go to the back,” the receptionist announced.

We walked to the back, following a dirty blonde hair doctor with no facial expression and cold blue eyes.

“Hi, nice to meet you two. My name is Dr. Susinski and I’m the Neurologist. I’ll be the one looking at the images today,” She explained.

“Nice to meet you,” both my mom and I said in unison.

The honey colored wooden floor of the hall, led us to a medium sized room that had a huge, white machine that looked like an open, long donut except it had a slim exam bed hooked to it.

There was also a glass window in there that let you see inside the room where the images are displayed on two monitors that sat across from one another on small tables. One was facing where it could be seen while the other only revealed it’s back.

“Brittany, have you ever had a MRI before?” Dr. Susinski asked.

I shook my head no, not even sure what a MRI was but I was amazed by the machine, it looked like a machine from outer space to me.

Dr. Susinski then placed a hand on my shoulder and said, “that’s fine. It’s really easy and it don’t hurt. All you have to do is lay on here and try your best to stay still.” She instructed while lowering the bed. It was covered with a white fitted sheet except the attached head holder that was designed to hold the head steady.

I then sat on the bed, amazed that it could be controlled by a remote. She spoke to my mom before assuring us that she’d be right back.

When Dr. Susinski re-entered the room, she was accompanied by another person who was holding a metal tray. On that tray was the reality of my worst fear, a needle covered in plastic and two small cup packages filled with liquid.

I stared as beads of sweat began to form at the lining of my hair and nervousness warmed me up.

“What’s that for?” I asked, dumbfounded although I was sure that it was for me.

“Hello there, are you Brittany? My name is Cara and I’ll be putting this dye in your arm.” She introduced herself as she explained her purpose. “Dye? Y’all didn’t say I had to get a shot.” I argued, as fear took over. “It’s okay. It’ll be quick. Mom, do you want to come over for a second?” Cara asked, wanting reinforcement, in case I would move or try fighting.

“It’s okay, baby. Be a big girl for momma and I’ll get you a treat afterward.” My mom said as she hugged me.

“I don’t want a shot, momma.” I whined, being an absolute brat, hoping that things would go my way. It didn’t. I ended up receiving the shot of dye as my mom stood beside me while holding my hand. I looked at her and not the needle. I could feel the stinging as the dye made its way through my veins.

The dye was purple, my favorite color. It’s not as if I could see the color but just knowing made me feel like Carrie from the movie 'The Rage: Carrie 2.’

The dye helps in the process of identifying any abnormality that could otherwise go undetected without the dye. I laid onto the bed as instructed, placing my head in the center of the attached piece.

Dr. Susinski raised the bed before proceeding to adjust the helmet-like attachment that she placed over my head. She also put headphones on my ears as she told me that there would be a mirror inside the machine so that I could watch whatever movie of my choice.

“If you need anything, all you have to do is say something and I can hear you on my end.” She said.

I chose to watch the movie, ‘A Bug's Life.’ After explaining everything, my mom had to leave the room along with Dr. Susinski. There was no metal allowed and it was advised, unless you’re the patient, step out to reduce the exposure to the high levels of radiation.

Dr. Susinski then pressed a button that made the bed smoothly go into the short tunnel of the machine.

It was a different feeling for me, it felt like a new adventure and a challenge at the same time. All the while, I failed to comprehend the true seriousness of the situation.

Being in the machine was thirty minutes long as it made all kinds of loud noises of clicking and knocking. At one point, it sounded like a lawn mower. I laughed at certain parts of the movie and answered every time Dr. Susinski checked in on me.

I’d kept glancing at the glass that she sat behind, observing her facial expressions. Her eyebrows furrowed as her eyes went sad and her hand covered her mouth as she intently stared at the monitor in front of her.

When the MRI was done and the machine stopped making all the noises, Dr. Susinski emerged from behind the glass window, entering the room through a different heavy door to meet my mom. The only words that I could hear her say was that she was sorry as tears left her eyes. She continued speaking to my mom in a hushed manner so that I couldn’t hear, not like I was really worried about what was going on in the first place.

Dr. Susinski and my mom hugged one another as my mom loudly cried on her shoulder.

Back outside, after getting inside the car my mom explained to our cousin about what was going on. The two of them began crying together as they hugged. We drove back to the house in silence as they were lost in their own thoughts, not knowing what the next words out of their mouths would be. I sat in silence only because I noticed that they had not said anything.

We made it home, cousin Rosemary, who drove us, went inside the house as well to be support. Everyone gathered together in the living room, extending into the dining room as my mom explained to them what was going on.

“As you all know, Brittany has been complaining about headaches and how her original doctor have been telling me for an entire year that it’s just puberty.... She started crying hard in the middle of explaining as my dad hugged her. “They said that they found a tumor on her brain. They don’t know where it ends because it's the same color as her brain. It’s in an inoperable area, next to her brain stem. They said with the size of it, if I had not taken her today, she would only have a week to live.” At that moment, everyone in the house from my mom and cousin, to my dad, grandma, older brother, and lastly, my youngest brother began crying, not knowing what else to do.

Myself along with my little sister shed no tears as we didn’t know the severity of it. There’s not many people who have faith or even believe that God exists but from the experience I had, I know that he’s real and I feel that he shielded me from fear at that time.

Two days later, I was scheduled for an emergency brain surgery that would be done by Dr. Susinski herself. Aunt Evelyn had shown up after my mom called her and let her know the details of the situation.

She had always been a christian who taught all of us as we were growing up, to pray and believe that Jesus Christ died for our sins and sicknesses.

Aunt Evelyn led us in prayer as we all stood holding hands.

She prayed that the Lord color coat the tumor and that He touch the surgeon’s heart and guide her hands so that she may get the whole thing out without touching my brain stem. At the time, in the year of 2003, there had not been a case like mine in Wisconsin where people survived it.

I remember laying in the hospital bed playing with a doll that a stranger named Nick bought me.

He visited me twice and bought the doll that I’d asked him for, a baby born doll. The countdown until surgery had become real in my mind. I guess I began to wonder why they were actually letting me go through with the surgery if there was only a small chance of survival.

Before I was put in a separate room while the anesthesiologist administered medicine through an intravenous to put me to sleep, everyone hugged me and let me know that they loved me and that everything was going to be okay.

Aunt Evelyn read Psalm 91:1-16 for protection.

Before the surgery, I remember my lip skin peeling off a lot, top and bottom skin came off like a snake shedding its skin. I could see my parents watching me from outside the tinted window as they hugged one another.

I could feel the sleepiness creeping up on me as my arms and legs began to feel heavy. I remember moving my arms, but they’d flop like when you sit too long and don’t have full control of your limbs after they fall asleep, allowing the pokies and numbness to take over. The surgeon pushed me down a hallway while still in the bed.

I watched the lights until my eyes closed on their own accord. The surgery lasted twelve, long hours. I remember dreaming of walking a long road where I’d met loved ones who had already passed away, my grandma on my dad's side, in particular. She didn’t want me there. She didn't actually say she didn't want me there but it was more so of an overwhelming feeling that she let off while staring at me.

The road was long and there was light in certain areas where it just seemed like air and no ground. She was so close, yet so far. Her voice echoed through one ear while the other ear heard nothing.

I never had a chance to finish that dream as I woke up, body going through convulsions as they pushed me into a room where my parents sat waiting for my return. I remember trying hard to say that I wanted my dad but all the words were broken and only came out as if I was screaming while my left arm kept going up and down, along with my body. I was like a fish out of the water.

“What’s wrong with my baby?” My dad snapped in a panic as he tried to make his way to me.

It was a reaction to the draining tubes they’d placed in my head, it was foreign and my body was rejecting it. They had to rush me back into the surgery room to remove the tubes as my dad asked them. It was quick, I suppose.

I remember waking up in a room, hooked to machines. I didn’t feel like myself, in fact I couldn’t move my body as I once could.

Dr. Susinski informed my parents that she was able to take the whole tumor out because it gained color, just as my aunt asked God for. It was the size of a gulf ball with the colors brown, yellow, beige, pink, and a bluish tint. It was benign, meaning it wasn't cancerous. I was placed in ICU for two weeks before being able to be put in a regular recovery room.

That news put the icing on the cake however, another doctor, bearer of bad news had informed my parents that I wouldn’t be able to walk, talk, see or hear again. In their exact words to my parents, they said that I’d be a vegetable. I heard them and wanted to speak up for myself but couldn’t at the time.

I believe that my body was resting until I was able to move. An hour later I said “Yes, I can,” in a high pitched, squeaky voice. Both my parents jumped to their feet from where they were sitting after hearing me speak for the first time after surgery.

It was hard, I could feel my head hurt with every forced word that I said. That was the first sign of recovering, to do the things that they said I wouldn’t be able to do again.

Everytime I tried opening my eyes, they burned and caused a headache.

The first time I opened them fully, my cousin’s husband told me that if I could keep my eyes open from the time the second hand left the twelve on the clock, until it reached it again, he’d get me some strawberry ice cream, my all time favorite at the time since the doctors had forbid me to eat ice.

They kept me on high doses of ibuprofen and another stronger pain killer to keep the head pain at a minimum.

I felt loved, as I was never alone in that hospital room.

One month after surgery, September, 2003, I was still in the hospital. I was excited on this particular day because after the doctor had found out that feeling was beginning to come back into my legs, they wanted to see if I could walk. Turns out, trying to walk was a stretch. It is a known fact that you have to crawl before you walk.

In my case, I was provided a wheelchair and taken out to the bright, long hallway where I could practice. Both my legs and arms were weak but the left side was affected the most, leaving it weaker and uncontrollable.

In the hallway, I met another kid named Michael that went through a similar surgery to mine, except his surgery scar sat at the front of his head.

His motor skills weren’t affected, so he was walking, talking, and having the fun that I was wishing to have. I still couldn’t see and could barely move my legs.

I was told to try moving in the chair with just my legs and not my arms, being that they were trying to help strengthen my legs. I remember it being so hard to roll in that chair with only my legs. I struggled but refused to give up.

The wheelchair was barely moving but the smallest of movement was something for me. I was sweating and getting tired but I still wanted to continue. After fifteen minutes, they pushed me back to the room.

My head was still too heavy to hold up for long periods of time and it was noticeable. But, with the determination clinging to me, I didn’t want to get back in bed right away. I asked could I stay in the chair instead for another thirty minutes. That marks the second sign of recovery.

It took three, almost four months of being in the hospital before the doctors felt that I was ready to go home. It was still a struggle, even after all that time, trying to learn to walk again seemed so far out of reach.

I could open my eyes but could barely see. The right side was predominantly the stronger side, leaving the left to still struggle.

My voice was still high pitch, taking a long time to get back to normal.

By my cousins house, we had a hair cutting party so that the front half of my hair could be cut off just as the back was. It was also a way to get me used to being around everyone else again. The hair was dead and had no chance of growing.

Everything that I’d learned through the years had to be relearned. I couldn’t wash myself up, let alone, go to the bathroom on my own.

One day after my mom had taken me a bath and helped me into the room, she kept staring me in the eyes as if she was observing something.

It's like she could see right through me, I think it was her mother’s intuition.

“Brittany, you can’t give up on yourself. You’ll eventually have to start doing things on your own. We will not give in to you being handicapped. I’m telling you this, not to hurt your feelings but because I love you.” She said with a small smile on her face. I smiled back, finding the strength, waiting to show my mom that I was willing to try doing things on my own. It was the first time that I helped out with putting on my own shirt. Bending was a struggle, applying too much pressure made me dizzy and gave me headaches.

In March of 2004, I had awaken in the middle of the night out of my sleep, needing to go to the bathroom. Usually, my parents or my older brother would help me to the bathroom but along the way they would tell me to feel for the wall just to support myself.

My vision was still bad but better than it was at first, the more that I would leave with my aunt Evelyn who would drive past large signs and have me to cover one eye at a time to read each sign. The first sign that I'd ever read more clearly than any other sign was Dunkin' Donuts.

“I need go to the bathroom, brother,” I said after seeing my brother quickly turn the tv off and lay down. He’d sleep in the living room with me on separate couches so that he could always keep an eye on me or could hear me if I called.

It was clear that my mom had talked to everyone about handicapping me by the way that he pretended to sleep, although I had just saw him awake. It was no secret that my mom wanted me to try on my own so that I could become independent as I was before and the time was more so of the right now and not later, being that I was beginning to get stronger. I could see my brother peeking at me and could tell that he wanted so badly to help but was instructed by our mom not to.

I took the hint and took off my socks before making my way off of the couch. I never walked to the switch to turn on the lights because I figured it was no use being that my eyesight wasn’t fully there, anyway. I made it to the first wall, then the second, holding on tightly to the edges and curves of them as everyone showed me.

I was supposed to use the walker that the physical therapist provided since they’d been working on walking with me but trying on my own was a big accomplishment for me. Making it to the bathroom on my own that night was the third stepping stone to full, undelayed recovery.

During the process of recovery, I lost friends, the people that I couldn’t wait to get back to and tell them all about what happened. Instead of them being happy for me, they teased me along with family members.

The cruel words they spewed was something that turned me bitter for a period of time and let me see people for who they really were, but their actions ultimately made me even more determined to get back to how I used to be.

In a way, their cruelty shaped the way I acted after fully recovering. I was still friendly but I was distant.

Children are known to be cruel to one another but when adults are involved, it sort of completely change one's perspective view.

Having to relearn everything all over again taught me to be thankful and grateful for the things I can do and for the things that I have because it all can be taken away within the blink of an eye.

Fast forward, seventeen years later, I am healthy and thankful to be alive. My balance had never returned to the way it used to be and my left side still suffers from sporadic muscle spasms. I can’t do everything that I used to, as far as running fast or skating but I’m still able to do them, which is a blessing.

Now, whenever I go to get MRI’s, the doctors who meet me are amazed at how I recovered from such a surgery, especially in the year of 2003 when technology and procedures of that nature wasn't as advanced or known of as it is today. They’re always extra cautious and give me two scans, one with contrast and the other without.

There is a missing space in my brain that isn’t covered or filled with anything. Doctors have told me that people usually need tubes to continuously drain fluids but I’m not one of them.

I believe that my body rejected the tubes after they were placed because the Lord was telling me that they weren’t needed. I am not perfect but I am here. Sometimes I can’t lay flat without getting dizzy and my memory is not as good as it used to be but I am a living, I am able to tell my testimony.

Afterall, I could have been only a memory but as I stated before, by the grace of God, I am alive and I am healthy.

My name is Brittany Brown and this is my story.