Today she's an energetic 24-year-old, making plans to go to medical school and competing in triathlons.

But when Mari Gardner's brain tumor symptoms first surfaced in 1980, no one could have predicted such a happy ending for her story.

Mari (pronounced like "Marie") was only seven years old when she started having sever headaches and blurred vision. At first, as often happens with brain tumors, doctors could not pinpoint the cause of her troubles.

"I had gotten EEGs but they didn't show anything," Mari recalls. "But I knew something was wrong with my body. I just knew. I'd wake my Mom up at night and ask her to take me to the doctor."

In addition to her symptoms, Mari would awaken at night for another reason. "I had horrible nightmares," she says. "And I now think that they were due to the tumor."

Mari's symptoms continued to plague her for several months until her hometown doctor in Colorado ordered a CT (computerized tomography) scan. "He looked into my eyes to check the pressure in my brain," Mari remembers. "He could tell the pressure was elevated, so he ordered the scan."

Not long after that, physicians at Children's Hospital in Denver confirmed the diagnosis. Mari had a low-grade cerebella astrocytoma. (In reviewing her early medical records a few years ago, Mari consulted with a pathologist who reclassified her tumor as a juvenile pilocytic astrocytoma).

While her parents conferred with doctors about her condition, Mari preferred to focus on something with much more appeal to a child: going to a friend's birthday party. "I was getting ready to go to the party," she says, "but then I started vomiting and having double vision and I had to lie down. They took me right to the hospital and I had surgery a few days later."

Mari shudders at the childhood memory of having hallucinations in the intensive care unit after surgery. She felt much better six weeks later when her scans showed no sign of the tumor, and her spirits rose even further when she did not have to undergo radiation or chemotherapy treatments. "I was extremely fortunate," Mari says.

Mari's family felt fortunate, too, in having supportive friends who pitched in to help just after the operation. School teachers who worked with her parents, Ardy and Bill, dropped by often with food and gift "Every single night," Mari says, "one of the teachers brought dinner. And they'd give me presents all the time. I had a stuffed animal collection like you wouldn't believe."

When Mari returned to grammar school in the fall of 1981, she wore scarves to cover her head, which was still bald from the surgery. "I know I felt like somehow I was different," Mari says. "Sometimes that was good because people acted like they thought I was special. And then sometimes, they thought I was weird. I remember feeling both extremes - either 'What a weirdo,' or 'She's really special.' I just wanted to feel normal."

"But I don't remember feeling as though I was less than anyone else," Mari adds. "I was outgoing and always tried to be friendly. I tried to be involved in everything that I could be in."

Enrolled in the talented and gifted programs at her school beginning in third grade, Mari started writing music and poetry. When she got to middle school, she started running track and playing basketball, and Mari stayed involved in sports throughout high school and college. She played the cello in high school and took up ballet as well. "I think it was to my advantage not to know what could have gone wrong," Mari says. "I just wanted to do whatever I could. Part of my coping mechanism was to develop my skills and talents."

Mari's life after the brain tumor was not entirely smooth sailing, however. While in fourth and fifth grades, her mother would often sleep in Mari's room at night to quell her fears about the nightmares returning. "I felt shaky about things and had to have people around me for a while after the surgery," she says. "My mom and I developed a very special bond because of what we went through with the tumor."

When Mari turned 17, she had her last brain scan, which showed that the tumor had not recurred. "When I was a child," she says, "they told me that I'd have to have scans until I was a teenager, and if I was 'clean,' then I'd be done. And that's exactly what happened. As I said before, I know I was very fortunate."

But later, during her sophomore year in college, Mari's childhood anxieties resurfaced. "I was having a massage," she says, "and the masseuse started working on the area around the scar tissue on my neck and head. It was the strangest thing. I started feeling like I was seven years old again, and all of the feelings from that time came up."

"I think I was having a delayed reaction to what happened to me," she explains. "I relived some of my fears."

Mari entered short-term counseling to help address her emotions. "It was almost harder to deal with my feelings about the tumor at age 19 than it was when I was seven because I was much more aware of life issues by that point," she says. "But it brought more rewards too."

"In fact," Mari says, "it changed my life."

That change began when Mari retrieved her medical records form Children's Hospital in order to better understand her childhood experience. Seeking even more information on her condition, she attended the NBTF regional brain tumor conference in Denver in 1995. During the conference, she met Dr. Kevin Lillehei, a neurosurgeon at the University of Colorado Health Sciences Center (UCHSC) in Denver, and shortly after that became his research assistant.

"It was a dream job for me," Mari says. "I wanted to know as much as I could about brain tumors and I was able to learn so much from Dr. Lillehei."

The experience also led Mari to consider a career in medicine. "I had received my bachelor's degree in human development and family studies," Mari says, "but I never thought I could do the hard sciences and the math you need to get into medical school. I gained the confidence I needed to go into medicine when I worked with Dr. Lillehei."

To get through her pre-med courses and the arduous process of applying for medical school, Mari called on some of the coping skills she developed when she was younger. "As a child," she explains, "you really aren't aware of time. Children can tolerate traumatic experiences better than adults because they don't realize that treatments can last several months. All they know is that they go into the clinic, they get their treatment, and it's over for the day. So when I was in school, I would tell myself that if I could just make it through today's class, or today's test, or whatever, I would be okay. It's pretty cliche, but it's one of the coping mechanisms I try to use in my life."

Mari shares these types of insights when helping to facilitate the brain tumor support group at UCHSC, and as part of her work with the Childhood Cancer Family Alliance. "I'm cautious about saying I had a brain tumor and I understand," Mari says, "because I know that I didn't have to experience a lot of things that other people go through. But talking with children reaffirms for me how I got through it. It keeps me humble and reminds me of how far I've gotten and how much I have to be thankful for."

Working with other survivors also keeps Mari motivated to strive for her goals. "People who live through an experience like this can sort of live on a 'higher' level," she says. "You become a stronger person because if you've been through neurosurgery and had a brain tumor, what's harder than that? Preparing for medical school. Granted it's hard. But its nothing compared to a brain tumor."

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