As a young teen, my life looked perfect from the outside. I had a great group of friends, endless activities, and a loving family. But in the quiet, in the moments when I was alone, my body hurt. Every part of me ached. I complained to my mom, who tirelessly took me to doctor after doctor, yet each time, I was told it was psychological—depression, anxiety. The questioning from medical professionals made me question myself. It was painful not just physically but emotionally, to be dismissed at such a young age.
Eventually, in my late teens, I was diagnosed with endometriosis after having my period for several years. On paper, this seemed like the answer. Doctors used it to explain my severe body aches and fatigue, yet deep down, I knew something else was wrong. Despite this, I pushed through high school and college, putting my health on the back burner. I was determined to be “normal” and happy—and in many ways, I achieved that goal.
After college, I married a man who was both physically and emotionally abusive—a chapter I could write volumes about. He became the father of my beautiful daughter, Sophia. Her birth was smooth, but the days that followed were not. I grew sicker by the day, battling high fevers, relentless body aches, chills, and extreme fatigue. Finally, a year after Sophia was born, I received a diagnosis that changed everything: SLE, or systemic lupus erythematosus.
Fast forward three years: I was thriving in my career, loving motherhood, and hiding the abuse and sickness from the world. A work opportunity took me on a ski trip, a brief escape from my husband. But the trip ended in disaster—a tibia and fibula fracture on the slopes. I was airlifted to Oregon Health Sciences University for surgery, the first of eleven operations over the next decade, all aimed at saving my right leg and restoring its function.
Those years of healing took a toll on my body and immune system. Standard medications weren’t enough to control my lupus. My immune system, meant to protect me, began attacking nearly every organ. Aggressive steroids helped preserve my kidney function but left my bones frail and my immune system weakened. I endured four bone infections in ten years, while chronic pain and failed fractures reminded me constantly of the impossible choices I faced: stop the steroids and risk organ failure, or continue and endure excruciating pain.
It was overwhelming, especially as a young mom. Yet I held tightly to my faith, mostly for Sophia. I longed to give her a normal childhood. I reminded myself of Proverbs 31:25: “Strength and dignity are her clothing, and she smiles at the future.” This verse became my lifeline, guiding me through unimaginable physical and emotional storms.
For years, I begged to have my leg amputated. Doctors always had another plan—a new procedure, a new hope. I felt trapped in a cycle of pain while my body became a science experiment to the medical world. Leaving my marriage was the first step toward reclaiming emotional and physical freedom.
On my own, as a single mom, I began to fight for my health with renewed determination. With the support of my loving family and generous friends, I started rebuilding a life filled with goals and hope. My career flourished, and I met my soulmate, Kenneth. He embraced me and Sophia without hesitation, never questioning my complex health issues. It was Kenneth who encouraged us to seek care beyond the Pacific Northwest, recognizing we had not received the treatment and answers we desperately needed.
In 2013, Kenneth married me and Sophia, and we began monthly trips to Los Angeles for my care. Specialists there addressed my orthopedic, gastrointestinal, neurological issues, and my lupus. For two years, we flew between Portland and L.A., battling medical challenges together. In April 2019, I was hospitalized for severe malnutrition and adrenal insufficiency. A feeding tube became necessary, and I received intensive treatment for my lupus. One doctor’s words remain with me: “If you return to Oregon, your life will be in jeopardy.” From that moment, we made Southern California our home, leaving a decade of friends behind.
Life remained intense. My leg pain persisted while undergoing endless tests, treatments, and specialist visits. Yet I discovered the key to staying positive: gratitude and joy. Despite my illnesses, I counted my blessings—a loving husband, a beautiful daughter, a spirited beagle, a supportive family, and the gift of creating art. My faith in Jesus became the cornerstone of my joy, far surpassing the challenges of this world.
Then came COVID. During yet another hospitalization, I revisited the idea of amputation. After a decade of unrelenting pain, I realized my leg had become more of a prison than a limb. In November 2020, I had my leg amputated. That day, terrifying as it was, became liberating. Today, I navigate life with a prosthetic on good days and my power wheelchair on the others. Both have given me freedom I once thought impossible.
I am not perfect. I have hard days filled with tears and frustration. But I also have immeasurable joy. My village—my husband, daughter, family, and friends—has been my unwavering support system, helping me live a fulfilled life as a chronically ill, disabled mom and wife.
Every day is a battle to maintain my health: strict nutrition, IV treatments, medications, occupational and physical therapy, weekly labs, specialist visits, and learning to use a prosthetic. It’s exhausting, overwhelming, and relentless. Yet, I find motivation in love—the love I have for Sophia, Kenneth, and my village. I fight for milestones I want to share with them: Sophia’s prom, graduation, first love, anniversaries with Kenneth, adventures, laughter, and joy. Love, faith, and gratitude are my anchors.
Through it all, I have learned the most important lesson: even in the face of chronic illness, pain, and adversity, life can be filled with beauty, laughter, and love. These moments, small and large, keep me moving forward, keep me fighting, and remind me that I am stronger than I ever imagined.
