Before illness entered my life, I was simply living.
Like most people, I believed tomorrow would look a lot like today. I had dreams for my future, responsibilities to manage, and people I loved. My days were filled with work, family, routines, and the ordinary moments that often go unnoticed until they are gone.
Back then, I never gave much thought to my health.
I woke up each morning expecting my body to cooperate with my plans.
I didn't worry about doctor's appointments, test results, medications, or diagnoses. I had no idea how precious those assumptions were.
At the time, I worked full-time in technical support for a telecommunications company. It was demanding work, but I enjoyed helping people solve problems. Every day brought new challenges, and I took pride in being dependable. I showed up, worked hard, and did my best to provide for my family.
My family was the center of my world.
Everything I did was connected to them.
I looked forward to birthdays, holidays, graduations, family dinners, and quiet evenings spent together. Like many women, I spent most of my time caring for everyone else. Their needs came first. Their happiness mattered most.
I wasn't thinking about chronic illness.
I wasn't preparing for surgeries.
I wasn't imagining a future filled with hospital rooms and specialists.
Those realities belonged to someone else's story.
Not mine.
At least that's what I believed.
Looking back now, I realize how much I took for granted.
The ability to make plans without wondering whether I would physically be able to keep them.
The ability to go through a day without pain.
The confidence that tomorrow would arrive without fear.
At the time, those things seemed ordinary.
Today, I understand they were extraordinary gifts.
Yet even in those years, subtle changes had begun.
At first, they were easy to dismiss.
A little more fatigue than usual.
A little more exhaustion after work.
Sleepless nights that seemed to come from nowhere.
A body that didn't feel quite right.
I blamed stress.
I blamed work.
I blamed getting older.
I convinced myself that everyone felt this way.
After all, life was busy.
Who had time to stop and investigate every ache or symptom?
So I kept moving.
I kept working.
I kept caring for everyone around me.
I kept pretending everything was fine.
But deep inside, something felt different.
I couldn't explain it.
I couldn't put a name to it.
I only knew that my body was beginning to whisper.
I didn't understand then that those whispers were warnings.
I didn't know they were the first pages of a story that would change my life forever.
If someone had told me what was coming, I would have struggled to believe them.
Multiple sclerosis.
lupus.
A heart attack.
Brain aneurysms.
Surgeries.
Fear.
Grief.
Recovery.
Purpose.
None of those words existed in my vision of the future.
Yet every one of them would become part of my story.
And somehow, through every battle, every diagnosis, every tear, and every prayer, I would discover a strength I never knew I possessed.
The woman I was then had dreams.
The woman I would become would need courage.
And the journey between those two women was about to begin.