Hope Against the Odds

When I was twenty-eight, I was diagnosed with a severe autoimmune disease. The news was crushing, and it changed everything about the way I thought my life would go. After months of tests, treatments, and constant worry, I was told something even harder to hear: “You shouldn’t even consider having children. Your disease is too advanced.” It felt unfair and deeply painful. My husband and I had always imagined a family. Despite the risk, we decided we wanted to try.

Pregnancy was difficult, and the uncertainty weighed on me, but when I finally held my baby girl, gratitude spilled over every fear. The joy was real and powerful. But shortly after, I relapsed. The disease took so much from me—I lost the use of my legs and found myself in a wheelchair, dependent on others for even small things.

We needed help caring for our newborn and for me, and thankfully found a woman to come to our home each day to help. She supported us in so many ways, always gentle, never judging. One afternoon while preparing lunch, she asked if I noticed changes in my health depending on what I ate. I’d always believed I followed a healthy diet, but she gently opened my eyes to a new way of thinking. She guided me to look beyond the usual food advice and helped me understand how food production methods—additives, pesticides, hidden processing—might be driving my immune system to overreact.

It took time to learn a new rhythm, but she patiently showed me how to make better choices, read labels, and understand sources. Slowly, my approach shifted. Over time, I realized my symptoms became less severe and less frequent when I followed this new way of eating.

Soon, we welcomed our second child. Recovery was much easier. Ten years have passed without another major relapse. I walk on my own and only reach for my cane on rough terrain or in unfamiliar places like ball fields or beaches. People who do not know my history have no idea I have an autoimmune disease, let alone such a severe diagnosis. With therapy and exercise, I work to rewire the connections between my nerves and muscles.

I am always aware: if I slip back into old eating habits, symptoms return. That fear shapes my choices, but so does gratitude. Despite the challenges, I’m blessed. I live days I was told I’d never have as a mother.

This disease may never leave me, but neither will the lessons or the people who showed me how to thrive anyway. My family and I are eternally grateful!

~ Kathleen