One Year Since Everything Changed

One year ago today, I woke up and it was kind of just like any other day. I went to work, came home, and got ready that afternoon to drive myself to a lash appointment. On the way, I almost got into a serious car accident. I was at a freeway entrance near my house, one I had used a million times, and for some reason, I turned in front of an oncoming truck.

That was when I knew something wasn’t right.

It felt like my brain was just… gone. My vision was weird. I was having a hard time focusing. It felt like some strange form of vertigo. But I dismissed it. I figured I was tired, stressed, and getting ready to leave on a trip, so I dealt with it and kept going.

As the days went on, though, I realized more and more that something was wrong. I was struggling to walk. I was struggling with stairs. My balance was terrible. I was having sensory issues I’d never experienced before. I knew I needed to see a doctor when I got home. When I returned, I made the decision to stop driving because I simply didn’t feel like it was safe anymore.

Then came the doctors and emergency room visits. At first, we wondered if I could have a blood clot from flying, although that didn’t make much sense because my symptoms had started before I ever got on the plane. Still, we needed to rule out something like a pulmonary embolism.

Then things got worse. I started having non-epileptic seizures, which led us back to the emergency room to make sure there wasn’t a brain tumor or epilepsy causing everything. There wasn’t. I left without answers, frustrated, scared, and still sick. More often than not, I was told it was anxiety and that I should see a therapist.

One year ago today began the fight of my life, not just fighting for my life, but fighting to get my life back.

Without my support system, and without learning how to advocate for myself, I would be in a far worse place than I am today.

So, true to myself, I’m taking today to be mad, to be sad, but mostly to celebrate. I’m celebrating the things I have done for myself and the things I am proud of accomplishing over this past year. And since so many of you have become part of my support system and have followed me throughout this whole endeavor, I thought I should share them with you.

It is especially common for women, but I think increasingly common for a lot of people, to be dismissed when something doesn’t have an obvious answer, especially with how strained our healthcare system has become.

You get bounced between specialists because every doctor thinks your problem belongs to somebody else. You end up stuck in a vicious cycle, still sick and without answers. But I knew something was wrong. I knew something neurological was happening. I knew I needed a neurologist. I knew I needed answers.

So I fought to get there. I sat on waiting lists. I kept making appointments. I kept showing up.

Eventually, I made it to the University of Washington, and that ultimately led to diagnoses, answers, and treatment.

I wish the answers weren’t POTS and multiple sclerosis. I wish there had been some simple explanation and an easy fix. But there is an incredible difference between knowing something is wrong and finally knowing what is wrong.

Getting the wheelchair itself was relatively easy because I had a great primary care provider who listened to me. Dealing with insurance and getting everything else I actually needed? That was a pain in the butt. Eventually, I raised money through GoFundMe to get the mobility attachment I needed to try to get some of my life back because insurance wouldn’t cover it.

But the thing I’m most proud of isn’t actually getting the equipment. It’s admitting that I needed it. I can say from experience that one of the very last things you expect to do at the ripe old age of 26 is get a wheelchair.

You grow up hearing that your twenties are supposed to be some of the best years of your life. You’re supposed to be young, active, independent, traveling, working, building your life and doing whatever you want to do.

Having your body suddenly stop cooperating with those plans hurts. Losing independence hurts. Not being able to rely on your own body hurts. My body hurts.

But I’ve also learned to love my wheelchair. My wheelchair has afforded me so much life, freedom, and mobility that I simply would not have otherwise. Yes, it can be a pain in the butt. Everything takes extra planning. Accessibility is an issue. Things take longer. But I am so incredibly grateful for it.

My wheelchair didn’t take away my independence, it gave some of it back.

I was raised to be very independent. I’m also a helper. I don’t like asking other people for things.

I know everyone else has things happening in their lives, too, and I’ve always hated the idea of taking away time, money, or energy that someone else might need.

But where I was a year ago, and even where I am today, I needed help. Adam and I both needed help. We needed help around our house. We needed help with my care. We needed help getting to appointments. We needed help financially and asking for financial help was by far the hardest.

But I’m so grateful to every single person who contributed, showed up, drove me somewhere, checked on us, helped around the house, donated, shared something, sent a message, or supported us in ways big and small.

You helped give me some of my life back.

I’m writing this using voice-to-text because, unfortunately, my hands don’t work the way they used to. I could never physically type this much anymore. But I’m still writing it. I’m still sharing. I’m still putting my story out there with the hope that maybe it will help someone else. Maybe someone will recognize themselves in my story. Maybe someone will feel encouraged to keep fighting for the care they deserve. Maybe someone will feel a little less alone.

That is something I’m extremely proud of because staying positive has not always been easy. This last year has felt like blow after blow after blow. I became chronically ill. I got laid off. I went on unemployment. I was hospitalized. I got kicked out of school. I lost unemployment after being hospitalized. And there have been countless physical struggles, bureaucratic battles, appointments, forms, phone calls, setbacks, and moments that absolutely destroyed my morale.

But with the help of the people in my life and the online community I’ve created and joined, I’ve managed to keep pushing forward. And hopefully, somewhere along the way, I’ve helped somebody else push forward, too.

There are so many other accomplishments I could list, but I think these four encapsulate what I’m most proud of from this past year.

Today is a sad anniversary.

I haven’t driven in almost a year. My life looks completely different than it did when I woke up on August 13, 2025. There are things I have lost that I still grieve, and there are things about my old life that I desperately miss. I wish I didn’t have POTS. I wish I didn’t have MS. I wish none of this had happened.

But August 13, 2026 also looks very different from August 13, 2025 in another way:

I have answers. I have treatment. I have mobility devices that help me experience the world. I have people who believe me. I understand my body better. I’ve learned how to advocate for myself. I’ve built a community I never expected to have.

And most importantly, I’m still here.

Chronic illness is something I will live with for the rest of my life. It will be ever-changing and, quite frankly, forever a pain in the ass. But I know I’m going to make it through. I hope I’ll be able to come back here every August 13 and tell you what another year has taught me.

This is a life I never wanted and certainly never asked for. But it’s mine. And I’m going to make the best of it.

For those of you who have been following along and have ever seen Adam and me together, you probably already know that he has been my rock and someone I genuinely could not live without, for many, many reasons.

What you may not know is that when all of this started, we weren’t married yet. We had been together for almost five years and our wedding was only a couple of months away. During that window between August and our wedding day, I gave him an out over and over again.

We didn’t know what was wrong with me. We didn’t know if I was going to get better. We didn’t know what our lives were going to look like. But I knew whatever was happening wasn’t going to be easy, and I loved him enough that I didn’t want him to feel like he had to sign up for a life he hadn’t agreed to.

But every single time, he chose me.

He was there through every ER visit, every doctor’s appointment, every terrifying new symptom, every almost-911 call, and every moment when neither of us knew what the hell was happening. He loved me. He cared for me. He advocated for me. He picked up the pieces when I couldn’t. And then, on our wedding day, when he stood across from me and said “in sickness and in health,” by God, he meant it.

There are a million reasons I am grateful for him, but after this year, I don’t think I will ever be able to fully put into words what it means to know that when my entire life changed, my person stayed beside me through all of it.

So yes, one more thing I’m extremely proud of the fact that:

I bagged an absolute babe, and I get to wake up next to my best friend every day.

I am eternally grateful for him, and beyond proud to call him my husband.