Caregiving Between Two Worlds

When I first started writing under the name Country Girl Gone City, I meant it in a lighthearted way.

A girl raised with mountain air in her lungs and dirt roads under her feet suddenly learning to navigate city streets, hospital corridors, and airport terminals. A country soul learning the language of doctors, research hospitals, and medical charts.

At the time, I never imagined how literal that phrase would become.

Over the last eight years, my life has been measured not by seasons in the country, but by miles traveled between some of the largest cities in America. New York City. Washington, D.C. Atlanta. Back and forth again.

Not for adventure.

For survival.

Between 2018 and 2020, my husband and I faced something that most people only read about in medical journals: bone marrow failure caused by an extremely rare disease called Fanconi Anemia. The diagnosis alone was overwhelming, but what followed was even more daunting. We were transferred to New York City for a bone marrow transplant during the very heart of the COVID pandemic.

Imagine navigating one of the largest cities in the world during a global shutdown, while carrying the weight of a life-saving medical procedure. Hospital rules changed constantly. Fear hung heavy in the air. Isolation became part of the treatment plan.

But by the grace of God, my husband survived.

And for a while, it felt like we could breathe again.

But rare diseases have a way of rewriting your plans.

In 2023, Fanconi Anemia returned in another form—liver cancer. What followed were three more years of appointments, testing, uncertainty, and the constant shadow of what might come next.

Yet even that story took an unexpected turn.

Just a few weeks ago, after years of waiting and watching his condition deteriorate, a donor liver became available. In Atlanta, Georgia—a place my family had once sworn we would never return to because of painful memories—my husband received a transplant that doctors now say was extraordinarily successful.

Sometimes God brings healing in places we once avoided.

The past three weeks have been some of the most intense days of my life as a caregiver. Moments of exhaustion that stretched into days without sleep. The anxiety that comes with watching every monitor, every lab result, every change in breathing or pain levels. The strange mental fog that caregivers rarely talk about—the dissociation that can settle in when your body is running on adrenaline and prayer alone.

And through it all, there has been something else.

Loneliness.

Caregiving is often portrayed as noble and beautiful, but the truth is that it can also be incredibly isolating. When the responsibility falls entirely on your shoulders, the weight of every decision and every moment rests quietly with you.

Some nights it feels like you are holding the entire world together by prayer.

But even in that loneliness, God has been faithful.

Over the past few weeks, He has placed chaplains along my path—men and women who walked into hospital rooms not just with kind words, but with spiritual authority and compassion. In moments when exhaustion and fear threatened to overwhelm me, they reminded me of something simple and powerful:

God is still here.

Their prayers, their presence, and their quiet encouragement have helped hold my sanity together in ways they may never fully understand.

And through every test, every surgery, every sleepless night, I have come back to the same truth:

My God is able.

“God is within her, she will not fall; God will help her at break of day.”
‭‭Psalms‬ ‭46‬:‭5‬ ‭NIV‬‬

Able to sustain when strength runs out.

Able to heal when medicine reaches its limits.

Able to comfort when loneliness feels overwhelming.

The country girl who once hesitated to step into big cities has now walked the halls of some of the most advanced hospitals in the world.

Not because I wanted to.

But because love required it.

Caregiving is not glamorous. It is not easy. It is not something anyone would choose lightly. But it is also one of the clearest expressions of covenant love that exists in this life.

And today, as my husband begins the slow journey of healing with a new liver and renewed hope, I find myself grateful in ways I cannot fully put into words.

Grateful for the doctors.

Grateful for the chaplains.

Grateful for the prayers of strangers.

Grateful for the strength God has given me to stand in places I once feared.

The country girl did go city.

And by the grace of God, we are still standing.

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