Some days are just better than others… and this was one of them—mostly! 😄
How could anyone feel sad surrounded by all this beauty? Nassau is bursting with vibrant flowers and blooming trees right now—and don’t even get me started on that water. Ooooh la la! That crystal blue is straight out of a dream. I spent a glorious stretch floating in the ocean, totally pain-free (what a gift!)… but let’s just say the ache came back with a vengeance. I’m moving slow now and running on a cocktail of pain meds. Honestly, I wish I could sleep right out there in the waves—talk about second heaven!
Here’s how the day started: Up at 2 AM and out the door by 3. The hotel A/C barely worked, so it was a sweaty, restless night with just a couple hours of sleep. We got to the airport 2.5 hours early, only to find that Delta’s assistance desk didn’t open till 3:30 AM—and wheelchair services didn’t start till 4. So… we waited.
Then came the ol’ airport shuffle. I’ve got TSA PreCheck, but Sean doesn’t—so we braved the regular line together. Boarded the first flight, only to find the A/C wasn’t much better there either (seriously, universe?). Arrived in Atlanta early, but with just a 52-minute layover, it was go time. My wheelchair assistant—Sean guessed she was about 60—had no time for bathroom breaks. We jumped on the Plane Train from Terminal A to F (thank goodness it was working; walking it would’ve taken 45 minutes!). We made it to the gate with maybe five minutes to spare.
As soon as I stepped on that 737, I bee-lined it to the bathroom—and wowza, those things are tiny! I was touching both walls while sitting and nearly bumped my head trying to stand up. 😅
Arrived in Nassau and had a super sweet wheelchair assistant who told us there are 700 islands in the Bahamas—did you know that?? Met a pirate (naturally!), grabbed a taxi, and made our way to the Grand Hyatt Baha Mar.
Our room was ready (hallelujah!), and my scooter was waiting. We cranked the A/C down to 67°, flopped down, and just soaked in the peace for a while. Around 4 PM, we met up with our group—so many hugs and happy reunions! After catching up, I got back in that gorgeous water, then came up to shower, and now? This girl is wiped out and ready for bed.
Yesterday was my follow-up appointment for the MRIs I had done recently. I’ll be honest—I was nervous. I’ve been told so many times in the past that “there’s nothing wrong” or that the pain is “all in my head.” And every time I hear that, I want to shout, “No, it’s not in my head—it’s in my spine!” But like a good girl, I bite my tongue.
The doctor walked into the room and said, “Mrs. Nightingale! You look good!” (I always wonder what that even means…) Anyway, we got to talking and started going over the imaging.
First, we discussed my sacroiliac joint fusions from last year. I told him about the pain in my right hip—how it feels like a rubber band tightening when I walk. Some days I can make it a block without too much pain, and other days I can barely get from my chair to the bathroom without tears. He said that was actually expected—he sees this kind of “flip-flop” pain often, where one side gets overworked as I try to protect the other. That may go on for another 6 months or so.
Then we moved on to the shooting pain and numbness down my left leg. He said it could be related to the SI joint fusion, but there’s also a bulging disc pressing on my spinal cord. Still, he doesn’t want to jump straight to surgery.
Next, he asked about my mid-back. He touched the area where I had a fusion in December 2022. That spot actually doesn’t hurt—but just above it, about two finger widths higher, the pain is awful when I sit in a hard chair, stand too long, or walk. It takes my breath away. He looked at my thoracic MRIs and confirmed there’s a ruptured disc pressing on the cord. Again, he doesn’t want to rush into surgery unless absolutely necessary.
Then came the neck. I already have three fusions: C3-4, C4-5, and C6-7. I told him my arms sometimes go numb, even in positions where they shouldn’t. Sometimes it’s my left side, sometimes my right—once I even had my right arm go completely dead while lying on my left side. He reviewed the imaging and, sure enough, another disc is pressing into the spinal canal.
He asked how many PT sessions I’d had—just four so far. He said that’s not enough and originally wanted to try a steroid injection, but I don’t tolerate those well. So instead, he wants me to increase PT, wear a neck brace for support, and follow up soon.
I also brought up how weak my hands and arms have been feeling. After examining me, he rated my arm strength at a 4 minus—which, for those who don’t know, means serious weakness, not just a little fatigue. That clearly got his attention. He ordered a CT scan to better look at the bone structure in my neck and spine and moved my follow-up to 1–2 months instead of the usual 4–5.
And at one point, he looked at me with this half-sigh and said, “Well, you just have not been blessed with good cartilage.” Not exactly a blessing I’d hoped for—but at least now I understand more of what’s going on.
But here’s what stuck with me most. Throughout the appointment, he repeated something that brought tears to my eyes: “Your pain is REAL. You have a structural problem that is causing this pain.”
Do you know how much that meant to hear? After years of being brushed off, that validation was everything.
My husband and wellness coach are helping me focus on healing from the inside out—working on weight loss, nutrition, and ways to support my body naturally. They’re hopeful we can avoid more surgeries… and while I’d love that too, I’m not holding my breath just yet.
With my cataracts recently done, I’ve now had something like 30 surgeries—including:
Wisdom teeth (yes, twice!)
Hernia repair
Complete hysterectomy
Gallbladder and appendix removal
8 spine surgeries
3 right shoulder surgeries
2 SI joint fusions
2 cataract surgeries
Tubal ligation
Lysis of adhesions
5 diagnostic laparotomies
A bleeding stomach ulcer repair …and I’m probably forgetting a few.
My mama always says I’ve had enough surgeries for several lifetimes—and she’s not wrong.
—
So yes, it’s been a long road—and it’s not over yet. But for the first time in a long while, I left an appointment feeling heard. Validated. My pain isn’t “all in my head.” It’s real. It has a name, a reason, and most importantly—it’s being taken seriously.
And that? That gave me peace.
I don’t know what the next steps will be. I’ll keep doing the work—physical therapy, healing from the inside out, bracing when needed, and leaning on the people who’ve been lifting me up when I can’t do it alone.
To those of you silently struggling, wondering if your pain is “real enough”—I see you. Your pain matters. YOU matter.
If nothing else, remember this: You don’t need to prove your pain to anyone. You deserve to be heard and helped.
And I’ll keep blooming, one day at a time, like the bluebonnet in the sunshine.
There’s something undeniably beautiful about snow—when it’s gently falling outside the window, blanketing the world in white like a quiet little miracle. I love the look of it.
But feeling it? That’s another story.
Cold weather, and I have never been good friends. As the temperature drops, my body seems to protest louder than usual. My joints ache, my back stiffens up like an old barn door, and I start to move a whole lot slower—partly because everything hurts and partly because I’m trying not to slip and fall. I walk gingerly, like I’m tiptoeing across glass, because one misstep could mean days of extra pain.
Even my teeth get in on the drama—chattering like I’ve stepped into a freezer I never signed up for!
So yes, give me twinkling snowflakes and cozy blankets by the fire. But also give me caution, warmth, and a whole lot of grace when winter shows up.
Because the cold may bite—but I’ll keep showing up, carefully and bravely, one chilly step at a time.
Sparkling Escapades Abroad with the Fairy Bra Mother 