Echoes by Dana

Unchained. Unmasked. Unfiltered. Unapologetically me.

Category: Lyme

  • Chasing Dawn on the Highway

    The rearview holds the sickness; the headlights chase the future.

    It’s pitch black outside, the kind of darkness that feels heavier than silence. The clock reminds me it’s the sacred hour when most people are still tangled in their dream worlds,  but not me. No, I’m already on the highway, chasing the horizon, 300 kilometers to go before my 9 a.m. appointment with my Lyme specialist.

    Because I’m chronically early (and chronically late in my head), I always begin these trips with a buffer. I’d rather sit waiting for an hour in the doctor’s parking lot than arrive ten minutes late. That doubt already crept into my dreams last night. Did I even write down the right date? So at 3 a.m., I shuffled to my diary, found the slip from last time, and exhaled in relief. The date is right. Off we go.

    As always, I ride as the self-proclaimed passenger princess. My royal duties? Managing the map, curating the playlist, and distributing snacks. It’s a noble job description, though in reality, it mostly means keeping us entertained while the kilometers stretch on. Somewhere between the laughter, the yawns, and the coffee sips, I have to remind myself: I am blessed. Even in the storm, even when life feels impossible, I am enough, we are enough in this moment riding togheter to a doctors appointment.

    I watch as we pass car after car, their headlights fading into the rearview mirror. And it strikes me: this is what healing feels like. Every vehicle left behind is another layer of illness, another stubborn bacteria shrinking in the distance. The road is long, but each kilometer carries me further from sickness and closer to myself. Even when I feel drained, hopeless, and exhausted, I’m still in motion — and that’s what matters. At least now I know what I’m fighting.

    A big thank you to my bestie for the pep talk this weekend, you reminded me I’m still one step ahead in this game.

    Now I sit in the dark car, the two of us moving together through the night. The car feels like a capsule of light, floating through the vast blackness, and I’m grateful I don’t drift through it alone. Even when our relationship feels heavy, even when we stumble, we still find a way to steer forward, together.

    Blessed doesn’t even cover it.

    The night may be heavy, but dawn is always certain.

  • Ode to a Couch

    These days, my life has a center of gravity, and it’s upholstered. The couch. Not my first choice, of course. My brain dreams of doing normal and energetic things, but my body prefers a more stubborn script: hijack the plot, reroute the action, and land me right back in the arms of my faithful sofa.

    And honestly? The couch is a loyal companion. It knows how to cradle you when you’re at your lowest, how to press you gently into its cushions until you finally surrender. It doesn’t ask for explanations. It just holds. Today, as muscle pain and exhaustion raised their little victory flags, I let the couch claim me. Netflix played in the background, but really, the couch was the star of the show.

    After a while, I migrated, like a tired bird, to the garden couch. A softer kind of exile. I carried a cappuccino as if it were a sacred offering, and instead of TV, I tuned into a different kind of cinema: my dog, basking in the sun, playing the role of “enlightened sage in fur coat.”

    It’s been a month of rollercoasters, highs, lows, corkscrews, and the occasional emotional free-fall. But today? No expectations. Tomorrow will be what it wants to be. For now, I am here. Breathing. Rooted in cushions, shaded by September light. And sometimes, this is enough.