There’s a Lot Going On Behind This Smile: My Medical Story & the Fight to Be Heard

The day after I turned 50, I had a total hip replacement. It marked the end of a chapter of life defined by relentless hip pain that slowly stole my mobility and quality of life. But that wasn’t the beginning of my battle—it was just another mile marker in a longer road. Years earlier, I shattered my tibia and fibula. It took surgery, a large plate, 12 screws, and months of recovery just to walk again. Since then, I’ve had multiple various surgeries—each one chipping away at what I once took for granted: strength, ease, movement. But I’ve fought to keep going. And I’m still fighting.

After my hip replacement, I finally thought I was free. I felt strong. Energized. Hopeful. I even began planning the next big chapter of my creative life: opening my art studio. I believed that this new stage—THIS season—was going to be when I finally made my dreams come true. I thought the fight was behind me.

But it wasn’t. In fact, the hardest part hadn’t even begun.

Behind This Smile

I smile in meetings and when I greet people, I keep creating when I can, I carry on with my work. But the truth is, there’s a lot going on behind this smile. The pain is constant. The fatigue is heavy. Some days, I feel like I’m unraveling while trying to appear composed. Please—offer grace, not judgment. So much of what people endure is invisible.

Watching the Patterns Unfold

It’s hard not to feel afraid when I think about what I’ve seen happen in my own family. My mother has been debilitated by joint pain for years. I have witnessed how it has chipped away at her quality of life. Now, when I feel pain in my own fingers, wrists, knees and feet, or when I can barely walk across a room, I wonder if I’m watching the same story unfold. That fear hangs over everything.

From Hip Replacement to Hospital Beds

What shocked me most was how quickly things spiraled after the surgery. I expected healing. Instead, my body broke out in strange rashes. My joints began to ache in new places. I was hospitalized twice for pericarditis—an inflammation around the heart that can feel like a heart attack, as it did several times—and underwent thoracentesis to drain fluid from my lungs. My hands, wrists, knees, and ankles became unpredictable. The dream that I had fought so hard for—physical freedom—was fading again, and I didn’t understand why.

My primary care doctor told me that he believes this is autoimmune-related. He’s been supportive, but he was honest: “You might have to put up a fight for a diagnosis. These things take time.” He was right. Even now, I’m still trying to connect the dots and find someone who will listen long enough to see the full picture.

“Maybe It’s Just Stress…”

One of the hardest things about being in this situation is hearing the subtle—and sometimes not-so-subtle—implication that this might all be in my head. I’ve been told I “look fine,” that maybe it’s just anxiety, or stress, or menopause. I’ve even started to doubt myself at times. But this isn’t imagined. It’s not attention-seeking or dramatics. It’s real, physical, life-disrupting pain. And while mental health absolutely plays a role (because how could it not?), it isn’t the root cause. When you’re trying to trust your body and the medical system keeps shrugging, it’s an added wound—one that can feel harder to heal than the illness itself.

The Toll on Creativity, Career, and Productivity

What’s especially frustrating is how much this has affected every part of my life—just when I felt like I was hitting my stride. After my hip replacement, I poured myself into planning my art studio and new classes. I also care deeply about my day job—the career that not only supports my family but also gives me a sense of contribution and purpose. I’ve always tried to excel at both endeavors: the creative and the professional. But chronic illness has forced me to navigate them both with less energy at times, more uncertainty, and constant physical limitations. Some days I can’t paint because holding a brush hurts. Other days, my mind is too foggy to make decisions. I’ve lost time, energy, and momentum—and that grief runs deep.

Mental Health and the Cost of Not Knowing

When you live in constant pain, your mental health suffers. I’ve had days where depression creeps in, where I feel low, untethered, and worn out from pretending I’m okay. I miss feeling like myself. I miss the freedom of expression that used to come so easily. Creativity is still there—it hasn’t left me—but some days, I have to dig deeper to find it.

What Comes Next

I have appointments today and next week that I’ve pinned a lot of hope on. Maybe this will be the moment I get clarity. Maybe I’ll finally start a path to treatment that prevents further joint damage. I know it won’t be instant, but I’m desperate for direction—any sign that someone sees the full picture and is willing to help me fight for my health.

This Isn’t for Sympathy

I’m not sharing this for sympathy, and I’m certainly not seeking attention. I’m sharing it because stories like mine are more common than most people realize—and too often, they’re lived in silence. If you’re going through something similar, I want you to feel less alone. If you’re not, I ask only this: offer grace. Offer understanding. You never know what someone is carrying, even when they look “fine.”

This isn’t just about one illness. It’s about how hard it is to live in a body that defies explanation—and how exhausting it is to advocate for yourself when you’re already worn thin. I’m sharing this in case it helps someone else find words for their struggle, or the courage to keep pushing for answers.