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In this Issue:
W
ers. Sometimes strength isn’t loud or
hen we chose resil- dramatic. Sometimes it simply means refusing to quit. ience as the theme Reporter Sierra Bolger takes readers for this edition, I on a deeply personal journey through found myself think- anxiety, abuse and healing. What began became something ing about the word in the way as a fear of driving much larger: reclaimmany of us probably do. We ing her independence, rebuilding her confipicture the extraordinary stodence and discovering ries — someone overcoming a that each mile traveled life-threatening illness, rebuildrepresented another ing after tragedy or persevering step toward becoming the person she wanted through unimaginable hardship. to be. Those stories certainly deserve Erin As I edited these Thompson to be celebrated. But as these stories, I found myself pages came together, I realized reflecting on resilience in my own life. resilience is often much quieter Earlier this year, I learned I have ADHD a discovery that helped explain years than that. More often than not, — of frustration, unfinished projects and it reveals itself in the small, ev- the feeling that I was always working eryday decisions to keep moving harder just to keep up. It didn’t change who I am, but it changed how I underforward.
Sentinel reporter Brian Carson stood myself. Instead of seeing those shares perhaps the most sobering sto- struggles as personal failures, I began viewing them as opportunities to build ry in this issue. After years of living better habits, stronger systems and a litwith diabetes, he candidly reflects tle more grace into my own life. on the consequences of the choicPerhaps that’s what resilience really es he wishes he could change. The is. Not perfection. Not having all the andisease has taken his mobility and swers. Not pretending life isn’t difficult. much of his independence, but it has It’s learning, adapting and continuing not taken his love of writing. From anyway. I hope these stories remind you that his recliner at home, Brian continues to tell stories with the same passion resilience isn’t reserved for extraordithat has defined his career, remind- nary people. It’s found in ordinary peoing us that purpose can endure even ple facing extraordinary circumstances — and sometimes simply in ordinary when life changes in unimaginable people making the choice, day after day, ways. to keep going. Sarah Hurlburt offers a different perspective, challenging the idea that Until next time, thanks for reading! resilient people are somehow fearless or have everything figured out. InSincerely, stead, she reminds us that resilience can be as simple as getting back up Erin Thompson after disappointment, finding joy on Juniata Valley Family Editor difficult days or extending ourselves the same grace we so often give oth-
Index: Page Still writing, Still fighting Reporter reflects on consequences of diabetes. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .4 Finding a quiet strength in resilience Sometimes refusing to give up is not enough. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .7 Discovering the road back to me How facing fears became the first step toward reclaiming my life. . . . . . . . . . 8
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Wednesday, Aug. 12, 2026
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Still writing, still fighting
news stories. I’ve cov- help me use the bathroom. failed to manage my weight through my hands and feet. You keep writing when the Sentinel reporter and ered Friday night football I haven’t walked in two or blood sugar. I treated the I first noticed the foot drop words won’t come easily. and wrestling tournaments years. I haven’t stood in a first amputation as a crisis one day while leaving DolThis time, stubbornness reflects on in packed gyms. Diabetes year and a half. I lost my that had passed instead of a lar General. My foot didn’t cost me. consequences of had damaged the nerves in right leg below the knee and warning. lift the way it should, and I Had I gone to the hospital my hands every toe on my left foot. tripped and fell. sooner, I might have saved diabetes so badly That’s what diabetes has The nerves continued to my leg. I’ve been angry 222
The check was for the garbage bill. I sat in the recliner at my desk in the den, pen in hand, trying to do something I had done thousands of times. I only had to sign my name. Brian Carson. The letters came out crooked, barely recognizable. My signature made a doctor’s handwriting look beautiful. I stared at the signature. I’ve spent most of my life writing columns, features,
that I could no longer sign my name. These days, I type with my two index fingers. I Brian have trouCarson ble holding a fork or spoon. I need a Hoyer lift to get out of bed and into my chair. I depend on my wife, Maria, to handle the household work and
cost me. I was diagnosed in 2017, “Listen, when the people around you say somewhen I was 50. Maria noticed a spot on my left foot. thing is wrong. I didn’t, When the doctors cleaned and I paid a heavy the wound, they found a price.” hole that went through the bottom of my foot and out the top. My blood sugar was 222 400, and I lost my left pinky toe. It should have changed Diabetes doesn’t care my habits. what you tell yourself. Instead, I went back to After I recovered, I began them. noticing numbness in my I kept eating badly and fingers and toes. It spread
deteriorate. Walking became harder. Eventually, I needed a walker. I could no longer drive or take a walk. Every movement required thought. By late 2024, I had infected open wounds on my toes and feet. Maria wanted me to go to the hospital. I refused. I can be stubborn. That trait has served me at times. A journalist needs persistence. You keep calling and asking questions.
with myself about that. Maria saw what was happening and tried to get me help. I wouldn’t listen. I can’t change that decision now. I can only tell the truth about it. I spent Thanksgiving and Christmas 2024 and January 2025 at Geisinger Medical Center in Danville. Doctors performed 14 operations trying to save my legs. I was discharged with See Carson / Page 5
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a PICC line pumping me with antibiotics, then returned in March 2025. By then, the bottom of my right foot had no skin left. You could see the bones. The remaining toes on my left foot developed gangrene. Doctors removed them. Then the orthopedic surgeon told me they would have to amputate my right leg below the knee. My mind went blank. I lay awake that night wondering how I would get around and what would remain of the life I knew. Doctors amputated my right leg below the knee in April 2025. I don’t remember the exact date. On the day of the surgery, I was nervous, so I reached for humor. I asked the surgical team whether I could take the amputated leg home. Afterward, I woke up without pain because the neuropathology had already destroyed so much feeling. I looked down and saw nothing where the lower part of my right leg had been. I knew my life had changed for good. The loss shows up in ordinary moments. I can’t sign a check or hold a fork properly. Maria has to do work that once belonged to both of us. For more than a year, she has carried most of the household responsibilities while we’ve waited for my prosthesis. Insurance authorization requirements have delayed the process. My next step is a trip to Danville, where the orthopedic surgeon must clear me for the prosthesis. I’ve completed one round of physical therapy, and I do leg exercises now. Once
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I receive the prosthesis, I’ll begin another round. Maria and I don’t talk much about whether I’m a burden. I know caregiving has strained her. We both believe I’ll regain some mobility. That gives us something to work toward. Until then, writing keeps me moving. I sit in the recliner at my desk in the den and write every day. Some of it gets published. Some doesn’t. I don’t care about that. I write anyway. I must write. No matter what. When I write, time disappears. I focus on the sentence in front of me instead of the lift or the missing leg. My condition has made me a better writer Writing keeps boredom and frustration from taking over. I spend more time with the work and listen harder to the rhythm of a sentence. I
stick with a story longer. I love writing, and I still get a charge when someone tells me they liked something I wrote. That response connects me to readers and to the person I was before the hospital stays and surgeries. Writing also keeps me connected to sports. The last event I covered in person was the PIAA Individual Wrestling Championships in 2023. I miss Friday night football, especially opening night, when every team is undefeated, and every town carries a fresh season into the stadium. I miss wrestling even more. It was my first love as a sportswriter. I haven’t seen Donald M. Chapman III Stadium at Mifflin County High School. I want to. Returning to a live game or match would mean the
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Carson
Continued from Page 5
world to me. I miss the athletes and fans, along with the parents and athletic directors who make local sports run. I miss the journalists and radio personalities I’ve met through the years. I love this county because its people make local athletics matter. Wrestling has always felt different. Once you’re involved, you become part of a large, loving family. I miss that family. My faith hasn’t disappeared, and I’m not angry with God. In my case, God didn’t cause this. Much of what happened grew out of my own choices. I ignored my diabetes. I failed to improve my nutrition and resisted going to the hospital when Maria warned me. Faith helps me face that responsibility without surrendering the rest of my life. Most people don’t know how resilient they are until life demands it. For me, resilience means patience and faith over time. I do the exercises and wait through the insurance process. I accept Maria’s help
while working toward needing less of it. Then I sit down at my computer and type the next sentence with two fingers. I hope people with diabetes learn from what happened to me. Don’t ignore the disease. Don’t dismiss numbness or the early signs of neuropathy. Cut back on sugar. Exercise and check your feet regularly. Ulcers and infections can develop there, and the damage can grow before you understand how serious it has become. Listen, when the people who love you say something is wrong. I didn’t, and I paid a heavy price. My story is still being written. I’m waiting for the surgeon’s approval and the prosthesis that may help me stand again. I’m working toward the day I can enter the new Mifflin County stadium, find my place near the field and feel the noise of another Friday night. I believe that day will come. Until then, I’ll be in the den, writing from my recliner. Two fingers are enough. ... Brian Carson is a reporter for The Sentinel.
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Finding a quiet strength in resilience or other illnesses or painful endResilience is still smiling and things won’t give us all the an- ty it doesn’t have to be a loud imSometimes ings to relationships that broke being able to find joy in things swers and fix all our problems, pressive show of strength. tragedies, despite the fact that we don’t feel but they can help us see them difSo, if you find yourself strugrefusing to give up their heart, unexpected the death of a strong, we are indeed afraid, and ferently. gling like I do sometimes, give loved one, the we definitely don’t have life all We are all struggling with yourself a little break. Look at isn’t enough loss of a job and figured out. something or someone. We will how you might be practicing reWhat traits would you say a person would have if you were asked to describe a resilient person? By definition resilience is the ability to bounce back, recover from tough times and adapt to change. Maybe you feel like me on the subject of resilience and think that resilient people are the ones that have it all together and have figured out how to succeed at everything in their lives. I know for certain resilient people are the ones that have overcome horrible battles with cancer
Sarah Hurlburt
on the list could go. I used to think those resilient people were always strong, were rarely afraid, they had life all figured out they didn’t get knocked
down. But life has shown me there is a broader scope of resilience. Sometimes resilience is simply not giving up when something feels too hard.
Even just believing in ourselves to handle disappointing and painful things in life is resilience. We will all have failed attempts and failed relationships, lost opportunities, unfulfilled dreams, I know I sure have. We can read self-help books and seek therapy. I have. But unfortunately, even those
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all face varying levels of suffering as we journey through life. Not all problems will be easily resolved or resolved at all and not all things we hoped for will come to pass. And that is ok because we have resilience. Whatever your struggle is remember resilience can be a quiet persistence in the face of difficul-
silience in your own life in ways you hadn’t realized before. Resilience doesn’t mean you get everything right, it means you keep trying when you get it all wrong. ... Sarah Hurlburt is a Sentinel correspondent.
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Finally discovering the road back to ‘me’ How facing including me, brain chem- I couldn’t go anywhere by over our heads, they also When I was old enough house felt like a victory. istry plays a role in how myself. couldn’t afford reliable to work, I did. I walked or Large crowds. Talking to fears became emotions are processed. I The truth is, though, my transportation. If they had relied on rides from family strangers. Even everyday told myself that being over- struggles didn’t begin there. a vehicle, no one else was and friends. situations filled me with The people who were allowed to drive it because But driving was some- anxiety. I tried to find work the first step ly sensitive, emosupposed to teach me, sup- they were afraid it would thing my anxiety simply that allowed me to avoid tional and port me and guide me had break down — or so they wouldn’t let me do. toward See Road / Page 9 constantly failed me long before I met my partner. My sibling and reclaiming my overthinking everyI grew up with two parents thing was battling addiction. Evenlife power. For many people, and because I didn’t drive, struggled to keep a roof said.
In 2014, after the birth of my first son, I was diagnosed with severe depression and anxiety. I began therapy but refused medication. At the time, I believed medication would change me or numb my emotions. It wasn’t until much later that I realized mental illness isn’t simply a matter of will-
just part of who I was. It wasn’t. Sierra Much of it Bolger was anxiety, and anxiety can be treated. In 2022, my mental health took a turn for the worse. I had been in a toxic, abusive relationship with the father of my children. I was no longer working,
tually, they separated. We spent time in foster care before my dad gained custody of us. Later, my older siblings moved out, things fell apart, and I eventually went to live with my mom. We moved constantly. Some places lasted longer than others. Sometimes I had a bed. Other times I slept on a couch. Because my parents
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Road
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those things, but strangely enough, I found joy in waitressing. I enjoyed talking with people. Over time, I realized I was likable and that the hurtful things I’d been told about myself throughout my life simply weren’t true. Resilience is the ability to bounce back and adapt to change. For a long time, I thought resilient people were naturally strong and confident. I never saw myself that way. My parents, while dealing with addiction and their own unresolved trauma, weren’t ready to break the cycle. Unfortunately, they still aren’t. But I was. Almost three years ago, I reached the lowest point of my life. I stood at my kitchen sink and wanted to die. I was a full-time stay-athome mom being told I was worthless, that the world would be better off without me, that I contributed nothing and was a burden because I couldn’t drive. I never imagined I would reach a place where I believed my children would be better off without me. My therapist didn’t know I was having those thoughts, but during one session
she shared something that changed my life. She told me one of the most common questions children ask after losing a parent to suicide is, “Why wasn’t I good enough for them to stay?” At that moment, I knew I would never let my boys carry that question. Even if life felt impossibly hard, I promised myself I would stay and keep fighting. I started medication. I got a job. Slowly, things began to change. I built friendships, made connections and became a healthier version of myself. But I still couldn’t drive. A few months later, my spouse of 12 years and I separated. That setback brought new emotional and financial challenges. Before I knew it, two years had passed, and I was a 32-year-old mother with no driver’s license, unable to take my sons — or even myself — anywhere alone. In my mind, buying a car to practice in made perfect sense. So I did. At first, the car sat in my driveway for days. Eventually, I started taking short trips, mentally mapping every stop sign, every turn and every possible obstacle before I even started the engine. That’s what anxiety looked like for me.
Little by little, my confidence grew. Those short trips became longer ones. Then they became adventures. Over the last year, I’ve driven to places I never imagined I would go. With every trip, I gained confidence. I gained independence. Most importantly, I gained respect for myself. For many people, driving is simply something you learn as a teenager. You may laugh at a 32-year-old celebrating one year behind the wheel. But if you’ve ever lived with anxiety, you understand. Last July, I bought my car. Just six months ago, I swore I would never drive on the highway. I wasn’t ready — or at least that’s Sentinel photo by SIERRA BOLGER what I told myself. Thankfully, I had sup- The view with the two bridges is the overlook in Selinsgrove at Shikellamy State Park. portive people in my life who believed in me until I was able to believe in myself. Now, hardly a day goes by that I don’t drive on the highway. In June, I took my two sons to the Outer Banks of North Carolina. Just the three of us. Was it stressful? Absolutely. Was it scary? Without question. But making that trip — See Road / Page 10
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Road
Continued from Page 8
and returning home safely with countless memories — gave me a confidence I never thought possible. Before that, I’d taken hiking trips, some alone and some with my boys. Our favorite this summer has been Watkins Glen State Park in New York. Being out in nature has changed me. As corny as it sounds, the journey has become more meaningful than the destination. I’ve watched breathtaking sunrises over rivers, sunsets across mountains and quiet mornings beside lakes. I’ve stopped at diners, visited small-town restaurants, met strangers, tried new foods and learned that everyone has a story. Often, people are carrying burdens far heavier than our own. One morning, while driving home from an adventure, I stopped at a state park overlook to watch the sunrise over the Susquehanna River. Another vehicle was already parked there, which made me hesitate. Still, I got out and walked toward the overlook.
whelmed in the moment. We walked away in opposite directions. I stood looking out over the river and cried harder than I had in a long time. When I returned to my car, she was still there. I wanted her to know I didn’t think she was strange. In fact, I needed that moment more than she could have known. We ended up talking and walking together for nearly an hour. I shared things with her that I’d never told anyone. She then told me she had survived a murder-suicide attempt after her partner tried to kill them both. Today, she helps others heal. In many ways, she reminded me of an older version of the woman I once dreamed I could become — confident, healthy, strong, beautiful and unapologetically herself. That morning, two women connected through shared experiences of surviving abuse and learning Sentinel photo by SIERRA BOLGER to heal. Before we parted, we Pictured is an overlook in Selinsgrove at Shikellamy State Park. made one promise. We would never be siA woman called out. an energy healer, and I feel Her hug felt strangely to be OK. She called me lenced again. ˘˘ “Excuse me. I know this drawn to you. Can I hug familiar, like the kind of beautiful, strong and resilSierra Bolger is a reportis going to sound weird...” you? Please let me hug comfort I’d needed my en- ient. She said many other She paused, and I as- you.” tire life. things I can’t fully remem- er for The Sentinel. sumed she was about to ask We embraced. She told me I was going ber because I was overfor directions. Honestly, I didn’t want to Instead, she said, “I’m let go.
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