Ten Days in Hell
June 4, 2025.
We arrived in Dubai for what was supposed to be a month-long trip through the Middle East. After 21 hours of travel, I was exhausted, in pain, and desperate for relief.
The first thing I did was pull out my heating pad—my lifeline. I grabbed the adapter my husband assured me was safe. I plugged it in. I turned around to change into pajamas—
POP.
My heating pad exploded in a shower of sparks. We had been in Dubai for three hours.
The first week, I managed. Barely. I took every medication I was legally allowed on a strict schedule just to stay upright. By day five, I was an absolute wreck.
We moved to Abu Dhabi as planned, where we had family. They were a blessing, taking our kids all over the city so I could rest. But meanwhile, I was falling apart.
I had stopped eating because I was too nauseated. Everything hurt. I was so bloated I couldn't put anything else in my body. I was passing out. I was unable to stand.
And everything I normally used to manage flares—weed, pain medications, my heating pad—was either illegal or destroyed.
What I didn't know: There was an ovarian cyst rapidly growing inside me, on top of the antibiotic-resistant UTI, on top of all my chronic conditions. A perfect storm I couldn't see, but my body was desperately trying to tell me about.
The Bathroom Floor
June 17, 2025.
The morning I was supposed to start working remotely from Bahrain. Instead, I found myself on a bathroom floor in Abu Dhabi having a full-force panic attack.
Shaking. Sobbing. Curled up in a ball. Unable to breathe.
And then, through the panic, came clarity: "No. This is not okay. I need help."
I messaged my doctor. I said: "I cannot wait until August. This is so bad. Please take me out of work. I don't care if it goes past 12 weeks and I lose my job. I can't keep doing this."
Hours later, my doctor called: "We're bringing you in for surgery much earlier. June 24th."
We had about a week to get home.
The Race Home
We changed our flights and upgraded to business class because I physically couldn't sit up. My husband sat in economy for 16 hours with both kids so I could rest.
By the time we reached the airport, I needed a wheelchair.
By the grace of the universe, we got out on June 20th. We landed home on June 21st. More bombs in the region on June 22nd. If we had delayed any further, we might have missed my surgery entirely.
The Truth Revealed
The surgery was supposed to be a hysterectomy with endometriosis excision. What they found was more.
Severe endometriosis—as anticipated. But also, a rapidly growing ovarian cyst that nobody knew was there. The thing that had made Dubai so unbearable finally had a name.
My body had been trying to tell me. The data had been showing escalating patterns. But it took surgery to reveal the full picture.
The Universe Winking At Me
August 15, 2025. Seven weeks after surgery.
I prepared to return to work—anxious but excited, ready to show up with my brain fully on and, for the first time in a long time, a body not screaming in pain.
Instead, I was laid off.
The initial shock gave way to something I didn't expect: Relief. Freedom. A soul-deep exhale I didn't know I was holding.
And then, the realization that changed everything: I can use my skills to build what I needed when I needed it most.
Why Penny Exists
I couldn't stop thinking about that June 2nd appointment. About how I had pulled together all my tracking data—essentially building what would become Penny without even knowing it—just to be heard by one doctor.
It worked. She believed me. The data bridged the gap between my suffering and her understanding. But it had nearly broken me to create it.
I kept thinking: What if there was a tool that made this easier?
Something designed for brain fog, not unlimited mental bandwidth. Something built by someone who actually gets it.
That's why Penny exists.
Penny is a pelvic health companion app for people with chronic pelvic and bladder conditions who are tired of forgetting what they wanted to ask their doctor, losing track of symptom patterns, and not being believed when they say something is wrong.
Built from lived experience. Powered by resilience. Designed for dignity.