I saw my doctor yesterday for my annual physical. I know I’ve said this before, but he’s the first doctor I’ve ever felt completely comfortable with—and one I actually look forward to seeing. For the most part, all is well. My weight loss continues to progress, my blood pressure has improved enough that he lowered my medication, and my A1C (the test that measures average glucose levels over the past 90 days) came in at 4.3. That’s not bad for a non-diabetic, though he’d prefer mine be closer to 4.7. He also suggested I contact the sleep clinic because I may no longer need my CPAP. When I was in the hospital back in the spring and couldn’t wear a mask, I didn’t snore and my oxygen levels never dropped below 90%.

I’d talk about where I was versus where I am now, but I’ll admit I’m embarrassed about how bad things once were. The truth is, I was very depressed during those first few years after moving to Vermont. Just six weeks after arriving here, a close friend who had always encouraged me died suddenly, and it felt like my whole world collapsed. I was 1,200 miles (or more) away from everyone I’d ever known. I missed my family. I missed the food I’d grown up with. I’d broken up with the only boyfriend I’d ever had because I couldn’t face a long-distance relationship. My health worsened as I turned to food for comfort. Susan helped me through those years, but there were still nights I cried myself to sleep.

Over time, though, I began to find my footing. I eventually made some wonderful friends in Vermont, and I leaned on the recipes my mama and grandmama had taught me, cooking the foods I’d grown up with—sometimes with a healthier twist. Little by little, life started to feel more like home again.

My doctor was one of the first people in Vermont to really help me turn things around. He diagnosed me as diabetic and worked with me until I became a diet-controlled diabetic who no longer needed medication. He kept at me until I finally gave in and went to the sleep clinic to deal with my sleep apnea. He worked with me on my depression, adjusted my diabetic medications until we found one that helped me lose weight, and sent me to the headache clinic at Dartmouth where I finally got relief from the migraines that had controlled my life for so long. They haven’t gone away, but they’re nowhere near as intense as they once were.

It’s been a ten-year journey, and I still have health issues to manage—my liver, my back, my migraines—but my overall health is so much better than it used to be. I owe that progress to the patience, persistence, and genuine care of my doctor. Sometimes, that care goes far beyond prescriptions or test results. They might even cry with you when you break down in their office because your mother has been diagnosed with dementia. My doctor’s mother was facing a similar decline, and in that moment, he truly understood the pain and worry I was carrying.

Through the lows and the highs, what I’ve found most of all is hope—hope that healing is possible, hope that progress continues, and hope that life can feel good again when you have the right care beside you.

Today is finally MRI day, and I’m both relieved and a little anxious. I had to be up earlier than usual this morning since my appointment at the hospital was at 6 a.m. Isabella didn’t seem to mind me stirring around at that hour—she was just happy to have breakfast a bit earlier. For weeks now my back has been bothering me, and while I’ve tried to push through the pain, it’s clear something isn’t right. Hopefully, the MRI will give me some answers and a clearer path forward. It’s one of those things where just knowing what’s going on will be a huge relief in itself.

Since I have the whole day off, I decided to make the most of it and head up to Burlington afterward. There are a few shoe stores there that carry some really nice options, and I’ve been needing a good pair of shoes for a while. It feels like a bit of a treat to mix something necessary with something enjoyable. After all, if I’m going to be dealing with back issues, I might as well do it in style with a comfortable (and hopefully sharp-looking) new pair of shoes.

The day is finally here—Botox day. Every twelve weeks I go in for my migraine shots, and as I’ve mentioned before, the relief usually wears off around week ten. These last two weeks have been especially rough. Because my boss has been difficult about my back issues (though she’s been a bit more sympathetic the last few days—sort of), I haven’t wanted to ask to leave early for a migraine. I know I shouldn’t worry about that, but I also don’t want to cause further tension. So, I’ve mostly just suffered in silence.

Most people wouldn’t exactly look forward to 31–37 injections in one sitting—especially when they’re all over your head, neck, and shoulders. Honestly, though, it’s not that bad if the provider knows what they’re doing and keeps it quick and accurate. The only ones I truly dread are the shots in the back of my head; I’m told that’s because of the occipital nerve. It usually takes a couple of days before the relief sets in, but it’s worth every single poke.

If nothing else, it’s made me pretty fearless about other shots. When I got my monkeypox vaccine, the nurse warned me, “Everyone says this one really stings, so just bear with me.” After it was done, she looked surprised and said, “You didn’t even flinch.” I just smiled and told her, “Honey, when you endure 37 Botox shots to the head every three months, this is a piece of cake.”

I hope your week’s treating you kindly so far—hang in there, we’ll get through it together.

Thank God today is my work-from-home day. I woke up with one of the worst migraines I’ve had in a while—the kind where the pain is so bad it brings on intense nausea. Honestly, it was almost bad enough that I forgot to write a post this morning. Hopefully, my meds will kick in soon so I can actually get something done today.

In the meantime, I hope everyone has a wonderful weekend!

I woke up this morning with a bad migraine. Sometimes, if I get up, take my morning medicines, and have a cup of coffee, the pain will ease enough to get through the day. Unfortunately, this is not one of those mornings.

I’ll wait until just after 6 a.m. to text my boss and let her know that I won’t be in. There are times when I can push through a mild migraine, but this one is anything but mild. I’m nauseated, and every movement makes the pain worse.

My back and leg are aching too, but they’re background noise compared to the pounding in my head. So today, I’m doing the only sensible thing I can do: calling in sick and going back to bed.

I do have physical therapy tomorrow morning, and maybe that will at least help improve my overall well-being. Here’s hoping tomorrow looks a little brighter.