Brain Aneurysm Foundation

I'm fundraising for the Brain Aneurysm Foundation! 

OUR MISSION: To promote early detection of brain aneurysms by providing knowledge and raising awareness of the signs, symptoms and risk factors. Work with the medical communities to provide support networks for patients and families, as well as to further research that will improve patient outcomes and save lives.

Through your support, the Brain Aneurysm Foundation will be able to continue to provide support and educational materials and information to brain aneurysm patients, their families, and the medical community and to promote critical awareness of brain aneurysms which will lead to earlier detection. The Brain Aneurysm Foundation is funding essential research that will promote a better understanding of why this condition happens and identify those at risk before an aneurysm rupture occurs. 

Thank you for making a difference with your support! 

It was April 24, 2025, when I noticed a missed call from my older brother. He immediately called again and I answered only to have my world start to crumble the second I answered the call. He told me my mother was being med-flighted to a hospital in Boston and that she has a "subarachnoid brain aneurysm". At the time I didn't even understand the words he was saying, all I knew is I needed to get in my car and get to Boston as fast as possible. What should have been a long drive into the city seemed to flash by in moments. I remember parking my car and RUNNING into Beth Isreal Deaconess Hospital in Boston and rushing to the emergency department secretary. I explained I was here for my mother who was just brought via helicopter and before I knew it, I was fast-paced walking to find my mother. I was filled with unintentional blindness when I finally laid my eyes on her lying on a stretcher at the end of the corridor. I remember seeing and hearing one of the ER doctors lean over her and shout, "Judi, can you hear me?!" I panicked and hurried into the room and as I grabbed her hand I told her, "Mom, it's okay I am here. Kayla is here; everything will be okay." If I knew then what I know now, I wouldn't have lied to her. Although I was there, and she was still breathing on her own, nothing was okay, nor would it be. I remember one of the doctors pulling up images of a recent CT scan telling me that this was serious and my mom's life is in danger if they don't act immediately. I recall telling them, “Do whatever you need to, I can’t loose my mom, she is all I have.” Before I knew it a team of nurses came in and started to bring her to another room where they had explained to me that they needed to relieve the pressure on her brain before they could even attempt to coil off her aneurysm. I stood at the doorway as they began to part her hair to prep her for surgery. If I could go back in time, and had ten more seconds, I’d hug her and remind her once more how much I loved her. My mother was one of nine children, and I am the middle child of five. When word got out that my mom was in the ICU, nearly everyone showed up. Time stood still as we all waited for hours to get any word to how her surgery went. My sister, her healthcare proxy, held on to her phone and checked it almost every five minutes. We got an update around 7:30 that night I think, and we were crushed with more unbearable news. Not only was the aneurysm larger than expected, after the first surgery was a success, it began to bleed from a second point and whoever spoke to my sister categorized it as “catastrophic”. Regardless, no one was leaving the hospital until we could see her. Once we got the green light to go to the ICU, I remember grabbing my little sister's hand and trying to warn her that mom wasn’t going to be breathing on her own. I tried to prepare her for what she was possibly about to see. That there would be machines and tubes and IV lines attached to her, and that it could be very traumatic. Initially, the ICU nurses were only going to allow four visitors in her room at a time. By the end of the first night, we had about 10 of us all together surrounding my mom with hope and love. The second day we had a family meeting with the team of neurologists where I had the opportunity to ask questions for a better understanding as to what happened to my mom. I believe I was still in denial that she was never going to wake up. This was when we were told that a series of tests needed to be performed for her death to legally be declared a brain death. We prayed, we cried, we reminisced, and we cried some more. The doctors and nurses did what they could, but ultimately my mother would never recover from the rupture. My siblings and I never imagined a world without our mom. She was always our cheerleader, our best friend, and the one person we knew we could ALWAYS count on. I never did nor will I ever say goodbye to my mother, because although her life was cut shorter than expected from an aneurysm, she will always be with me. In loving memory of Judith Ann Caron (Oct. 19, 1961-April 25, 2025) 

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