A Cowgirl’s Battle You Can’t See: Healing What Was Hidden

The year kicked off fast and fiery: the 69th Montana Legislative Session. Ninety days of hearings, hallway negotiations, late-night dinners, bill drafts, bill deaths, and everything in between. Lobbying isn’t for the faint of heart on a good day — and this session wasn’t always a good day for me and my health. It was a marathon run on fumes.

I had multiple clients and a packed agenda, but deep down, I knew something was still off. The tail end of 2024 into the first few winter months of 2025 had already shown me I wasn’t quite out of the woods. The inflammation was still there. The heaviness. The sense that my body was quietly fighting a war I couldn’t see.

Chelation helped — slowly, painfully, in layers — but it wasn’t enough. I could feel the underlying infection simmering. And I did what ranch kids and recovering over-achievers often do: I kept going anyway.

I smiled while limping through the session.
I advocated.
I showed up.
I got legislation passed.
I helped kill the ones that needed killing.

But beneath the blazer and the grit was a body barely hanging on.

The Appointment That Confirmed Everything.

When the gavel finally dropped on day 90, I pivoted immediately into healing mode. I’d already scheduled time with Dr. Meagan Lilly Frank — ozone treatment paired with diagnostic imaging.

Ozone jaw treatments are not for the faint of heart. Blood is drawn and spun so the plasma and platelets can be used later. Then, guided by a cone beam CT scan, tiny cone-tipped instruments are inserted into suspicious areas in the jaw. What comes through those tips tells you exactly how healthy your bone is.

Healthy bone bleeds.
Infected bone oozes yellow or green matter.

Out of seven insertion points, five were badly infected.

Five.

Dr. Frank followed with a multi-step flush: homeopathic rinse, ozone, my own plasma, more ozone. It was intense, emotional, and oddly validating. My body had been screaming for months — now we finally found the actual fire.

And it meant more surgery.

Yes. More surgery.

Sigh. Whitefish: Round Two.

Thankfully, I’d spent stolen moments during the legislature planning future travel — Croatia, Arizona, San Francisco, Jamaica — tiny sparks of joy to look forward to. And I planned my jaw surgery for the end of July.

Mark (my husband, nurse, chauffeur, and all-around rock) and I loaded up the Expedition with everything I’d need: supplements, Epsom salt, protein shakes, the whole healing arsenal. We drove the 3.5 hours to Whitefish and checked in for what I knew would be a tough week.

The Monday surgery took hours. I was semi-sedated as Dr. Frank opened the infected pockets, scraped out what shouldn’t be there, and stitched me back together. Mark got me into the rig afterward, and I slept until I could gather enough strength to walk into our (thankfully handicapped) hotel room.

They sent us away with ozone water, arnica, an infrared radiation hood, and a whole list of recovery tactics — plus everything I’d brought with me. I slept for two solid days. We checked in with the office repeatedly. By day four, we headed home, and I kept healing.

It took a good two weeks of real rest. But it worked. The healing finally started to feel complete.

The Body Keeps Score (and Keeps Secrets).

This was my second jaw-scraping surgery — the first was in 2020. And now, five years later, it makes sense that something from that early infection lingered. My body refused to release a stubborn 20 pounds of inflammation. It just wouldn’t budge. Now I know why:

My body was protecting my organs from a hidden infection.

Once we cleaned it out, the weight released.
Twenty pounds.
Gone.

I’m four months post-surgery now, and while I feel so much better, I have a sneaking suspicion there may still be a little infection tucked away. So I’ve already scheduled ozone treatments in 2026 (and hoping surgery will not be necessary), just in case. I’ve made peace with the idea that this is a lifelong process — maintaining, clearing, tuning in, preventing.

128 Rounds of Chelation and Counting

Through all this, I’ve continued chelating — round 128 and still going. It’s been a mix of healing and pain. My knee still flares; some weeks I feel 90, some weeks I feel 29 again.

I’ve shifted more attention to lead chelation with DMSA, and that has been a journey of its own. On round, I get brain fog and weirdness, but my joints feel incredible. My gut shifts. My moods shift. But the truth I’ve learned is this:

No symptoms = no progress.
The discomfort is proof that the metals are moving.

The Shift: Trusting My Body First

Maybe the biggest change of 2025 has been this:
I’m learning to trust my body before I trust my brain.

My brain loves logic, plans, strategy, discipline — all the tools that built my career. But my body holds the truth. My body whispers before it screams. My body knows things long before the labs catch up.

And it’s time I honor that.

2025 has brought change for my family, my health, my habits, my boundaries, my heart. I’m closing out the year feeling lighter — physically and emotionally. I have big travel and adventures ahead, less knee pain, fewer metals in my body, and a renewed sense of courage and hope.

This year didn’t look anything like I expected.
But it gave me exactly what I needed:

A reminder that healing isn’t fast, linear, or convenient.
But it is possible.
And the body always knows.