[MUSIC PLAYING]
Say what you want about nature versus nurture,
but the conquer-the-world, get-'er-done girl,
type A part of my personality was born into me.
My name is Jodi Orgill Brown.
I grew up in the wooded hills outside of Washington, DC,
in northern Virginia.
By the time I was four years old,
I was already social, outgoing, and even comfortable
in front of a crowd.
I even spoke at my preschool graduation.
In first grade, my teacher would leave the room
and leave me in charge at the head
of the class, which is exactly the way that I liked it.
A few years later, I ran for student body president
and lost but later ran again for secretary.
And that time I won.
In high school, I was voted most likely to become
president of the United States.
My parents had always told me I could be whatever I wanted to.
All it took was to believe in myself,
work hard, and trust and have faith in God.
In college, I decided to try and do
the four-year program in just three years, and I did.
But I was surprised to find my husband along the way
because that had not been part of my plan--at least not
at that point in time.
And as much as Tolan and I are opposites in what
seems like nearly every way, he is also my perfect match.
We are so well suited and stubborn.
But we love each other and have made a wonderful life together.
When our oldest son was born, I started
working my nonprofit job from home
so I could love on my little ones
and still have a job that would be a mental outlet for me
and that would give me a little control over something
in my life.
By the time our fourth child was born,
I was honestly living what I would
deem to be my white-picket-fence life.
Everything was the way I had envisioned from the time
that I was a little girl.
But then the dizzy spells started.
And I had a hard time placing one foot in front of the other
as I walked down the hall.
Within a few short months, headaches ruled my life.
And at Christmas, I couldn't even sit and wrap presents
without taking a break to lay down on the floor
to try and calm the nausea and hope the world
would stop spinning around me.
I went to the doctor over and over and over again.
And by the time I finally laid in an MRI machine,
we were so desperate for answers,
I didn't think anything could faze me.
When the radiology tech came and told me
that there was a mass on my brain,
my immediate reaction was, well, that makes perfect sense.
I knew that something was wrong.
Now they can fix it.
And I can get back to my normal life.
Little could I have imagined at that time what
this journey would do to me and how
it could take all of the strength from inside of me.
But then a few weeks later, as I sat in a neurosurgeon's office
and looked eye to eye with the physician, he looked at me
and said, in the brain, it's all about location, location,
location.
And I'm sorry to say that Mrs. Brown, your tumor
is in a very bad location.
It seemed the whole world started
to crumble from around me.
Everything I knew seemed to fall out of my control.
A few weeks later, I woke up from my first brain surgery.
And it seemed that my life had been excavated along
with the tumor.
They had been able to remove most of the tumor,
but it left me with my face paralyzed.
My head was shaven and covered in staples.
Drool was dripping from my lip.
My eye was big and wide open and unable to blink.
I couldn't even smile or hold food in my mouth.
And I had spinal fluid leaking from my nose
and down the back of my throat.
It didn't take long for me to realize that not all people are
valued in the same way.
A young man entered my hospital room
and was there to clean and tidy up.
But he looked at me and stopped when he saw me.
And he gave me an "I feel sorry for you" look.
Immediately, a phrase from the New Testament
flashed into my mind where Christ says, "Inasmuch as ye
have done it unto one of the least of these, my brethren,
ye have done it unto me."
The least of these?
That was for the maimed and the blind, the cast out
and the sick.
When had I become one of the least of these?
Not me.
Not Jodi, the conquer-the-world, get-'er-done girl.
I couldn't be one of the least of these.
When did people stop seeing me and start
seeing a body in a bed?
My life was totally changed.
I could no longer care for myself, my husband,
or my small children.
It seemed everything in my life was out of my control.
That is when I learned that every interaction is
an opportunity to change a life.
And indeed, at that time, every interaction
did change my life in one of two ways.
Either it bolstered me and helped
me find strength to keep fighting the battle
or left me feeling hopeless, helpless,
and sometimes invisible.
One day, a CNA entered my room.
She did not tell me her name, only announced
that she was there to bathe me.
She helped me get onto a plastic mattress
and wheeled me down the hall to a shower room.
She shut the door in the shower room
and proceeded to yank the gown from my body
and drop them on the floor.
Then she grabbed the shower hose and turned it on
and started spraying me down with cold water.
I felt all of my dignity and humanity
spiraling down with the tears and the water droplets.
It seemed every part of me was washing away with the water.
I may as well have been a car in a car wash, a body in a bed,
a name on a chart.
Every interaction is an opportunity to change a life,
and that interaction left me defeated, deflated,
hopeless, and wanting to give up my fight.
But nine long days later, when I was still in the hospital
and still fighting for my life but finally starting
to do a little bit better, I had decided
that that was going to be the day that I was going to try
once again to have a shower.
I had made this decision and was gearing myself up and getting
all of my energy ready for this, and then a young man walked
into my room, walked across the room,
and wrote his name--Lucas--on the whiteboard where it said
"CNA on shift."
Lucas.
Great.
The one day I decide I'm going to take a shower,
and I have a male CNA.
I quickly decided showers are overrated.
My kids have proven that to me on more than one occasion.
If I could just get my hair washed,
I knew that that would give me some of the strength
and energy I needed to get through another day
in the hospital.
So I asked Lucas, "Are Christie or Heather or one of the girls
around on shift today?
Could they come in and help me wash my hair?"
And Lucas gave me a funny look.
And he said, "I can help you wash your hair."
Right.
OK.
We'll go for that.
So I told him I would love that.
He said he would come back a few minutes later.
Sure enough, he showed up 30 minutes later
pulling a cart full of supplies.
It reminded me more of a circus than anything
having to do with bathing, but I trusted him.
He came in and helped me scoot down to the bottom of the bed,
and then he draped black plastic garbage bags all over the bed,
up over the pillow, and cascading down into a garbage
bin at the bottom so that the water
would waterfall over the bags and fall into the trash.
Brilliant.
He then scooted me back up to the head of the bed
and told to me to try and relax.
I attempted to close my eyes and then waited
for what I thought would be an awkward situation.
But instead, he poured pitchers of warm water
over my not luxurious locks but the little tiny sprouts
of new hairs I had growing back on my head.
And he was very careful as he massaged the shampoo
into my scalp not to touch any of my scars or my staples
or do anything that would compromise or cause me harm.
He then proceeded to pour another pitcher of water
over my head and then started the process again,
this time with the conditioner.
The process that could have taken five minutes,
Lucas spent 30 minutes kindly, tenderly,
gently massaging strength and humanity back into me.
His every action told me he did not see me as maimed or as
cast out or as sick.
He saw me as a whole person--but one who was hurting.
By the time we finished, I felt like I'd had a day in the spa.
Lucas held little status at the hospital,
but he was a man who acted with great stature.
And that was far more important.
His every action emboldened me to continue
the fight for my life and to work
hard to be able to go home to my family.
It even gave me the silent acceptance
to begin to love myself and embrace my new life.
And indeed, I would certainly need that strength in the days
to come.
After three craniotomies and multiple problems, surgeries,
infections, shots, lumbar drains,
and all sorts of side effects that
kept me hospitalized for more than 35 days,
I was finally able to go home and go back into the world.
But I was not prepared for how the world would see me.
They didn't see me as a survivor and as a conqueror.
Many people saw me instead as a comedic figure.
They saw me and laughed.
Every soul is great in the sight of God.
When Christ encouraged his disciples to love and serve
the least of these, it was not an insult;
it was an invitation, an invitation
to stop seeing imperfection and start
seeing the divine individuals that we truly are.
When we stop screaming at each other
and start seeing each other, that
is when we can embrace the imperfections that we have
and live our lives to the fullest every day.
No matter how dark the storms of life,
always remember, behind the clouds, the sun still shines.
There is a plan for you.
Stand tall, look people in the eyes, and smile.
You are beautiful and divine by design.
Thank you.