Through the Looking-Glass Into the Chaotic Underland: My Health Journey, Recovery, and Holding onto Hope

Stephanie Swain
Dec 6, 2025
4 min read

These past few months my health journey has felt like stepping through the looking-glass and landing straight into my own chaotic Underland — not the whimsical version with riddles and tea parties, but the kind where everything turns upside-down at once and refuses to land neatly.

A Sudden Health Spiral and a Hospital Stay That Changed Everything

In early October, what began as mild nausea turned into nonstop, uncontrollable vomiting. Within hours, I was in the Fayetteville hospital for a full week while doctors tried to figure out what had gone wrong. It turns out it was my gallbladder — it had started over-functioning and over-producing bile, flooding my system and overwhelming my body.

The medications I initially received didn’t help. They made everything worse. My blood pressure spiked to a terrifying 200/98 for over twenty-four hours, and instead of improving, I felt like I was fading.

When they finally discharged me with a vague “come back if it gets worse,” it did — quickly.

A Second ER Visit, No Answers, and a Desperate Drive to Rex Hospital

Within 2 days, I was back in the ER — violently sick, waiting for 4+ hours, and receiving not so much as a doctors check in. Something in me snapped; I left. The next morning David and I drove an hour and twenty minutes to Rex Hospital in Raleigh, hoping someone would finally understand what was happening.

And they did.

In the four hours I spent in the ER at Rex, they not only correctly diagnosed what was happening, but immediately put a real plan in place. They scheduled a follow-up to remove the common bile duct stent that had been placed in Fayetteville, connected me with a gastroenterologist who would eventually remove my gallbladder, and set my surgery date for December 18th. They also finally explained why I’d been in such rough shape — the medications I’d been given before were actually worsening my gallbladder issues, and the stent itself hadn’t been placed well, causing constant pain the entire time I had it. (It was supposed to be three weeks… it ended up being six, but that’s another story.)

Being Forced to Stop Working — and the Isolation That Followed

Because of the severity of my symptoms, I can’t work at all until after surgery and recovery.

No vending.

No festivals.

No birthday parties.

No art events.

No social connection through my work — the thing that normally keeps me grounded and joyful.

Right as the holidays arrived, my world shrank to the size of my home and the limits of my body.

And that isolation hits hard.

Grief, Depression, and the Weight of Not Being Able to Eat Normally

The past few years have already carried so much loss — my grandmother, my mother, my father. That grief still sits with me. Add in the physical weakness, rapid weight loss, constant nausea, and the inability to eat around others without getting sick… and it’s been easy to slip into deeper isolation.

I’m not trying to be strong or inspirational. I’m not rising above anything. I’m just surviving — because I don’t have the privilege of shutting down.

I have kids who need me. A husband who needs me. A house that still needs tending, even when I can barely stand.

Finding Small Anchors in Creativity and Routine

Even in this Underland, I needed something to hold onto, so I created anchors where I could:

Journaling

My Bu-Jo’Oire became my lifeline — a place to track symptoms, steady my thoughts, and make sense of days that blurred together.

Stack of journals, with the top having a crochet cover.

Crochet

When my brain felt scattered, crochet gave my hands something steady and safe to do.

Digital Art (My Buggy the Clown Rendering)

My digital illustration of live-action Buggy the Clown (Jeff Ward) became a sanctuary. Layering color, shaping light, getting lost in details — it was the one quiet pocket in all the noise.

Hand digital rendering of Jeff Ward who plays Buggy The Clown

And Then: The Car Chaos

As if the medical spiral wasn’t enough, our second car broke down.

Completely.

We replaced it… and the replacement had a damaged oil pan. We replaced that one… and after all the financing cleared, the monthly payment turned out to be more than we can realistically sustain.

Which means this car now has to go back too.

We are currently down to one shared vehicle, and when David is at work during the week, I don’t have a car at all — and won’t, once we officially return the current one, both leaving me without a way to get Andrew to school, and furthering my isolation.

Another loop in the Underland maze.

Holding Onto Curiosity, Even When Everything Hurts

So here I am:

waiting for surgery, unable to work, grieving, nauseous, exhausted, carless, and trying to hold onto the tiniest thread of curiosity.

Trying to believe something gentler might exist on the other side of the looking-glass.

And honestly? There is something I’m looking forward to.

It’s small.

But real.

After surgery, once my body settles and I can finally eat again without fear, I want one thing:

More than anything, what I’m looking forward to after surgery isn’t a specific food — it’s being able to go out and be around people again. To socialize, to feel the hum of a crowd, to reconnect instead of isolate. Being around others is so deeply good for my mental health, and it makes me a better friend, a better mother, and a better version of myself. Even if that means easing back in through working events, I’m craving that feeling of being part of the world again, not watching it from the sidelines.