I am a G**d*** Masterpiece

My hero was born in 2019 to the strongest women I've ever known during the hardest year of my life to date.

I was a 22-year-old recent college grad about to start my first job in New York City. Mentally, I was grieving the college experience where spending time with your friends, attending a couple hours of class each weekday, and having fun on the weekends were the only items on my To-Do list. I had to come to terms that my social life and daily experiences were going to change and there was nothing I could do about it.

Physically, I felt awful and I had been hiding it for months. Only my closest friends knew the extent of what I was going through: I lost 20 pounds in a month without even trying, making me underweight for my height and age. I’d get a full set gel manicure and much to the fury and confusion of my nail technician, the next day they’d break because my nails were so brittle. My acne became cystic instead of my usual whiteheads, my heart was experiencing palpitations, and I didn’t get a period for 6 months. The worst part was every day like clockwork I’d wake between the hours of 3 AM and 6 AM with persistent nausea and I’d retch in the bathroom for a few hours before trying to sleep again. On top of all that, my hormones were out of control causing pretty drastic mood swings that would come out of nowhere, hurt those I loved, and make me feel insane.

A co-secreting TSH prolactinoma is the official diagnosis that my Endocrinology and Neurology specialists landed on. Place your pointer finger on your forehead right in-between your eyes, where someone would get shot at point-blank range. I can’t even tell you how many doctors have poked me right there to show me where my tumor was situated, tucked in the front of my brain, nestled in my pituitary gland.

This news brought even more change, this time to my family. Our dinner table conversations turned from politics to pituitary and our morning commutes were interrupted by MRI appointments, but my family never let me feel alone. My mom took me to every appointment, keeping diligent notes. My godmother called me constantly to remind me she was thinking about me. My aunt, a cancer survivor, shared stories of her past health crises to remind me that there were people in my corner who could understand. My sister kept me laughing, as she always does, even though I can't imagine how scary this must've been for her. And my Grandmother reminded me daily that she was using her special connection to God to ask Him to please take my tumor away.

Before I knew it, I had an army of heroes behind me. I didn't even have to ask as these extremely strong, selfless women raised me up and celebrated me even when my tumor made me feel small, insignificant, scared and out of control. Having a tumor broke me, but my heroines saw me scattered in a million pieces and without a word, they started picking me up with gentle hands and putting me back together again. And when they couldn’t find one of my missing pieces, they’d break off pieces of themselves using their love as glue to hold me together and fill in my missing spaces until I was strong enough to hold myself.

All I could do was lie there, graciously allowing them to mend me. I was too weak to help myself and I wasn’t sure if I deserved to be put back together or if it was even possible for me to feel whole and safe in my body again. They never once made me feel like I owed them anything or was a burden, in the true nature of a heroine.

My health battle ended with a declaration from specialists that I am a “medical mystery”. Not only was a co-secreting TSH prolactinoma extremely rare, especially for someone my age, but also the doctors and scans never did find the tumor despite my bloodwork and symptoms being indicative of a macroadenoma (a giant, 10mm pituitary tumor). Without being able to locate the tumor, surgery was impossible and there was no way to justify the medications that had put a stop to my symptoms, so I decided to just live naturally and let what would be, be. I went off all medication knowing that if my tumor ever did rear it’s ugly head toward the magnetic resonance machine at some point in the future, my family would always have my back.

Last July (2021) was the last time I met with my care team for the tumor. Shortly after, I went out to dinner with my whole extended family. All of my heroes were in attendance. Like eighth graders at a co-ed dance, the men sat at one end of the table, leaving me and my heroines at the other.

I don’t remember how this conversation started, I suppose the same way any conversation like this does when women are together, and before I knew it our conversation turned self-deprecating: My little sister lamented that she had gained the “Freshman Fifteen” in her first year of college to which my Grandmother laughed and shared she had gained 25 pounds since my Grandpop had passed. My godmother shared her hate for the crow’s feet around her eyes and my mom was frustrated about her pea-sized head and giraffe neck.

Then the conversation turned to me. It was my turn to share my insecurities. Of course I wished I had less acne, I wished my hands didn’t shake so much, I wished I had better mental health, I wished, I could've, I should've, if only… But how could I say anything self-deprecating about the person they had made the mold for and poured themselves into so tirelessly and selflessly without disrespecting the women I've always admired most?

Before I had time to censor the words coming out of my mouth, in front of my very Irish-Catholic family mind you, I shrugged and said “I am a goddamn masterpiece." My statement was met with my grandmother’s wide eyes and my sister laughing so hard wine almost shot out of her nose. My aunts looked surprised as hubris wasn't characteristically "me" and my mom gave me that "stern mom look", so I knew I needed to explain:

“Sorry for cursing,” I laughed and began rambling, “but I am a goddamn masterpiece. There’s really no other way to say it. How could I be anything less with all the love and pieces of yourselves you’ve so carefully put into making me whole again, turning me into who I am today? Anything I don’t feel super secure about is so dull compared to the parts of you in me that shine so bright. It might not be perfect, but true art rarely ever is. I am a goddamn masterpiece and you're all like master creators for making me. Flawless despite our flaws. That’s just how I feel.”

They looked a little bewildered, mostly contemplative, and overwhelmingly happy, but not in a full-of-themselves kind of way like I had intended because of course, I wanted these women to feel like the superstars I've always seen them as, but their faces told me they already knew. It was as if they were saying, "Finally you see yourself through our eyes" and that's when I knew that thanks to my heroes, I had become someone capable of being my own hero and hopefully someday, in a small or big way, a hero for others, too.

Today I feel strong, confident and sure of myself knowing that who I am is just the best parts of the women I’ve looked up to my entire life. I am so grateful for all the loves and sacrifices that have made me and I am proud to share that today I remain tumor-free. In a similar sense of how I imagine a new organ recipient feels toward an organ donor, I vow to all my heroes to continue loving myself unconditionally and living a righteous life worth being proud of so I never take my heroes' sacrifices for granted.