Internet Shaming: Not Just for Bodies!

Our society has made sport of shaming, which is, well, a shame.

I've heard things like you're too fat, how can she be a plus-sized model when she's so thin, she's so skinny she must be on drugs, and so on. Of course that's just female boding shaming because that's what I'm keyed into as my demographic. But I've seen male body shaming, I've seen job shaming, and I've seen mommy shaming. (The mommy shaming might be the worst in my eyes since being a parent is hard enough as-is. There is no reason to add unreal expectations on top of that.)

What's worse (or is it, really?) is that these posts are articulated by all types of people, most of whom wouldn't dare utter the words they sculpt with their keyboard to the face of a real person. And, of course, the argument continues that whether you say it to somebody's face or tag them in a tweet, the recipients of these criticisms are all real, live people. I'm not saying that trolls and insensitive commenters are monsters. (I'm sure some are a special sort of jerk, but that's not the point here.) Most of the time it's a case of virtual foot-in-mouth syndrome. Who hasn't said a stupid thing to a person in their life? I know I'm not exempt. But when you can type a response and reread it before you post, there is less leniency for hurtful remarks.

With all of this shaming that would never occur outside of the electronic forum, aneurysm survivors are not exempt. Any survivors really. But in terms of brain aneurysms, people are quick to pipe in, "how can you be a survivor of anything? You look so normal!" Or, "you're not really a survivor. Yours never ruptured." Normality doesn't exempt me. Rupture doesn't define the term. No one knows what goes on in my brain except me, my doctors, and to an extent, you, dear reader.

It took me a very long time to adopt the term "survivor" for myself. When I first started considering the label, I thought it was limited to cancer patients who had beaten the odds and fought like hell to come out on the other side. Did I do something like that? I didn't believe that I could be a survivor since I hadn't toed the line between life and death. I hadn't stood at the gates shouting that I wasn't ready for afterlife. I couldn't be a survivor.

But then I considered everything that happened during the longest week. Even if I hadn't come face to face with the reaper (I can imagine I'd blow raspberries,) I was put through an arduous ordeal that did save my life, and that changed my life. I think of it like walking on a tightrope. There are those who walk the rope between skyscrapers with no net; the survivors who have experienced the worst with rupture, coma, brain damage, and everything bad that comes with it, but survived past it against the odds of a deck stacked against them. They are survivors. There are the acrobats in training, who use a net and maybe have a couple of slips along the way; the ruptures that were caught early enough not to cause severe damage. They are survivors. And then there's me, walking a line strung a couple of feet off the ground between trees in a park; unruptured medium sized annie that was found and coiled in time. I am a survivor.

I don't remember when I came to this conclusion. Maybe it was when I started celebrating my Lifeday on December 22. But I was finally able to call myself a survivor.

But haters gonna hate. There will always be people who tell me I'm not enough of a survivor. There will be people who tell me I'm too overweight to run a 5k to support aneurysm awareness. There will be people who say it was reckless to have risked my life to bring my two children into this world. But my life and everything that comes with it is my business. I've made my choices and am happy with the person I am and the decisions I've made. No one will be able to take my confidence away with a simple mouse click. But to the people who try, I say: "PPPPPTTTTHHHHHHH!"

The Excuses We Believe Are True

I have always felt like I've had an impediment in my life that keeps me from doing things others do.

When I was eight, I was diagnosed with severe asthma. Almost every other Christmas break I spent time in the hospital because my asthma presented complications when I inevitably brought home pneumonia from the holiday party at school. For any other kid, a light case of pneumonia looks like a common cold, but for me, I was gasping for breath and couldn't walk for lack of breathing. My friends would always keep an eye on me to make sure if I was just tired or if my wheezing was so harsh they would need to get my parents or a teacher. When I was in my early twenties, medication finally became available to get my asthma under control, but in the time before that, I kept my physical activity to a minimum and I think I missed out on a lot of the fun stuff kids can do with youth.

When I went to college, I gained the obligatory freshman fifteen my first year. And my second. And so on and so forth. I didn't start thinking about my health until it was too late and I was well over "normal" weight. I didn't feel like I could do anything to reverse it because there was so much to reverse.

When I was 24, I had my aneurysm treated. My husband called me a delicate flower, and although I hated that such a small thing in my brain could suddenly make me "delicate," I believed him. I moved slowly through life for a while, not wanting to bring on a dizzy spell. I had to have regular check ups because it was possible... no, likely that I would have recurring aneurysms. Knowing the outcome of what a ruptured aneurysm could do, I lived my life halfway, never fully committing to anything that might break the delicate flower.

In 2011 I gave birth to the first of two little miracles in my life. Everyone told me how much being a parent changes your life and I believed them. But you never really understand how much you sacrifice for your children until you're in that situation. And I sacrifice more than I should. I have a very hard time thinking that I am important enough and that I should do things for ME. In everything, my family comes first.

These are the reasons I don't do things. These are my excuses. I have been using these excuses my whole life for why I can't... or shouldn't... or won't. But whatever truths lie in these excuses, they remain lies I tell myself to keep my world simple and stress free. (Or at least as stress free as it can be.) I know I lie to myself with my excuses and I know I need to stop, but another excuse lends itself to try to truth itself into my story.



I am not a delicate flower. I am a strong warrior.
I am not a victim. I am a survivor.
I am stronger than my excuses.



I have been focusing on ME a lot this past year, reclaiming the life that I've always wanted for myself. And on Sunday October 11, 2015, I crossed off one of my to dos that I've been using every one of these excuses to keep from doing. I ran my first 5K race. I've been wanting to run one for years, but, excuses.

This one touched my heart. This was the Brain Bolt 5K in Indianapolis, IN. The money raised from this event would benefit Goodman Campbell Brain and Spine for aneurysm awareness, screening, and support. So I signed up and set a moderate fundraising goal for myself, $150. But my friends and family believed in me. They believed in what I have overcome and what I could do.With the overwhelming support they showed, I was able to raise $500 for the cause!

I did it, excuses be damned. I finished the race with a time of 40:10. I was the first survivor to finish the race. I kicked the excuses and found the reasons that I could... I should... I will.

Special Thanks to my donors!
Margaret "Cioc" Mrozek
Adele "Mom" Mrozek
Thomas "Dad" Mrozek
Popabilities Gourmet Popcorn
The Maksl/Petrina Family
Terri Connolly
The Copeland Family
Mandi Hutchins
The King Family
Cheryl Marsh
Katie Walz
Rebecca Hitt
Meghan McGuire

In the Aftermath of Surgery: What Has Happened Since Then

Since my realization about life, death, and survival, my life has gone on.

I have returned to various doctors, since I never really stay in the same place for very long, for my neuro follow-ups. I've been through three MRIs and one angiogram and have gotten the all clear every time. On my last visit, where I saw Dr. Hodes (who knows Dr. Alexander and his work! Color me surprised!) in Louisville, he said there's no reason for him to see me for ten years, unless I start getting symptoms. Hurrah!!!

Dr. Alexander is no longer at Duke Hospital. He's now the director of the neurovascular center at Cedars-Sinai in Los Angeles. Around my eleventh Lifeday, I wrote him a note about how grateful I was to him for saving my life. I haven't heard back. He's a very busy man, just look at his bio.

After much discussion, my husband and I decided to start trying for kids under the stipulation that I would plan for a cesarean section. Because MRIs are impossible for pregnant women and any procedure with contrast dye could be harmful to a fetus, there was no way of knowing, once pregnant, if I had an additional active aneurysm. In May of 2010, we had news that I was pregnant with our first child, a girl born on January 5, 2011 via c-section. The aftermath of birth and delivery left me in a constant blue state, which is another post altogether. But that state prompted my mom and my sister to cut us loose from parenting for a weekend. We went to Little Switzerland, NC. Remote and mountainous.

While there, we found a little coffee shop/bookstore. Honestly, it wasn't much of a "find," as it was the only one anywhere around. But we stopped in the morning after an absolutely awe inspiring storm (we watched lightning forming in the clouds through our windows, then when the storm passed, watched the lightning in the same storm from above.) The girl who was working there was flustered and deeply apologetic as she hurriedly tried to set everything up since  she was late to work. What rush were we in? We let her go about her morning routine while we perused books. After a few more minutes, she serves us our coffee, crying. She explained that the night before, during the storm, her boyfriend had to be rushed to the hospital. (If you haven't gotten that this place is remote and that rushing to the hospital is a big deal, look at this.) Her boyfriend had a ruptured aneurysm in his brain and she was deeply worried about him.

My mouth hit the floor. I've never felt more strongly that I was exactly where I belonged at that moment. I tried to soothe her and let her know how sorry I was that she had to experience this, but there was hope. I told her that although mine hadn't ruptured, I had a brain aneurysm. I was breathing proof in front of her that miracles happen and that modern science has come a long way to prevent death where, in the before times, it was almost certain. I don't know who that woman was or how her boyfriend fared, but I hope that my presence that morning helped calm her nerves.

Since then, I've learned so much more about aneurysms than I knew, even at that chance encounter. All of which will follow in another post. (It's a lot of information and I'm still wrapping my head around it.

Everything happens for a reason. And I'm starting to feel like everything happened for me to help be a change for aneurysm awareness. This is me, figuring out how to do that.