Echoes by Dana

Unchained. Unmasked. Unfiltered. Unapologetically me.

Category: Lyme

  • How to Zombie-Walk Through September

    It’s been almost two months since I last remembered what “normal” feels like. Normal has packed its bags, left a note on the fridge, and hasn’t been seen since. Meanwhile, sickness has moved in, kicked off its shoes, and made itself at home, winning battle after battle while I mostly merge into the fabric of the couch like some forgotten throw pillow.

    This afternoon I surrendered completely, drifting into sleep in a half-hearted attempt to outwit the pain in my hands. Not the polite “ache” kind of pain, but the sort of bone-cracking, medieval-torture-chamber pain that makes you wonder if someone swapped your skeleton with IKEA parts.

    But then came the tiny savior. A whining sausage dog, determined, stubborn, and absolutely immune to my theatrics. With a sigh, I peeled myself off the couch like leftover pizza from foil, and followed her out into the evening.

    And there, limping behind a dog who believes she’s the reincarnation of a wolf, I became a zombie in the September sun. The fields stretched golden, the clouds puffed up like cotton candy at a carnival, and for a moment, even my complaining bones shut up to watch.

    Tomorrow may not be better. But it also might. And sometimes, that tiny “might” is enough to keep shuffling forward.

  • The Circle of Life, Highway Edition

    If someone gave me a frequent flyer card for doctor visits and hospital runs, I’d probably be platinum status by now. Yesterday was my checkup. Today, 600 km for my daughter’s orthopedic rehab stay. My car isn’t just a car anymore, it’s basically a second home with better snacks.

    And once again, I’ve assumed my rightful role: the passenger princess, keeper of music playlists, snack distributor, and self-declared master of maps (okay, Google Maps is the real hero, but let me have this).

    Yesterday the drive was filled with noise in my head, questions, reflections, that whole mental merry-go-round of “how was last month?” and “what’s next for me?” But today, it’s silence. Heavy silence. The kind that makes your chest ache, because my little partner-in-crime won’t be home for a month. Who’s going to walk the dog with me? Who’s going to show me the latest obscure rock band she’s found? Who’s going to casually drop bizarre facts into our day, like “did you know lobsters pee out of their faces?”

    Leaving her there tears me apart, but at the same time, I’m grateful, she’s stepping forward on her path to healing, and that’s worth every mile.

    Back on the highway, I notice how different it feels from yesterday. Yesterday was darkness, today is light. A poetic shift, as if the road itself is reminding me.

    Somewhere between the coffee stops and snack breaks, my brain does what it does best, turns the highway into an analogy. Every car we pass? That’s a life experience. The ones behind us are already conquered challenges, stories now in the rearview mirror. The ones ahead are future struggles, waiting to be overtaken. And just like on the road, sometimes you need to floor the pedal to blast past, other times you glide by effortlessly.

    This past year has been like an endless traffic jam of challenges, some required me to push the pedal to the max, others just a steady pace. But looking back at the miles I’ve covered, I can honestly say: I’m proud. Proud of my resilience, and of how much I’ve learned about my body, how it reacts, what it needs, and what it can actually handle. I was already living fairly healthy, but this journey has nudged me to go deeper, to pay attention in ways I never did before.

    And the crown jewel? I quit smoking, six whole months smoke-free. That’s half a year of not lighting up, half a year of proving to myself that I can leave bad habits in the rearview mirror. Paired with my steady sauna pit stops, it feels like I’ve finally shifted into a healthier gear, one that’s carrying me further than I thought possible.

    So here I am, watching the road, queuing songs, cracking jokes, and letting life unfold one kilometer at a time. The cars behind me are my past battles. The ones ahead are future challenges. But right here, in this moment, the road feels open, bright, and strangely full of possibility.

    And that, for today, is enough.