At that time, I go very ill. I got this brain tumor. It was sitting on my pituitary gland. I had brain surgery. That changed everything. I was 20. I had just gotten into the University of Minnesota. For the next six years, I had more and more surgeries, huge amounts of steroids. All of my bones grew.

When I went into the hospital, I was 105 pounds, and five feet eight inches tall. I came out six moths later and I had changed into this enormous person that I didn’t recognize. I didn’t come out of my house for a whole year. It was the horses, my mom and finding a little stray puppy that was so cold he went under the car to get warm. It was going out with him for walks, going to the veterinarian that got me out of the house, out of my shell.

Kids are cruel, and it was difficult for me to handle being this big person. The people that you play tennis with, socialize with all disappear. People think that your brain shuts off and you become this blob. People look at you and make fun of “that big fat lady.”

Now of course, I turn around and tell them “you know why I am so big? Because I eat rude little girls!”

So you learn to live with it. At 20 it is not a time to have this huge identity change and crisis in your life. Only 5% of the people who have my surgery survive. It was very risky. They had only done a few of them. It was amazing that I survived.

You have to keep your body running manually when it is used to running on automatic. When I get a cold, I have to take the extra stuff. You have to get used to managing, get used to a medication regiment. It’s huge.

My hair went bright red. They shaved it off and it grew back like Lucille Ball. I was four of everything, not just double vision. There was four of everything. I went from left to right and by the time I got the fourth cup, or whatever, I knew it was the real one.

They didn’t want me to start riding again because they were afraid of a head bump. Mom kept bringing the horses up to the back door. We got a Western saddle. We used to go out and ride, sometimes all day. Slowly but surely I got past who I was and into who I am.

I still get called upon to visit people in nursing homes who have had this kind of surgery and help them deal with life change that is overwhelming. Everything I’ve been through has culminated in the Monterey Bay Horsemanship and therapeutic Center.

I have a special needs child myself. Being in those situations gives you tremendous empathy and compassion.