Nicky’s Healing, My Recovery, and What Comes Next

The most important update I have—the one that matters more than anything—is that Nicky is doing better. Thank God.

Since the attack, she had been having accidents in the house and was visibly shaken. She stopped eating, she stopped playing, and she started barking at dogs she used to be able to walk right past with ease. But this week, for the first time since it happened, I saw my girl coming back to herself. She’s eating again. She’s starting to go back to her normal potty routine. And we’ve had two small victories outside—dogs walked by, and I was able to refocus her. She didn’t bark. She stayed with me.

That might sound small, but if you’ve ever trained a service dog, you know—it’s everything.

She had been trained not to react, even in crowded places. That attack shook her to the core. Now we’re back at square one, and because of how serious her role is, we don’t get the luxury of “just seeing how it goes.” She has to be able to sit on an airplane surrounded by dogs and not react. And if she can’t, I need to pursue legal action and possibly get another dog. But that’s not the path I want. I want Nicky. I chose her. And I believe in her healing.

And for anyone wondering: no, the other dog’s owner never apologized. Not once. Just a few text messages about how his dog is “excitable” and “still a puppy.” Sir—Nicky is eight months old. The same age. She behaves the way I trained her to behave. That’s the difference. Dogs reflect their people. This wasn’t the dog’s fault—it was yours. And I’m not done holding you accountable. My dog comes first, once she is okay - ill deal with you.

The Aftermath—for Me

I did finally go to the doctor. I have a sprained rotator cuff and a sprained ankle—not the end of the world, but when you rely on your arms to paint and your legs to walk your dog, it adds up fast. I’ve been icing, resting, using heat, and giving myself a little grace. Recovery takes time. Especially when you’ve been knocked down more than once.

And this wasn’t just a physical blow. It was a massive emotional one. I’ve reported everything to my building, including the attack (which was caught on camera) and other disturbing behavior—harassment, even entering my apartment without permission. I’ve involved attorneys. The corporate office seemed alarmed. As they should.

When people get injured on your property and you do nothing, that becomes your problem, too.

The Bigger Picture—Where We Go From Here

I’ve given up on the Mayo Clinic.

Let me rephrase: I’ve stopped prioritizing systems that keep telling me I’m not sick enough, not believable enough, not worth helping. When I say I’m sick, they look at me sideways. When I say I’m in danger, they look away. I’m done begging to be seen. At this point, I’m choosing peace over treatment. If the system can’t save me, I’ll save myself.

Nicky and I are getting out of here. We’re not staying in Connecticut. We’re going to choose our next step based on climate, community, nature, and recovery support—not just doctors. Florida is on the list, particularly northern Florida and southern Georgia where the willow trees live. That land feels sacred to me. So does Arizona—dry, healing air. The west would be best. But I don’t know if I can make that trip alone. I just don’t know if I have it in me.

But we’re going somewhere.

I’ve considered Appalachia. Artist lofts. RV life. Something mobile. Something free. Somewhere I can paint and breathe and let Nicky run in peace. I’m looking into everything—artist communities, converted vans, even cheap RVs that might last us a year or two. I want to explore. It’s the one hobby I still have.

A Few Truths I Need to Say Out Loud

Bankruptcy after divorce still haunts me. I did everything right afterward—rebuilt my credit, saved money, walked the line. And still, somehow, I’m being told I don’t qualify. It’s a slap in the face after years of discipline.

And yeah, I’m tired. I’m tired of everyone watching me struggle and saying, “Let’s see how far she gets,” like this is some kind of game.

Am I suicidal? Absolutely not. But this disease is called the suicide disease for a reason. When your face feels like it’s on fire, when every nerve screams, when your whole body is a war zone—you think about the end. You just do. And we have the right to. But I’m not there.

Because of Nicky.

The Light at the Edge of This Tunnel

I love Nicky more than I can put into words. She’s the reason I wake up in the morning. She’s the reason I keep going. She’s why I haven’t given up. She is my anchor, my daughter, my everything.

And because I love her—I’m not going anywhere.

We’re going to find a place. Maybe not a perfect place. But a better one. A place where we can start over. A place where she can learn to trust again, and maybe I can, too.

I don’t know exactly where we’re going or how we’re getting there. But I do know this: we are not staying here. And wherever we land, I will keep painting, keep creating, and keep telling the truth. Even the ugly parts. Especially the ugly parts. Because someone out there needs to hear it.

If that someone is you, I hope you know—you’re not alone either.

We’re going to figure this out.

Together.

🕊️

With love,

Dana & Nicky