The Recovery Road to Arizona Begins in New York

Tomorrow, I go to New York to buy an RV.
I’m nervous. I’m going alone, and where I’m headed is very remote.
I’ve shared my location with close friends. Everyone has the address.
I’m bringing Nicky. And a bat.
Because I’m not just buying a vehicle — I’m buying my next chapter.

I was born and raised in the Northeast.
It will always be a part of me.
But lately, I’ve felt pulled toward something different — something softer.
A place where people tend to measure success not in money, but in moments.
Where kindness is currency.
Where community and faith are woven into daily life.

That’s why I’m heading west — not tomorrow, but soon.
First New York. Then, Arizona.
Because my treatment, my healing, and my one real shot at a future live there.

I didn’t plan to live in an RV.
But when you’re on disability, you don’t always get options — you get creativity.
I can’t afford both a car and an apartment.
So I’m choosing a home that moves with me.
A space that’s mine. A life I can take wherever I go.

The apartment I’m in now? It was peaceful at first.
Then things shifted, and I stopped feeling safe.
It became clear that I couldn’t heal in a space that wasn’t truly mine.
So I’m letting it go — gratefully, cleanly — and I’m moving forward.

Because I’m tired of watching life pass by from a bed.
I’m tired of canceling plans.
I want to live again.

My neurologist — one of the best in the country — told me I’m the most severe case he’s ever seen.

Let that sink in.

Not a severe case… the most severe case. Do you have any idea how terrifying that is to hear from someone who has treated the untreatable?

He’s just keeping me “comfortable.” But I’m not looking for comfort.
I’m looking for a chance.

We are in agreement, Yale New Haven Health and Hartford Healthcare System are two of the best in the country, but they dont specialize in nerves. That chance lives at the Mayo Clinic. The main campus in MN is too cold, were going to Phoenix. The road to Arizona starts in a quiet corner of New York.

I’m also really hoping that just getting out of the Northeast will lower my baseline.
The extreme weather. The pressure shifts. The constant humidity. The time change (seriously — why do we still do that?! What was the person who came up with this smoking, and can I have some?).
Arizona is basically the driest, sunniest place in the country — and I say that with love. 😄
I want long, dry days. Consistency. I think my body might just work better in the desert. Maybe it wont. I don’t have to think or worry about any of this, because I’m bringing my home with me.

And maybe I won’t stay there forever. After treatment, I’m really drawn to the Pacific Northwest. Northern California, Oregon, Washington… somewhere green, gentle, and maybe even a little weird. Somewhere I can breathe. Somewhere I can start over — on my terms.

And let’s be real — I’m also looking forward to getting away from New Yorkers for a while. I say that with love, but… the energy here? It's a lot.
I’m ready for slow conversations, wide open skies, and maybe, just maybe, a cowboy who doesn’t flinch when I talk about chronic illness or art or magic.
You never know. Healing looks different for everyone.

If the RV works out, I’ll bring it home.
If it doesn’t, I’ll drive straight to Arizona in my Corolla and find another RV there. Because no matter what happens tomorrow — I’m leaving.
The recovery road doesn’t wait. And neither do I.

To those of you who’ve walked beside me, rooted for me, believed in me — thank you.
This next chapter is for all of us who’ve had to fight for healing.
Who weren’t rescued — but found the strength to rescue ourselves.

Arizona, I’m coming.
Recovery, I’m coming.
Life — I’m not done with you.

Connecticut, thank you for the memories.

With Love,

Dana & Nicky