Musings from the Strongest Mom in Town

I’ve been hospitalized 10 times since 2020. But I don’t see myself—and won’t ever call myself—a sick person.

In early 2022, right before a surgery that turned into an unexpected multi-week hospital stay, I was running on the treadmill. My son, who was 8 at the time, told me he wanted to take a picture because I looked like “the strongest mom in town.”

The photo my son took of the "strongest mom in town".

I think about that moment a lot. That’s how he sees me. And it’s how I want to see myself.

When I recently added up my hospitalizations, it caught me off guard. I know the past few years have been hard on my health—but I refuse to be defined by it. Influenced by it? Absolutely. Defined by it? Never.

Still, when something like a bowel obstruction or abscess hits out of nowhere, I want to go into it as strong as possible. Strength helps me heal. It helps me come back—to be the mom and the person I expect myself to be.

Nutrition has been a long, complicated battle for me. For 20 years, I’ve cycled through the same 20–30 pounds depending on what my health was doing. Last fall, after another round of steroids, I hit my highest weight—and my breaking point. So in December, I hired a trainer. And it’s changed everything.

I’ve been eating real, nourishing, high-protein food. I’ve cut out most processed foods—and my body makes it very clear when I don’t. For the first time in years, I’ve felt truly healthy. Strong. Clear. Which is why, two weeks ago, when I ended up back in the hospital with my first obstruction in over a year, I felt blindsided. And honestly… frustrated.

A surprise bowel obstruction in March 2026

This one was different. The pain showed up in a new place. The usual treatments didn’t work. What finally did was a heavy dose of IV steroids—followed by more at home (and steroids are almost as bad as the obstruction itself).

I got home just over a week ago. The very next morning, I was back to taking my son to school. By Tuesday night, I was at diving practice. I caught up on work. I kept moving.

Because slowing down doesn’t come naturally to me. Last week, I pushed, crashed, napped, and got back up to do it all again.

Then last night, sitting at diving practice, I felt awful—nauseous, shaky, just off. I was so frustrated with my body. My husband gently reminded me: I was only a week out from a five-day hospital stay. Maybe I’m not at 100% yet. And he’s right. Even if I don’t like it.

I think a lot about how we only get one shot at this life. I can let Crohn’s tell my story—or I can tell it myself. Crohn’s might be a recurring character. Sometimes even a loud one. But it’s not the author. The story I want to remember is the love, the laughter, the trips, the food, the wine, the snuggles. The full, messy, beautiful life. Not the NG tubes. Not the IVs. Not the pain. Those are part of the tapestry—but they aren’t the story.

The story is this: I’m still chasing what my son saw that day.

The strongest mom in town.