Living and Thriving After a Brain Aneurysm

Credit: Adobe Stock/zinkevych

In April 2024, Julie Brothers was a healthy 37-year-old working in television production when her world changed in an instant. After experiencing what she assumed was a migraine, she visited urgent care and was sent home with painkillers and anti-nausea medication. But when her symptoms worsened — severe head pain, vomiting and a stiff neck — Julie took herself to the emergency room. There, doctors discovered a ruptured brain aneurysm and brain bleed. She was rushed into emergency surgery and began an incredible journey of recovery that included walking hospital halls just days later and regaining her strength with determination and optimism. Now, she’s turning her story into advocacy, raising awareness of the signs of aneurysm and the importance of early diagnosis.

How did it feel when the ER team told you it was a ruptured aneurysm and not a migraine?

Julie Brothers: After being misdiagnosed by both a self-diagnosis of a migraine (because, I thought, what else could it be?) and the walk-in clinic also essentially agreeing with me, I am a tough cookie. But as the pain and nausea stayed at a steady pace, my stiff neck causing me to be unable to move without being in extreme pain — I knew something wasn’t right. I honestly decided to go to the ER once I thought that I must be dehydrated. I thought maybe I was blowing things out of proportion, but I could at least probably use IV fluids!

When I was pretty quickly given fluids and taken to a brain scan after I described my horrible headache I had had for about a day and a half along with my other symptoms, I truly at the time thought the brain scan was maybe overkill. Thankfully, it was exactly what I needed.

When I was told it was a ruptured brain aneurysm and that I had blood in my brain, I truly felt an eerie sense of calm. There was at least a name to what I was feeling, and I found comfort in that. Things went pretty quickly from that point. I’m extremely lucky I was able to take myself to the ER and that I didn’t lose consciousness — especially since I live alone.

You were out of bed just two days after brain surgery — that’s incredible. What gave you the strength to push through those first days?

JB: I have to be honest; I was pretty upset with my physical therapy team who wanted me to sit up in bed (nothing personal to them — I just was very tired). All I wanted to do was lie down. But in retrospect, looking back, it started with my being asked to sit up in bed. Then once I could do that, I was asked to try to sit in a chair to eat one meal a day. Then an hour for each of my 3 meals a day. Believe it or not, sitting in a chair for 3 hours a day was part of my physical therapy. I guess it shouldn’t be that hard to believe when I had brain surgery just a few days previously! From there, walking was pretty close behind. I was determined to get myself to the bathroom and to get my legs moving. At that point in recovery, looking at my phone made me nauseous, let alone walking! I wore my mom’s sunglasses for my first few walks in the hallway, as I was sensitive to light. Looking back, I’m extremely thankful I was encouraged to get moving as early as I was. I do believe that helped me immensely in succeeding with my recovery.

What was the hardest part of your recovery physically and emotionally?

JB: This is such a great question. Physically, I was at first extremely nauseous the first week or so, along with searing headaches. I had what is called vasospasms, which is a lengthy constricting, narrowing or tightening in your artery. This reduces blood flow through the artery, sending less oxygen than normal to nearby tissues. It did not feel great. I also worried I may never want to eat again — and I’m a foodie. (Spoiler alert: I did indeed want to eat again, and my first meal I was able to take a few bites of outside of an Ensure shake or yogurt was a slice of pizza. I believe that makes me arguably a true New Yorker!) I would say, at that time, that my bucket I used to get sick in was always much closer to me than my phone. I knew I didn’t feel well when I wasn’t even looking to scroll on social media on my phone.

At the time I had no idea how lucky I was to be able to walk, talk and have no cognitive issues. Physically I was great as well. The nausea you feel after coming out of such a traumatic episode happening to your body all makes sense to me.

Mentally, I believe the hardest part of my recovery was being patient with my body physically. The two go hand in hand. It’s pretty easy to spot when someone has a broken arm. When someone has a brain aneurysm, it’s invisible. Sometimes, that is helpful. Other times, it’s a bit of a barrier.

How has your outlook on life changed since the aneurysm?

JB: I don’t want to say that I have a “new” outlook on life per se, but I do think that I’ve taken a stronger hold of the fact that life is for the living. I’ve always loved traveling. I was discharged from Mount Sinai after about two and a half weeks, and five days after I was discharged, I was on a plane for some rest and relaxation with my family on Hilton Head Island. I’ll be going to Costa Rica this month. I hope to zipline and try some new things. Since you’re here, in this life, you should have fun and learn along the way. Meet the locals in any place you visit. Go to their favorite hole-in-the-wall restaurant. Expand your comfort zone. I promise, you’ll find something you love!

What inspired you to turn to advocacy?

JB: If I’m honest with my answer here, my desire to be a brain aneurysm awareness advocate came after I realized with the help of therapy that I was experiencing survivor’s guilt. I had an intense feeling of remorse for coming out of my experience with not much more than some long-lingering neurofatigue, fatigue and sometimes getting overstimulated or overwhelmed, and feeling more intense emotions. All of that aside, I’m able to continue to live independently, I work a full-time job, I socialize with friends and continue to travel. Turning that feeling of guilt into the fuel to show others that an aneurysm doesn’t always equal an obituary like I had always thought. Early detection before a rupture is key. I hope to live in a world someday where brain scans are as common as mammograms. With the help of the various brain aneurysm charities, I hope to see that sooner rather than later. That is my driving force to talk about my experience.

What advice do you have for someone recovering from a brain aneurysm who might be feeling uncertain about their future?

JB: Having a ruptured brain aneurysm is not a one-size-fits-all diagnosis. There are different grades, or levels. Regardless of the diagnosis, the first thing to know is they can indeed be survived. I had no idea of that until I was told I had a ruptured brain aneurysm and I was still very much alive. Another thing to keep in mind is surgery has come a long way. I was a good candidate for endovascular surgery, where my neurosurgeon was able to drop platinum coils inside of my ruptured brain aneurysm through a catheter in my femoral artery to stop the blood flow. Even if you do get a craniotomy, the technology and healing is much more different than you might be envisioning. Also, it may feel worse before it feels better. Try to keep a positive view on moving forward, even when it feels almost impossible. There are so many brilliant support groups online, along with social media pages dedicated to those of us who know what it’s like to live day-to-day after a brain aneurysm. I’ve met some of my new lifelong friends who are also part of the subarachnoid hemorrhage community.

And lastly, know whatever the outcome is, you are a warrior. A survivor. That is an honor.

What signs or symptoms do you think everyone should be more aware of when it comes to aneurysms or neurological emergencies?

JB: I first went to a walk-in minute clinic more than 18 hours after my pain began. I even forgot I went there, because I basically blacked out from being in so much pain. But I do remember telling them my symptoms (stiffened neck, vomiting, the worst headache of my life, etc.) and I was given a shot of a nonsteroidal anti-inflammatory drug (NSAID) and two tiny anti-nausea pills and sent on my way. They put in a prescription for me at my pharmacy, and to this day I’m not sure if it was for pain or nausea because I was too weak and in too much excruciating pain to even pick it up.

The medical staff at the clinic too, like me, thought I had a migraine. Thank goodness the ER did a scan on me pretty quickly (once I went back 32-plus hours after my symptoms began). It truly probably saved my life!

Moral of the story: if you have the worst headache of your life that feels like something snapped inside of your skull, your neck locks up and you’re physically sick, immediately go to the ER. This is such an underfunded and understudied area of medicine, so I don’t fault the medical staff whatsoever. Make sure to demand a brain scan. Say you hit your head. Whatever it takes to get it covered!

Best-case scenario is they give you a brain scan, you’re absolutely healthy up there in your noggin, and they tell you it’s just a migraine. They give you a shot of an NSAID, two tiny anti-nausea pills and send you on your way. The other best-case scenario is you get lifesaving surgery if it’s something a little more than that.