by Amber Gardenhire
Being diagnosed with stage IV glioblastoma (GBM) eight years ago changed everything. My doctors are still amazed that I haven’t had a recurrence, and I’m beyond grateful. But finding peace in this journey didn’t come easily—it took time, struggle, and surrender. If you’re facing a brain tumor diagnosis or any serious health challenge, I hope my story brings you encouragement and hope.
Life Before GBM: Health, Love, and Future Plans
At 24, I was in my senior year as a Human Nutrition Science major. I worked out daily, ate clean, and had my future mapped out—college, marriage, a home, and eventually, kids. I had found the love of my life, and for the first time, I felt like everything was falling into place.
But life had already shown me how fragile things could be. My father passed away from complications of Multiple Sclerosis (MS) when I was 19. Watching him suffer and seeing my family break apart left a lasting fear: what if I developed a neurological illness too?
The Diagnosis That Changed Everything
In late 2016, I started experiencing crippling headaches. Doctor after doctor dismissed them as dehydration. But on January 6, 2017, I took myself to the ER. A CT scan revealed a tumor the size of an oversized orange in my brain. Three days later, I had a craniotomy to remove it.
I followed up with radiation and chemotherapy—11 months of Temozolomide (TMZ), instead of the standard six. I wanted to hit this disease with everything I had. My family supported me every step of the way, even throwing me a “Beautiful with No Hair” party where my sister, her husband, and my boyfriend shaved their heads in solidarity.
At first, I thought treatment was the hardest part. I believed I would get through it and my life would return to normal. I was wrong.
The Emotional Toll: Fear, Grief, and Isolation
Once treatment ended, reality hit hard. A 98% mortality rate loomed over me. I spiraled into Google searches, filling my mind with fear. I didn’t know I was grieving—not just my health, but the future I thought I had.
I refused to be a victim. I fought with tenacity and hyper-vigilance, determined to “beat” this disease. I applied to nursing school, believing my education in nutrition and healthcare would help me outsmart cancer. But by mid-2019, I began experiencing chemo toxicity—forgetfulness, neuropathy, light sensitivity, and overwhelming migraines. My straight A’s slipped, and I couldn’t keep up. I thought it was stress from wedding planning, but in reality, my body was breaking down.
Surviving the Aftermath of Treatment
For two years, I chased my old self, refusing to acknowledge my limitations. I saw over 200 doctors—neurologists, allergists, therapists—trying to “fix” myself. I went to the ER seven times, convinced that if I just found the right answer, I’d go back to normal.
The pain, both physical and emotional, was unbearable. My once-carefree relationship with my husband turned into caretaker and patient. My friends moved on. Depression and bitterness crept in. I questioned God. Why me?
Then, finally, things started to shift.
An allergist diagnosed lung capacity issues, and inhalers helped me breathe again. A neurologist administered Botox, and my migraines disappeared. My chemo-induced food allergies were addressed. Bit by bit, I started feeling human again.
The Biggest Lesson: Letting Go of Control
By the time I was ready to re-enter the world, everything had changed. Relationships were strained, and I had to rebuild my life. But in the process, I learned the most important lesson: I was never in control to begin with.
I had spent years trying to fight this disease on my own terms, refusing to surrender. But cancer isn’t something you “win”—it’s something you learn to live with, without letting it define you.
Choosing Joy and Finding Purpose
I found happiness in the small things—morning coffee, sunshine on my skin, reading books I’d never had time for. I stopped chasing my old body and started honoring the one I had.
Most importantly, I learned that it’s not my job to “fix” cancer. My job is to honor my life, love my family, and truly live. I want to help others facing this journey, to remind them:
- You are not a burden.
- You do not have to carry this alone.
- Your worth is not defined by a diagnosis.
- You don’t have to control everything—just take care of yourself and let life unfold.
Final Words: Living Beyond the Diagnosis
The last several years have been the hardest of my life, but they’ve also taught me how to choose joy every single day. I now believe that true strength comes from finding peace, not fighting battles.
If you’re going through this, I want you to know: there is life beyond GBM. It may look different than you imagined, but it can still be beautiful.
