Ayis A. Caperonis
My name is Ayis, and my story is about how God held on to me when my life fell apart at thirteen. I grew up in Switzerland as the son of an Olympic swimmer. My dad competed for Switzerland in the 1964 and 1968 Olympic Games, and I dreamed of following his example.
I loved running, soccer, and tennis. I trusted my body the way a young athlete does—I thought it would always be strong. Then the headaches started. They came on the right side of my head, sharp and rhythmic, and they kept getting worse.
A respected doctor in Lausanne said they were just migraines. No scans, no tests. Meanwhile, my vision blurred, my balance slipped, and I started to feel like a stranger in my own body.
After we moved to the south of France, an eye doctor in Saint-Tropez finally saw what was really happening. He noticed bleeding in the back of my eyes and sent us urgently to the hospital in Lausanne. There, they discovered a large brain tumor on the right side of my head—about the size of an orange. I was only thirteen and a half.
The surgery was long and very risky, but no one told me that at the time. My parents and the doctors protected me from how serious it was. I went into the operation with high spirits, believing this was just something to get through. Looking back, I think that childlike confidence was one of the reasons I survived.
When I woke up, the shock came slowly. I saw myself in the mirror in physiotherapy. I was in a bed with bars so I wouldn’t fall. I couldn’t walk. I couldn’t control my eyes. I couldn’t feed myself. My motor skills were like those of a baby. That is when I truly realized how serious it had been.
Soon after, I spent one week in a rehabilitation school in Hyères. There, I met children with even harder disabilities, who still smiled and worked every day. Their courage changed me. I surrendered my life to God in a new way and promised to do my best every day, whether I “succeeded” or not.
The years that followed included a long battle with depression, but also many unexpected gifts: finishing school, earning a master’s degree, meeting my wife Elvi, and becoming a father of three. Many times along the way, my prayer has been very simple: “Lord, help me. Lord, don’t let go.”
I didn’t become the athlete I imagined. But I am still here, kept by grace. And if you are still here too, there is hope. Your story is not over. God is holding you, even when your hands are too weak to hold on to Him.
