Traveling with chronic health issues is both exciting and challenging. What steadies me most is simple preparation. Before we move, I look up nearby hospitals, urgent care centers, and pharmacies and save the addresses in my phone. Knowing where to go gives me peace of mind so I can enjoy the day in front of me instead of wondering what I would do if something went sideways.
Not long ago I woke up with my back completely out. It was not the day I wanted, but we had no plans, so I made it a rest day. I kept the blinds open and let the view do the heavy lifting, even if that window is not the prettiest one in the rig. I wrote a little from bed and moved slowly the next day. Sometimes making the best of where you are is exactly the right thing to do.
I have also had a heart scare that taught me a harder lesson. We rushed to the closest emergency room and learned they were not equipped for cardiac care beyond basic testing. I needed more than that, which meant an ambulance transfer to another hospital and a bill to match. Now when we arrive somewhere new, I take a minute to see which facility is the nearest true fit for my particular issues. I still call 911 in an emergency and follow their guidance, but having a sense of the local options helps me feel ready.
Crowdsourcing can help, but I treat it gently. When we asked about vets, one person praised a clinic and a waiting room full of people told us the opposite. When feedback lines up from many voices, I pay attention. When it does not, I trust my gut and keep looking. The same goes for my own care. I listen, then decide.
Preparation is not the same thing as worry. My dad always said that worrying does not change anything, and he was right. It only drains today of energy. I try to plan what I can control and let the rest be. That looks like keeping a small emergency kit in the truck, a current list of diagnoses and medications with doses, allergies, doctors, and insurance cards in my wallet and on my phone, and a few days of essential meds in a separate pouch so a delayed refill or a pharmacy hiccup does not become a crisis. If you use refrigerated medicine, plan a dedicated spot in the fridge and a backup strategy for power outages. Little plans make big days easier.
Mental readiness matters too. I walk through our plan out loud, so everyone knows their job. Who drives. Who speaks to the nurse. Who grabs the folder and the phone chargers. Where Vixen’s leash and crate are if we need to move fast. We practice saying our campground name and site number and we keep the address handy for a clear 911 call if we ever need it. None of this is fancy. It is just removing small decisions before they pile up.
For everyday bumps I lean on simple tools. A basic first aid kit, a thermometer, and a few comfort items live where I can reach them. I keep my patient portals and pharmacy app logged in, so refills and records are not a scramble. Many insurance plans have a nurse line and telehealth. I keep those numbers in my contacts for the middle of the night when my brain is not at its best.
The other half of the plan is how I treat myself when something flares. I shorten the day. I drink water. I choose easy food. I pause the to-do list and let the view work on me. I remind myself that an unplanned rest day is not a failure. It is how I make tomorrow possible.
There is a balance to strike. Be prepared and then let yourself live. Do not let the what ifs crowd out the beauty that is right in front of you. I have opened the shade to ponds and creeks and quiet hills, and even on painful days those sights help my nervous system loosen its grip. The road will always hold a little uncertainty. Readiness turns that uncertainty into something I can meet with a steadier heart.