For the last year, I have been struggling to write. In the summer of 2024, I published my first novel, Pyrrha’s Journey, and since then I have been plucking away at my second and third books in the trilogy, but I have made very little progress. I blame a great deal of this on my poor health.
Our health is something that we take for granted when it is good and lament when it is not. For the last few years, I have been struggling with aches and pains that seem to be both completely normal for my age and also debilitating. I don’t know when it started because migraines and menstrual problems have been a regular part of my identity since I was a teenager. They were better or worse based on other health factors, but they were persistent reminders of my humanness.
While living in Beijing, I met a miracle doctor. He had the power to cure my concerns with a few acupuncture needles. I would go to him nearly too sick to get out of bed, and I would be better after an appointment and a night of rest. Every six months or so, he would send me home with a magic potion filled with dried flowers, barks, and sometimes worms or scorpion tails. They set me right with each pungent sip of Chinese herbal medicine. After eight years of regular therapy, I was a changed human. However, when we returned to Michigan, such excellent care was not available in the rural town where we resettled.
Soon, health complaints returned to my daily life. I visited Western doctors who treated me as if it was normal to have weeks of cramps and headaches. Finally, a CT scan revealed an abnormal tumor in my abdomen, and I was immediately scheduled to see a gynecologic oncologist who removed my uterus and the extra blob in December of 2024. As I healed from the surgery, I hoped that the partial hysterectomy would also minimize my migraines and other aches and pains.
But that was not to be.
The year following the surgery, I healed and hoped for a new lease on life. However, it was a slow recovery—though my wounds healed quickly, my energy levels never rebounded. I was lethargic. I couldn’t think clearly. I lacked motivation for even the things that I wanted to do. Was I depressed? No. I was decidedly happy but not physically healthy. So what was wrong with me? Back to the doctor’s office I went in search of answers.
Was it menopause? Was it that normal change that happens when women pass into the second half of their lives? My doctor watched me and questioned me and researched my symptoms. She called for tests and requested I see specialists. It was expensive, but I trusted her, and I trusted the process.
Finally, after six months of investigating, I was diagnosed with moderate to severe sleep apnea. I was literally not breathing when I slept, which caused me to have fascinating dreams and horrifying nightmares. It made my migraines horrendous because my brain was oxygen deprived, and my muscles were tired from not having fully rested.
I have been sleeping with a CPAP machine for six weeks, and I am doing so much better than before. I have energy. I have thoughts. I have motivation. I am regaining my health. I cannot expect that the damage caused over several years to be resolved with a few good nights of sleep—but it is helping.
This long saga about all of my health concerns is to say this—poor health takes its toll on our bodies and minds. The energy we spend on trying to live with our ailments is energy that we do not have for our creative endeavors. We do need to take care of our health, but many of the solutions to our health problems are out of our immediate control. We must consult experts and try new things.
Maybe the moral of the story is to pursue our health like we pursue creative endeavors: be persistent and strive to make things better until the end.
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