For most of her life, Paula kept moving.
As a truck driver, long days were normal. Twelve to fourteen hours behind the wheel, pushing through fatigue, getting the job done. But over time, something started to shift. The exhaustion felt different. Heavier. Walking from the couch to the kitchen left her out of breath. Even small, everyday movements became difficult.
Her daughter noticed first. Worried about diabetes because of their family history, she urged Paula to get checked. Paula agreed, expecting something manageable.
Instead, just days after her appointment, the call came.
Her hemoglobin was dangerously low. She needed to go to the emergency room immediately and was told not to drive herself.
At the hospital, Paula received blood transfusions as doctors began searching for answers. Test after test followed, but nothing explained why her levels were so low. There was no clear source of bleeding. No simple diagnosis. Still, her body continued to struggle, requiring regular transfusions just to keep going.
Somehow, she kept working through it, even traveling long distances, until it became too much.
By early November, after a bone marrow biopsy, the answer finally came.
Myelofibrosis.
“I didn’t know how to think or how to feel,” Paula said. “I just kind of laughed it off at first.”
But the reality quickly set in. Her care team moved fast, connecting her with specialists at the Franciscan Health Cancer Center in Indianapolis. Paula traveled from her home in Montezuma, Indiana, to meet with their bone marrow transplant team. The oncologist offered both clarity and reassurance.
“Let me worry about the medical side,” he told her. “You just focus on what you need to do.”
It was the beginning of a long and uncertain road.
In early spring, Paula traveled to Indianapolis to undergo her first bone marrow transplant. The preparation regimen was intense, including chemotherapy and radiation. But what followed was even harder.
Her body began to shut down.
Complications spread quickly, affecting multiple organs and leaving her critically ill. She spent ten weeks in the hospital, caught in a cycle where small improvements were often followed by setbacks.
“It was really bad,” she said. “Every time I started getting better, something else would go wrong.”
Eventually, she was discharged to a nearby Fair Haven apartment, where she could continue recovering while staying close to her medical team. Her mother stayed with her, helping care for her during those fragile weeks.
Even then, recovery was slow and uncertain.
Paula was back and forth to the clinic several times a week. She was weak, often unable to do much more than rest. Physical therapy was difficult. Emotionally, she felt numb.
“I didn’t really talk about how I felt,” she said. “I didn’t know how to feel.”
Having a place to stay near the hospital made a huge difference for Paula. Just minutes from the hospital, staying at Fair Haven meant that Paula didn’t have to travel for hours to go to and from an appointment. It gave her a place to rest between appointments and provided a space that felt more like home than a hospital room.
“I didn’t know a place like that existed,” she said. “I don’t think we could have done it without them.”
After 84 nights at Fair Haven, Paula returned home, still weak and facing a long recovery. Simple tasks required help. Her son pushed her in a wheelchair to appointments. Family members stayed with her so she could safely do basic things like showering. Friends and local churches reached out with support, prayers, and encouragement.
Even after she returned home, Paula’s care team stayed closely involved. Doctors, nurses, and social workers worked together to coordinate every detail, making sure she had medications, resources, and the support she needed.
“They stayed on top of everything,” Paula said. “They made sure I had what I needed.”
Still, Paula’s challenges continued. Her body struggled to accept the donor cells, and complications led to additional procedures. When it finally became clear that her first transplant had not been successful, her medical team made a bold decision.
They would try again.
In late December, Paula was admitted for a second transplant. The process began all over again. More chemotherapy. More waiting. More uncertainty.
But this time, something was different.
The complications were less severe. Her body responded better. Slowly, steadily, the donor cells began to engraft. After several weeks in the hospital, Paula returned once again to a Fair Haven apartment to continue her recovery. This time, she only needed to stay for half the time: 42 nights.
And more importantly, progress came.
“I’m 100 percent donor now,” she said. “And I’m healing.”
The difference was not just physical. It was emotional too.
Looking back, Paula realized how overwhelming the first experience had been. At the time, she had simply endured it, unable to fully process what was happening.
“I was just along for the ride,” she said. “I didn’t understand the big picture.”
Now, she does.
She talks more with her doctors. She asks questions. She allows herself to feel both the weight of what she has been through and the hope of what lies ahead.
There are still hard days. Recovery is ongoing. Strength comes slowly. But there is also something new: perspective, gratitude, and a growing sense of stability.
And through it all, she points back to the people and places that carried her.
“I don’t think I would be here today if it wasn’t for Franciscan, Fair Haven, and Indiana Blood & Marrow Transplant,” she said. “Each and every person that entered my team was amazing, and I couldn’t have come back as healthy as I am without them.”
It’s not a dramatic statement. It’s a clear one, shaped by everything she has lived through.
From the medical team who guided every decision, to the social worker who made sure she had what she needed, to the steady support of Fair Haven, providing a place to rest, recover, and keep going, Paula knows she was never alone.
“It made a world of difference,” she said.
After everything, Paula is still moving forward. Not in the same way she once did, but with a deeper understanding of what it means to endure, to heal, and to be cared for along the way.
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