My life changed forever on July 3, 2023, when I had a seizure and drove through a house.

Thankfully, I was the only one hurt. A CT scan quickly ruled out drunk driving when they found a mass the size of a golf ball. That mass, which we nicknamed Ernie (golf fans will get that reference) was removed a few days later. As soon as Ernie was evicted, the word glioblastoma entered my life. I was 47 years old. My son was 18. I lived alone. Whoa. 

It took me two weeks to learn how to pronounce glioblastoma. I had done enough research before my surgery to know I likely wouldn’t live to see 50. But I’m young, super healthy, and known for my resiliency, so I wasn’t going down without a fight.

Friends took care of me 24/7 until I could become independent again. Coworkers created a transportation calendar and drove me to Proton therapy. They also donated money so dog walkers could walk my dog every morning. PT, OT, and speech therapists came to my house and got me back into shape. After three months of no driving, I bought another car and eased back into driving.

Friends accompanied me to my MRI results appointment. All clear. Looks good. Rinse and repeat.

6 months of chemo stretched to 12 months. I was so sick of chemo, but given my methylated status and my fantastic bloodwork, I kept going. That was my motto – “Keep Going.”

After 13 months of medical leave, I did the impossible – I went back to my “Hair on Fire” IT job. It was a different role but still a huge accomplishment. The first few months were torture because I was still doing chemo, but finally, the chemo fog cleared, and I gained some traction.

And oh, did I mention, I’m 49 years old now! That fear about not turning 50? Well, if you hear about a massive party in Texas in October, that’s probably me, outliving my prognosis and celebrating what I thought was impossible – turning 50 years old with glioblastoma!

— Erika Butler, February 2025