Lonna is a Care+Wear Ambassador, chronic illness warrior, and fierce advocate who has lived through more in a decade than many encounter in a lifetime. Her journey has been shaped by rare diagnoses, major surgeries, and the relentless balancing act of being a mother, a business owner, and a woman fighting for her own health. Through every setback and every unexpected turn, she has carried herself with a strength rooted in faith, community, and the quiet, tender moments that reminded her she wasn’t facing any of it alone.
In her personal reflection, Lonna shares the turning points that redefined care, the memories that revealed her strength, and the unexpected ways love and connection carried her through.
Continue reading to learn more about Lonna's journey.
A Turning Point in Chronic Illness: When Care Became Something New
My turning point came in 2016–2017, during a whirlwind ten months that completely reshaped my life. I was diagnosed with Charcot-Marie-Tooth 1A, had sleeve surgery in Tijuana, went into liver failure, learned I had Autoimmune Hepatitis, had my gallbladder removed, underwent scar tissue removal surgery, and then a partial hysterectomy. All while trying to keep my business running and be a mom.It was the kind of season that tests everything you think you know about strength, faith, and what it means to keep going. The only reason my family and I made it through was because of our faith and the community that showed up for us. That time didn’t break me — it made me stronger in a way I never expected.
Moments like these force you to look at care differently — not as something that simply happens around you, but something that holds you up when everything else is falling apart. It’s where resilience starts to take root.
The Memory That Showed My Strength: A Moment of Vulnerability and Love
After another gastric surgery in October 2020 — a surgery where my surgeon was partially at fault — my body spiraled again. By 2021, I was weak, exhausted, in unbearable pain, dizzy, and vomiting almost everything I ate or drank. I took baths constantly just to try to ease the pain. One day, I was so drained I could barely lift my arms. I sat there crying because I needed my hair washed and physically couldn’t do it. My husband lit candles, turned off the bright lights, and gently washed my hair by candlelight. I don’t give him enough credit. In that moment, I may have felt physically defeated, but letting him use his strength to carry me through — that was real strength too. A different kind, but just as powerful.
It’s often in these quiet, tender moments — the ones no one sees — where our deepest strength shows itself. Being held with that level of gentleness rewrites what resilience truly looks like.
When Care Became a Feeling: Seeing My Son Walk His Own Path
Care became a feeling the day my oldest son, Karter, got his first AFOs. I don’t wear AFOs myself, but I use other mobility aids — so watching him sit there with that same mix of fear and courage I’ve felt many times in my own journey broke me open and healed me at the same time. When he stood up and realized his legs didn’t have to hurt as much, care suddenly transformed. It wasn’t about appointments or routines anymore. It was connection. It was understanding. It was love wrapped in the shared reality of two people walking a path neither of us chose, but now face together.
There is something incredibly powerful about seeing your child experience relief, hope, or possibility for the first time. That moment becomes a mirror — reflecting everything you’ve carried and everything you want to lighten for them.
The Small Act of Care That Stayed With Me: Being Seen in My Struggle
After what was supposed to be a simple dental procedure turned into a two■hour surgical ordeal — stitches, pain, the works — my dentist, a woman with the softest and kindest voice, looked at me and said, “I wish I had more patients like you. You did an amazing job.”She had no idea how much those words meant. Living with complex and rare illnesses, I often feel like “the complicated patient.” Her compassion reminded me that even on the days when my body feels impossible, I am still capable, still strong, and still worthy of kindness.
Sometimes, a single sentence at the right moment can pull you back into yourself. It can remind you of your worth, especially in a healthcare system where so many patients feel overlooked or misunderstood.
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