As a young adult, I was diagnosed with endometriosis and told by my doctor that I would not be able to have any children. Despite this, I’ve been blessed to be the mom of four amazing sons, the youngest being adopted.

When my oldest son was born, he was the sweetest, happiest baby — but he was also very sick. He was extremely ill up through age 12. Going through that with him and the struggles that came with it — watching him go through all the testing, blood draws, experiments, and doctor appointments — was the hardest thing I’d gone through at that point as a mom. Being close was a blessing and brought us joy through the tough stuff. His sickness did not remain the only hardship I would endure.

One evening in 2003, my amazing Type 1 diabetic sister called me and shared with me that her kidney was failing. She was only 35 years old, and scared. I jokingly said, “Girl, what’s mine is yours, you can have one of mine. I only need one.” As it turned out I was a perfect match for her, and, in May of 2004, I picked her up from her SLC home in the avenues for her last blood draw before the procedure. We headed to the hospital together. Experiencing something so physically painful was life-changing. I would do it again if I could, but I can’t. We had this running joke between us for years that she could no longer say she hates my guts. I was very grateful to see her happy, healing, and feeling well. We remained the best of friends until the day she passed away in the spring of 2017 due to other diabetic health issues. That was a difficult and painful time in my life.

In the spring of 2009, as I was photographing a wedding in southern Utah I was hospitalized when I experienced unexpected pain and symptoms in my neck and head. After three days in the hospital and intense scans and testing, I was released. It was discovered later that I had brain aneurysms that had not yet bled. Painful, but a huge blessing — I was alive! The aneurysms were debilitating. I constantly felt like I was on a boat, with the flu, and someone was intermittently pounding my head with a hammer. Even though I was very sick, and it was incapacitating at times, I didn’t know how to quit. I continued to get up and take care of my family and kept moving forward. I knew surgery was inevitable, and I wanted to get everything prepared for my family as the outcome of the surgery was not in my favor. My family was blessed with sincere support and love from extended family and friends.

I grew up on a farm in north Orem in the ’70s with one littlest brother who had seven sisters! We were never given the option to quit or do a half job. Ever. I drove the tractor, irrigated, weeded, harvested. I was my dad’s right hand. Those years were tough, and they mentally and physically proved to be the greatest anchor in my life to prepare me for the upcoming years filled with opposition and unexpected pain. I learned how to work hard and to never quit. It prepared me to be stronger than I knew how to be on my own. I learned that it wasn’t just me — I was sustained and even carried through to each new situation I faced.

My first surgery, a craniotomy, took place in the fall of 2009, and my waist-long, curly, full, dark hair was reduced to basically no hair. I was bald. I donated my locks. In our family we say that bald is beautiful —  and if you have hair, it’s a good hair day. The aneurysms were situated deep down in the center of my brain, and they required incredibly invasive work through my forehead and far past my skull. I was told that the odds I would live were low and that if I did live, I would be severely handicapped for the rest of my life. In recovery, I made small goals such as being able to sit up on my own or push past word searching and extreme brain fog, move my right side better, write, and walk better without being a trip hazard. It became clear to me very quickly that in addition to training my body, I would also need to retrain my brain. I had to relearn how to learn. I needed a different way to retain information. I needed new tools — the old ones did not work for me any longer. I remember feeling stupid. Thankfully, basic functions such as seeing, thinking, and hearing all came back bit by bit. Remembering came much slower.

Between my two surgeries, I unexpectedly became a single mom, left to raise four bright, wonderfully strong boys. My family and I were thrown into an incredibly frightening, uncertain, and abandoned place. That was the most painful thing I have experienced. I often found myself on my knees, searching for direction, relief, and comfort. I knew that getting a good job in order to provide for my sweet boys was going to be a priority, and for me that meant I needed to go back to school. At this point, I had no idea how to do that. So much had changed in 20 years. I had many moments of doubt, but the grit in me to keep moving forward motivated me in important ways.

The second surgery in the spring of 2011 was inevitable. It happened sooner rather than later so that I wouldn’t have to delay my schooling longer than needed, and doctors estimated the surgery would providehealing and relief for my body. I was experiencing so much pain and nausea but had great hope for a full recovery. I learned I may not always have the answers, but I can always have hope. So, I hoped like crazy.

 

 

The second surgery took me longer than I thought to recover. Gratefully I had the love and support of my boys, my family, and friends. Then one day, in the spring of 2013, two years after my second surgery, I woke up, and the long-awaited day had arrived. The rocking, spinning, and nausea all stopped. I didn’t feel sick, nor did I hurt! This day had been so awaited and prayed and hoped for that I wasn’t entirely sure what to do with it. I was so excited! I actually didn’t say much for two weeks just to make sure the nausea was really, truly gone. I was floating!

Being a mom was my first love and first priority. It was the right thing and the right time to start information gathering and decide what my next move would be. I started on my knees and then moved to my computer, which led me to Utah Valley University. 

I started classes at UVU, and it quickly became clear that I would need to learn how to adapt and cope with my new situation. The accessibility center helped me get into the rhythm of things and emphasized my strengths and empowered my capabilities. To this day, I still struggle to write and do certain things with my right hand, but I found that note-taking was the best method for me to learn as difficult as it was. I would write and rewrite my notes multiple times in all of my classes. With my four boys at home, my study time mostly existed from 10 p.m. until 2 in the morning. 

While attending school, my oldest son returned from a religious mission and began attending UVU with me. We shared similar classes and often met up between to have a snack and study together. I love those memories! Sometimes I bought groceries and brought them to him on campus. Having him there with me was a great joy and support. We are tight, and we really enjoyed learning together. I absolutely love learning and loved being a student. Having Skyler there with me was and is a treasured memory.

I loved my experience at UVU, it has had a great influence on me and my family. I am grateful that my boys have been able to see that and see my love for UVU and vice versa. They saw that UVU cared for me as a single mom so that I could provide a better and safe life for them. It gave us hope in a very dark time of uncertainty, and I will be forever grateful for my experience here. 

I graduated from UVU in 2015 and went on to study exercise science with an emphasis in health and wellness and sports performance. I currently live in Jackson Hole, Wyoming, with my sweet husband, Jeff, and my youngest son. The boys and I are stronger, close, and happy. UVU’s support helped me see that I mattered. I am thankful to UVU for helping my family by caring about the one.