'I've never taken risks and still got a brain tumour. So I need you to read this today.'

I am not a risk-taker. I never skipped school, I've never smoked a cigarette or done anything stronger than a hash cookie. I'm a good girl. I got married in a church and I breastfed my babies because breast is best, right?

Then, this ridiculous curveball was pitched to me in October 2023 and I don't even play sports.

While living and working overseas, I had dull headaches pretty much every day that I could ignore if I was busy — nothing alarming. I had bouts of vertigo, a vague kind of dizziness, but also nothing to panic about. I tried drinking *even* more water (from an even more overpriced water bottle), eating a hearty breakfast and staying out of the sun.

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I thought I was perimenopausal, but I was only 38 and such a good girl.

Knowing deep down something was not quite right, I saw my GP and had some blood tests. Maybe I was low in iron and a good supplement was what I needed.

Next, I thought: "Maybe I need glasses?"

Well. A skilled and conscientious optometrist sent me from her office to emergency. I hoped she was using an abundance of caution, but I tearfully called my husband because this was escalating quickly and I was going to miss school pick-up. Mum first!

I'm grateful to our friends who took our kids home as if they were their own that day, because upon arrival at the hospital, I had a CT scan, MRI and then a neurosurgeon walked in. Leaving hospital "would be against medical advice."

I started high-dose IV steroids then and there, and would be having an operation, my first craniotomy, within a couple of days.

I had a large brain tumour. The size of an orange: 6-8cm!

If I could use the record scratching sound effect here, I would. Excuse me, what? An orange? In my brain?

Maybe Mr Mathers from primary school was right, I really am an airhead. But I wasn't laughing. Well, except for doing my best Arnold Schwarzenegger accent to say: "It is a toomah?" But I was deflecting, I was in shock and we called my mum.

That first night, not at all sleepy, I was on the phone for hours to family and friends in Australia.

Image: Supplied.

My mum, sister and mother-in-law flew in from Melbourne a couple of days later, in time for my second craniotomy (an attempt at further debulking). These amazing women, along with our wonderful friends, supported my husband, our boys and of course, me in so many ways.

Meanwhile, I spent the next three weeks in ICU attached to an external ventricular drain. I was helped out of bed, I was supported to take my first shaky steps using a walker and I began learning to live with low vision due to a significant and permanent visual field cut.

As the shock settled and, to be frank, continues to settle… I started to stack some wins. I was showered by the nurses (mortifying but a seriously underrated luxury) and I ditched the walker. Fortunately, I did not need a permanent shunt. I learnt I have a low-grade brain tumour and eventually, I was discharged from hospital.

This story is far from over and developing all the time.

I've since had a third craniotomy and been diagnosed with Epilepsy secondary to the tumour and scar tissue left behind.

What I'm trying to say is this: On the balance sheet of life, playing it safe counts for nothing. Sh*t happens to good people. All. The. Time.

Image: Supplied.

I'm not saying live every day like it's your last because that's silly and irresponsible.

I have a story of resilience and acceptance that is an ongoing saga called 'Life' (working title). Occasionally, usually in the shower, I have a little pity party — I cry and I go to the dark place. I ask the shower head all the what-ifs and 'Why me?'.

Of course, I wish this wasn't my cross to bear, but since it's mine, I actively find the joy as much as possible every day — like laughing with my kids when the tomato sauce bottle makes a fart sound. Simple. Joyful.

I've also learned, however begrudgingly, to ask for help. Most people want to be helpful, so ask for what you need.

Take it from me, don't worry so much.

Do the things you love, even if there are known risks.

When people ask how I am, I tell them I'm riding the waves.

Only my inner circle knows when I'm getting a bit wet and need a hand to help dry off — because what doesn't kill you makes you stronger.

Rebecca is many things: a daughter, sister, wife, mother, aunt and a friend. She's a deep thinker, an overthinker, a sensitive soul and a novice writer. This is her first paid writing gig. Rebecca is Russian by name only; born and bred in Melbourne, she now lives in Austin, Texas, with her family.

Feature image: Supplied.