Brain Surgery Instead of the Beach

February was supposed to be different. I’d dreamed of warm beaches, sandy shores, and endless sunshine. Instead, I found myself in Minnesota—freezing cold, far from tropical, preparing for brain surgery.

Funny how life can throw you off course. My journey didn’t start with anything dramatic. It began with something as routine as an eye exam—a yearly appointment I almost rescheduled because it felt inconvenient. I just wanted contacts. What I got instead was a tumor the size of an egg.

Preparing for surgery was surreal. There was an MRI with sharpie dots drawn on my face, patches of hair shaved away, and endless medical jargon. I cried more times than I could count, mostly over hugs and kind words that reminded me how much love surrounded me.

But as the day grew closer, so did my peace. My neurosurgeon assured me that I’d been through worse—and I believed him.

The fear didn’t disappear, but I trusted I was exactly where I needed to be.

Sometimes life takes you places you never expected. It wasn’t a sandy beach, but I found myself wrapped in warmth nonetheless—nurses’ care, family love, and the unwavering support of friends.

Next year, I told myself, I’ll go somewhere warm. But for now, I had a bigger mountain to climb.