{"id":19949,"date":"2026-03-11T08:33:12","date_gmt":"2026-03-11T08:33:12","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/gpbookstore.org\/articles\/uncategorized\/jeannie-gaffigan-life-lessons-after-a-brain-tumor-diagnosis\/"},"modified":"2026-04-10T06:08:54","modified_gmt":"2026-04-10T06:08:54","slug":"jeannie-gaffigan-life-lessons-after-a-brain-tumor-diagnosis","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/gpbookstore.org\/articles\/positive-living\/friends-and-family\/parenting\/children\/jeannie-gaffigan-life-lessons-after-a-brain-tumor-diagnosis\/","title":{"rendered":"Jeannie Gaffigan: Life Lessons After a Brain Tumor Diagnosis"},"content":{"rendered":"

A knock on the door. My hand squeezed Jim\u2019s. This is really happening. <\/em>A serious-looking woman entered the hospital\u2019s pre-op area.<\/p>\n

\u201cHi, I\u2019m one of the surgeons,\u201d she said. \u201cI want to go over the procedure with you.\u201d She explained how she would put some wirelike thing through a vein in my thigh and thread it all the way to my brain, where she would then cauterize the blood vessels feeding the tumor, all to reduce the risk of bleeding for the main act\u2014the craniotomy and removal of the tumor\u2014the next day. \u201cDo you have any questions?\u201d she said.<\/p>\n

\u201cI have five children at home,\u201d I said, before realizing that wasn\u2019t actually a question. My mind was still on the end-of-life directives I\u2019d signed minutes earlier. \u201cThe thing is, they really need me.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAbsolutely,\u201d the surgeon said.<\/p>\n

I turned to Jim, my husband of 13 years, a standup comedian, my writing partner and father to Marre, Jack, Katie, Michael and Patrick. All I could think was: God help them if I die. <\/em>I believe in a God of miracles, but at that moment in April 2017, I couldn\u2019t imagine them surviving without me, even with the Almighty\u2019s help.<\/p>\n

\u201cHere\u2019s my computer password,\u201d I told Jim. \u201cAnd the code to unlock my phone.\u201d Somehow that seemed like the most critical info to share. He had no clue how to manage our household, the stuff I took care of without him ever realizing. He didn\u2019t know the kids\u2019 teachers\u2019 names. Or the after-school schedule. How to order groceries. \u201cAll the foods we order will be highlighted on the FreshDirect website,\u201d I told him.<\/p>\n

Jim looked back at me with watery eyes. Was he having allergies? Had I remembered to bring the Claritin?<\/p>\n

He and I had first met when I literally ran into him at a Korean market near where we both lived, as if in some bad romantic comedy. \u201cWe\u2019re probably going to get married,\u201d Jim had said. Two years later, we were. I dragged him to Mass. Jim had grown up Catholic too, but I was the one who carried a rosary<\/a> everywhere I went.<\/p>\n

We started working together. I\u2019d never clicked with anyone like this. He was the one on stage, but creating his stage persona as a couple, watching him deliver lines I wrote, was a huge rush. His success was my success.<\/p>\n

Behind the scenes, the kids started coming in 2005. At times, I felt like the most consistently pregnant woman in New York City. We worked the whole family thing into the act. But juggling all those pediatrician appointments, parent-teacher meetings and afterschool activities while still focusing on Team Jim was like walking a tightrope while juggling cats.<\/p>\n

In 2015, we launched The Jim Gaffigan<\/a> Show <\/em>on TV. I was an executive producer. After two seasons, I was exhausted. It struck me that the time I was taking to write about being the mother of five children was taking the place of actually being a mother of five children.<\/p>\n

\u201cDo we want 10 seasons of an amazing show and miss them growing up, or do we want to stop at two great seasons and have amazing kids?\u201d I asked Jim. We ended the show and set up a home office for both of us.<\/p>\n

I had charts with every appointment, every activity, color-coded by child. Everything under control. Sure, I had throbbing headaches and trouble hearing out of my left ear. I didn\u2019t have time for this. I pushed myself harder. Finally, at the recommendation of the kids\u2019 pediatrician, to whom I\u2019d admitted not being able to hear, I squeezed in an MRI.<\/p>\n

The findings had brought us here: A large pear-shaped tumor was pressing against my brain stem. \u201cYou need surgery immediately,\u201d the neurosurgeon said. The one thing I had no plan for. Suddenly, getting to the hospital was all that mattered.<\/p>\n

Now, in pre-op, Jim wiped his eyes and kissed me. A nurse wheeled me into the OR. I was mostly out of it for the next two days. I regained consciousness in the ICU<\/a>, a tube down my throat. Something up my nose. More tubes coming out of my arms. Jim was there. He looked terrified. He turned to talk to a doctor, but with all the medication I was on I couldn\u2019t grasp what anyone was saying. What\u2019s wrong? <\/em>Later I learned that, while the tumor had been successfully removed and wasn\u2019t cancerous, I had aspirated saliva in my sleep and contracted a serious case of bilateral pneumonia.<\/p>\n

On top of that, I wouldn\u2019t be able to speak or swallow, not even a sip of water, while my brain stem healed from the surgery. My body was so weak, i could barely move. But my brain was in overdrive. Who was checking on Marre and making sure she wasn\u2019t on her phone but doing her homework? Family and friends were watching the kids when Jim was with me, but they didn\u2019t know my routine. Did I tell someone to put a Pull-Up on Patrick before bed? Did Jim remember the Xbox had to be locked up so Jack wouldn\u2019t be on it all week?<\/p>\n

I couldn\u2019t tell anyone; I couldn\u2019t talk. It was maddening. The pneumonia was making me sicker. A suction tube in my mouth made sure not a single drop of saliva could escape. The breathing tube made me feel as if I were suffocating. The kids weren\u2019t allowed in the ICU. I missed them. And I worried they were trashing our house. I felt helpless. I wanted to scream. But of course I couldn\u2019t.<\/p>\n

I was praying as I never had before<\/a>. Why wasn\u2019t God responding? I was doing my part. What was the holdup?<\/p>\n

After about a week, my brother Paul brought me a clipboard and a black Sharpie. I grabbed the pen and wrote a long list of instructions. When I was done, I showed it to Jim. He squinted. \u201cWhat is this?\u201d he said.<\/p>\n

I looked at what I\u2019d written. With my brain stem still healing, my hand-eye coordination was a mess. My list was totally incomprehensible. I couldn\u2019t stand it. I threw the clipboard against the wall. \u201cI know this is awful for you,\u201d Jim said. \u201cBut the kids and I are handling things at home. Seriously. That\u2019s the last thing you need to worry about right now.\u201d<\/p>\n

My eyes met his. Who was he kidding? I pictured piles of pizza boxes scattered about the apartment. The sink full of dishes. Dirty laundry everywhere. That wasn\u2019t what bothered me most. I missed the little rug rats, their hugs with their greasy, grimy fingers, their hair that forever needed combing, Katie\u2019s riddles that made no sense, Marre\u2019s stories that went on and on. Things I\u2019d so often thought as annoyances, keeping me from getting the work of being a mother done.<\/p>\n

Slowly I grew well enough to stand and walk short distances with the help of a physical therapist. But I still couldn\u2019t eat or drink. The trach in my throat kept me from speaking. Every day, Jim came to visit and assured me he had things under control. He went over the plans for the week, what each of the kids was doing. He\u2019d mastered the after-school schedule. On top of that, he\u2019d made a detailed chart for when friends and family should visit each day, so I was never alone. This man who had made being a sloth into an art form. I saw him in an entirely new light. Like Winston Churchill in his war room. Only funnier.<\/p>\n

After about three weeks, I was strong enough to leave the hospital and come home. But I was mostly confined to bed. Still eating through a tube, breathing with the help of a machine.<\/p>\n

Jim, along with Sister Mary (a nun who happens to be an RN and a dear friend), led me into our apartment and to my waiting bed. The kids were out, so I could get settled first. Finally I heard the familiar sounds of their arrival. But I had to wait while they each took showers, per doctor\u2019s orders, for infection control.<\/p>\n

At last, the five of them stood awkwardly in front of my bed. A feast for my eyes. Seven-year-old Katie was like Florence Nightingale<\/a>, concerned about my temperature, my comfort. My four- and five-year-olds, Patrick and Michael, carried toy doctor kits and used their plastic instruments to assess my condition. Then they brought in gigantic shiny helium balloons that spelled out WE LOVE U!<\/p>\n

I was back. Not as executive producer of Team Gaffigan. But I didn\u2019t care. At least not the way I would have before the tumor. I was surrounded by love and family, and that\u2019s all that mattered. It had taken me literally not being able to move for God to get my attention, to show me my kids didn\u2019t need me to be the family showrunner. They needed a mom who would listen to their rambling stories, who would cuddle with them or watch a favorite TV show together. Go on a picnic in the park. Play Legos. Just be with them. I was ready to get started.<\/p>\n

But first I had to get well enough to get out of bed by myself, to breathe on my own. That took weeks\u2014a long, frustrating wait I didn\u2019t handle with grace. But every day I was reminded of how the kids were stepping up, helping with chores I had never delegated to them. Laundry was getting done. Meals were being made. Jim even let the older kids go on outings alone, taking the subway. Something I never let them do.<\/p>\n

So many times I wanted to take charge again, to direct the action, but I couldn\u2019t. Instead, I had to let go. It wasn\u2019t only my body that was getting stronger but my will, my desire, to make a change. To heal, not only physically but spiritually, and learn to trust God fully.<\/p>\n

Finally I was able to get about and speak again. My occupational therapist told me I was ready for something more challenging. \u201cTake on something meaningful to you,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n

I thought for a moment. There was so much I wanted to get to. \u201cCan I clean out my basement?\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

\u201cI was thinking more like making breakfast<\/a> for your kids,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n

Duh. The kids. I could see God looking down on me, thinking: What is it going to take for this woman to get it?<\/em><\/p>\n

I went to the fridge, got out a carton of eggs and began cracking them into a pan. I only lightly stir my scrambled eggs so they come out with big pockets of yolk and a few white pieces. This was my first time cooking since the tumor. Soon the apartment was filled with smell of cooking eggs and Katie sauntered into the kitchen.<\/p>\n

\u201cMommy, I love the way you make scrambled eggs,\u201d she said. \u201cYou don\u2019t make little crumbles like everybody else does.\u201d<\/p>\n

I beamed. \u201cKatie, would you like me to teach you how to make them?\u201d She pulled up a chair next to the stove. I showed her how to crack the eggs, then push the edges into the middle of the pan and fold them on top of each other. She quickly mastered it. Wonderful. Lesson finished.<\/p>\n

\u201cMom, now can you teach me how to make a sunny-side up?\u201d she asked. In my mind, I heard what I would have said pre-tumor, What do you think this is, Denny\u2019s? I have to clean out the basement.<\/em><\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019d love to,\u201d I said. And that\u2019s what we did.\n<\/p>\n

For more inspiring stories, subscribe to <\/em>Guideposts<\/strong><\/a> magazine<\/em>.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

A knock on the door. My hand squeezed Jim\u2019s. This is really happening. 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