I have officially reached the stage of surgery recovery where I am publicly celebrating a bowel movement.
After taking stool softeners all week and adding Miralax this morning, it finally happened.
There was, however, some engineering involved.
I didn’t want to strain and hurt my stomach, so I needed something to elevate my feet.
Enter: my niece’s potty chair.
Was this its intended purpose?
Absolutely not.
Did it work?
Absolutely.
Recovery is glamorous. 🤣
— Destiny
I am completely at peace as darkness wraps me in her sweet embrace.
I’m not scared.
I’m not worried.
I have no apprehension for what’s to come.
I welcome her like an old friend.
We sit together.
We talk.
We dream about all the could bes and what ifs.
She listens without interruption.
She understands without explanation.
With her, I can be completely honest about who I am.
There are no expectations.
No judgments.
Only acceptance.
“Just breathe,” she whispers each night as she wraps her arms around me, and for a little while, the rest of the world disappears.
Together, we become one.
Every night, without fail, she finds her way back to me.
And every night, we begin another adventure.
Then morning comes.
“Be at peace,” she reminds me as daylight slowly loosens her grip.
She never leaves with sadness.
Only with the quiet promise that she’ll return.
And she always does.
Until next time…
Darkness, my old friend.
I’ll be missing you.
— Destiny
P.S. If this poem spoke to you, I’d love to know what it means to you. I think poetry is at its best when every reader finds something different between the lines. 🖤
Recovery is strange.
Everyone prepares you for the surgery.
Not many people prepare you for the waiting afterward.
Today has mostly been heating pads, naps, walking a little, trying to get comfortable, and discovering that the trapped gas from laparoscopic surgery is somehow more annoying than the incisions themselves.
I’ve become very grateful for whoever invented heating pads.
(Seriously.)
My body feels like it’s reminding me every few minutes that it went through something yesterday.
Not in a scary way.
Just in an honest one.
Recovery isn’t dramatic.
It’s slow.
It’s uncomfortable.
It’s watching another episode because getting up sounds like too much work.
It’s celebrating small victories that normally wouldn’t deserve mentioning.
Like finally being able to use the bathroom.
Or realizing you can laugh without it hurting quite as much as it did yesterday.
I don’t have many answers yet.
Those come in a couple of weeks.
For now, my only job is to rest.
And for someone who always likes to be doing something…
That might be the hardest part.
— Destiny
P.S. Healing doesn’t always look productive. Sometimes it just looks like giving your body permission to catch up.
Some people will look at this photo and see a little boy playing with a hat that’s much too big for him.
I see something else.
For as long as I can remember, I’ve had this silly habit of balancing random things on my head and dramatically “sneezing” them off just to make him laugh.
The other day, he crawled up beside me, grabbed my hat, pulled it over his face, and started trying to “sneeze” it off himself.
Nobody taught him to do that.
He was watching.
It’s funny how children are paying attention long before we realize they are. They notice our words, our habits, our routines, and even the little things we do without thinking.
Sometimes, they love us by becoming a little bit like us.
That realization stopped me in my tracks.
This picture isn’t just of my nephew wearing a hat that’s too big for him.
It’s a reminder that someone I love is learning from me every single day.
And if I’m being honest…
That melts my whole heart.
I wouldn’t picture my life being any better without him.
Until next time,
-Destiny
P.S.-What’s something you’ve caught a child doing that made you stop and think, “Yep… they definitely got that from me.” 😂
Yesterday, I ended my journal entry by saying I’d let you know what today brought.
So…
Here’s the update.
The surgery went well.
The doctors found endometriosis.
They also found fibroids on the back side of my uterus.
As strange as it sounds, I actually felt relieved hearing that.
Not because I’m happy to have either of those things, obviously. But because after wondering for so long, there’s finally an explanation for at least part of what I’ve been experiencing.
I’ll know more in about two weeks when I go back for my follow-up appointment, but for now, I’m just grateful to finally have some answers.
When I woke up after surgery, I was cramping like I was on my period, and I was definitely uncomfortable.
The nurse gave me some medication through my IV, and within seconds the cramps eased up.
I looked at her and joked that I needed them to prescribe whatever that was for my periods because I’ve never had anything work that fast before.
After that, I celebrated my successful surgery with the world’s most gourmet meal:
Saltine crackers and a Sprite.
Honestly?
Not bad.
One thing I wasn’t expecting was the heated gown.
Why has nobody told me those things exist?
That may have been one of my favorite discoveries of the day.
I’ve been home since around noon, sleeping on and off in the recliner, wrapped up in my blanket with Bailey Sarian playing in the background.
My boyfriend stayed with me through everything today, waited while I was in surgery, and has been taking such good care of me since we got home.
He’s definitely earned a few extra brownie points. 🖤
Thankfully, I’m not in the kind of pain I was preparing myself for.
Mostly, I’m just uncomfortable, crampy, and unbelievably sleepy.
I have a feeling tonight will end the same way most of today has gone…
With another nap.
Yesterday I wrote that maybe today would bring answers.
It did.
Not all of them.
But enough to finally feel like we’re moving in the right direction.
For now, I think that’s enough.
I’ll keep you updated after my follow-up appointment in a couple of weeks.
Until next time,
-Destiny
P.S. For now, my only plans involve naps, blankets, and letting my body do the hard work of healing. 🖤
Tomorrow morning, I’ll be having surgery.
I’ve noticed something kind of funny.
Everyone else seems more concerned about it than I am.
People keep asking if I’m nervous, and I keep giving them the same answer.
Not really.
I’ve never been someone who gets overwhelmed by surgeries. My mindset has always been pretty simple:
It is what it is.
Life keeps moving.
And today proved that.
Today was the last day of summer school.
The building felt different. Everyone was excited for summer to officially begin, but there was also a quiet sadness woven into the day. Two of my coworkers are moving on to different chapters. One is leaving altogether, and another accepted a new position, so today was our last day working together.
It’s funny how a place can feel different the moment you realize someone won’t be there tomorrow.
After work, I spent part of the afternoon driving friends around because life apparently decided everyone’s car should act up at the same time.
Later tonight, my boyfriend and I are going to see if we can help fix one of them before coming home, making dinner, and ending the night the way we usually do—with something familiar playing on the TV and a chance to unwind.
In between all of that…
I have surgery tomorrow.
I’m not packing a hospital bag.
I’ll throw on a pair of baggy sweatpants, grab my favorite blanket, and head out in the morning.
Tomorrow morning I’ll be getting up about an hour and a half earlier than I’m used to.
Other than that, it’ll probably feel like any other weekday.
I’ll get dressed.
I’ll put on deodorant.
I’ll brush my teeth.
I’ll stand in the bathroom getting ready for the day just like I always do.
The only thing missing will be my morning medication. Since I’m not allowed to eat or drink before surgery, I’ll be skipping that part of my routine.
It’s funny how something that feels so big can begin in such an ordinary way.
The surgery itself doesn’t really scare me.
If anything, I’m more curious than afraid.
Curious about what they’ll find.
Curious if this will finally answer some of the questions I’ve been carrying for a long time.
This procedure is another step in trying to understand why becoming a mom hasn’t happened for us naturally.
Maybe they’ll find something.
Maybe they won’t.
I think the only thing that really makes me nervous is the conversation afterward.
The moment the doctor comes out to explain what they found.
I’ll probably still be waking up from anesthesia, trying to keep my eyes open, and I know I’m not exactly known for remembering much afterward. I’m hoping whoever’s with me catches the things I won’t.
Other than that…
Life feels surprisingly normal.
Dinner still has to be made.
Cars still break down.
People still move on to new jobs.
Summer school still ends.
Tomorrow just happens to include a hospital in the middle of all of it.
Maybe tomorrow will bring answers.
Maybe it’ll bring more questions.
Either way…
It’s another step forward.
And right now, I think that’s enough.
I’ll let you know what tomorrow brings.
— Destiny
P.S. I’ll be back soon. Hopefully with a few more answers… and at least one good anesthesia story. 🖤
Jeffrey Dahmer once worked in a chocolate factory.
I’m not entirely sure what you’re supposed to do with that information.
But now you know.
So if I had to carry it around…
You do too.
Until next time,
— Destiny
P.S. I collect unnecessary facts like some people collect stamps.
There’s something about Sundays that makes me look back at the week a little differently.
The little moments start connecting.
The random conversations, the small victories, the things that almost got forgotten somehow end up becoming the parts I remember the most.
This week wasn’t loud.
But it was full.
For the first time in a while, I felt ahead instead of behind. I spent a lot of time writing, researching, and creating, and I realized how much I’ve missed having a project that genuinely excites me. History After Dark is quickly becoming one of my favorite things I’ve ever worked on.
☕ This Week’s Comfort
Morning quiet.
Writing before work.
Watching Bailey Sarian while my nephews napped.
And realizing one burned out bathroom light somehow made the room feel…cozier instead of darker.
📷 Through My Lens
Saturday’s photoshoot almost didn’t go as planned.
The rain sent us downtown instead of out to the sunflower field, and honestly, I wouldn’t change it. We ended up with some of my favorite photos we’ve taken.
Sometimes the backup plan ends up being the better story.
💭 A Thought I’ve Been Carrying
I think creativity comes in seasons.
Some weeks I struggle to write a paragraph.
This week I finished my first History After Dark article, completed my second, finished all the research for my third, and somehow still found myself writing down ideas for novels after waking up from strange dreams.
Maybe inspiration doesn’t disappear.
Maybe it just waits until we’re paying attention again.
❤️ This Week’s Gratitude
I’m grateful my niece was okay.
I’m grateful my little guy at work caught the ball and threw it back to me. It sounds like such a small thing, but for him, it was huge.
I’m grateful for tiny milestones—whether it’s hearing my oldest nephew proudly say, “I want my bibi,” or watching another child take his first lunch outside.
And I’m grateful that I finally found a series I can’t wait to keep writing.
😂 This Week’s “Well…That Happened.”
I somehow ended up having a serious conversation about cannibalism.
I learned I apparently know far too much about the subject.
I also accidentally corrected someone’s classification of human meat…
…and they stopped texting me shortly after.
I’m choosing to believe they just got busy.
🌱 This Week’s Small Joy
Feeding a squirrel out of my hand.
She was tiny.
She was brave.
And she absolutely made my day.
Here’s to another week.
Hopefully one with fewer hiccups, fewer hospital visits, and fewer conversations where I accidentally sound like I belong on an FBI watchlist.
Until next time,
— Destiny
P.S. What’s one unexpected thing that made you smile this week? I’d love to hear it.
I’m only a couple of pages into this book, and it’s already made me stop.
“She stuck out in a sea of black. Like a single white rose among a bed of thorns.”
I love imagery that paints a picture before I know anything about the characters.
As a writer, I’m always paying attention to those kinds of sentences. The ones that quietly tell you what kind of world you’re stepping into before the story has really begun.
I’m excited to see where this one takes me.
—Destiny
P.S. What’s a line from a book that’s stayed with you long after you finished reading it?
The Dancing Plague of 1518
When an Entire City Couldn’t Stop Dancing
July 1518 • Strasbourg, Holy Roman Empire (Modern-day France)
Welcome to History After Dark.
The kind of history that didn’t quite make it into your textbooks.
Imagine waking one morning and looking out your window.
Your neighbor is dancing.
At first, it doesn’t seem strange. Maybe there’s a celebration. Maybe someone is playing music nearby.
By lunchtime, she’s still dancing.
By sunset, she hasn’t stopped.
Blood stains the cobblestones beneath her feet.
Her shoes are gone.
She doesn’t seem happy.
She doesn’t seem drunk.
She just…keeps dancing.
Within days, she isn’t alone.
Then dozens join her.
Then hundreds.
And before long, an entire city begins asking the same impossible question:
How do you stop someone who doesn’t want to dance—but can’t stop?
Strasbourg, Summer 1518
Long before anyone would call it The Dancing Plague, Strasbourg was simply another city trying to survive.
Roughly twenty-five thousand people called it home. Merchants filled the markets, church bells echoed through narrow cobblestone streets, and the smell of fresh bread often struggled to overpower the stench of open gutters.
Life wasn’t easy.
The previous year had become known by many as the bad year. Crops had failed. Grain prices had soared. Disease spread easily through crowded streets, and famine had forced desperate families to survive however they could. Some accounts describe people eating spoiled grain. Others tell of starving farmers arriving at the city gates in search of food.
To many, every day felt uncertain.
And in a city where faith shaped nearly every part of life, uncertainty rarely stayed unexplained for long.
When something terrible happened…
It wasn’t always blamed on chance.
Sometimes it was blamed on sin.
Sometimes on the devil.
Sometimes on a saint.
No one knew it yet…
But in just a matter of days, Strasbourg would become known for one of the strangest events in recorded history.
It all began with a single woman.
The Woman History Barely Remembers
History remembers her by one name:
Frau Troffea.
Whether that was truly her surname or simply the way chroniclers identified her, no one can say with certainty. In fact, historians know remarkably little about the woman herself. There are no surviving descriptions of her personality, no letters, no journal entries, and no record explaining why she walked into the street that July morning.
What happened next, however, was documented.
She began to dance.
Not for a few minutes.
Not for an afternoon.
For days.
For six days, according to the surviving accounts, Frau Troffea danced without rest.
Her feet blistered.
The blisters split open.
Soon, every step left fresh blood on the stones beneath her.
People gathered to watch. Some laughed, believing it was an elaborate performance. Others whispered that she had finally lost her mind. A few wondered whether she was simply trying to escape an unhappy home. One later account even suggested her husband may have been abusive, though historians have never been able to verify the claim.
Everyone had a theory.
No one had an answer.
Because if this was a performance…
It was one she refused—or was unable—to end.
As the days wore on, the spectacle became impossible to ignore. Her body should have collapsed from exhaustion. Her muscles should have given out. Yet somehow, she continued moving.
And then…
Someone else began to dance.
When One Became Many
One became two.
Two became ten.
Within days, the strange compulsion had spread beyond Frau Troffea. Men and women throughout Strasbourg found themselves caught in the same relentless dance.
They didn’t dance with smiles on their faces.
They danced while crying.
While screaming.
While begging for someone to make it stop.
Witnesses described people collapsing from exhaustion only to stagger back to their feet and begin moving again. Others danced until their feet were swollen beyond recognition, their shoes discarded, their skin torn open against the rough cobblestones.
By August, somewhere between fifty and four hundred people were said to be dancing, depending on which historical account you read.
The city had never seen anything like it.
Neither had anyone else.
The Cure That Made Things Worse
The city needed answers.
Unfortunately, the answers it found only made things worse.
Physicians examined the dancers and reached a conclusion that, at the time, seemed perfectly reasonable. They believed the affliction was caused by an excess of “hot blood.” Their solution wasn’t to stop the dancing.
It was to encourage it.
The thinking was simple: if the dancers continued moving until the illness had run its course, their bodies would eventually rid themselves of whatever was causing the strange compulsion.
So the city acted.
Marketplaces were cleared.
Guildhalls were opened.
Large wooden stages were built.
Musicians were hired to play day and night.
Professional dancers were even brought in to keep the afflicted moving.
Rather than isolating the dancers…
Strasbourg gave them an audience.
What began as an attempt to cure the outbreak may have unintentionally fueled it instead.
As drums echoed through the streets and fiddles filled the air, more people joined the dance. Whether they were drawn in by the music, swept up in the panic, or suffering from the same unexplained compulsion, no one could say.
The city’s best medical minds believed they were helping.
Instead…
The dancing continued.
The Saint They Feared
When medicine failed, Strasbourg turned to something far older than science.
Faith.
To understand why, you first have to understand the world the people of Strasbourg lived in.
In 1518, disease wasn’t always explained by bacteria or viruses. Natural disasters weren’t simply unfortunate events. Strange illnesses weren’t always seen as medical conditions.
Many believed they were signs.
Warnings.
Punishments.
The work of forces far beyond human understanding.
Among those forces was Saint Vitus.
Today, Saint Vitus is remembered as a Christian martyr who lived during the Roman Empire and was later honored as one of the Fourteen Holy Helpers—a group of saints believed to protect people from illness and suffering.
But medieval Europe remembered him differently.
According to popular folklore, those who angered Saint Vitus risked a terrible punishment.
They would dance.
Not with joy.
Not in celebration.
But uncontrollably.
Relentlessly.
Until their bodies could dance no more.
The strange affliction had become so closely associated with him that outbreaks of choreomania throughout Europe were often called “Saint Vitus’s Dance.”
Whether the people of Strasbourg truly believed they had been cursed or simply feared they had, the result was the same.
The city abandoned medicine.
It placed its hope in faith.
The remaining dancers were loaded into horse-drawn wagons and taken to the shrine of Saint Vitus in Saverne, nearly thirty miles away.
There, priests performed rituals they believed could break the curse.
The dancers were led around a wooden figure of the saint.
Their battered feet were placed into red shoes.
Holy water was sprinkled over them.
Small crosses were marked upon their toes.
Then…
Something remarkable happened.
The dancing slowly began to stop.
Silence
And then…
As suddenly as it had begun…
The dancing stopped.
Not all at once.
Not with a single miracle.
But little by little, the streets of Strasbourg grew quiet again.
The music faded.
The crowds disappeared.
The exhausted bodies that had filled the marketplaces slowly vanished from public view.
For nearly two months, an entire city had lived through something it could neither understand nor control.
Now…
It was over.
Or at least, it seemed to be.
Many at the time believed the pilgrimage to the shrine of Saint Vitus had broken the curse. The rituals had been performed. The prayers had been spoken. The saint had shown mercy.
Others believed the city’s decision to ban public dancing and music had removed the very thing that allowed the strange behavior to spread.
Modern historians offer yet another possibility.
If the outbreak truly was an episode of mass psychogenic illness—a collective psychological response to overwhelming fear, famine, disease, and deeply rooted religious beliefs—then perhaps the combination of changing circumstances, renewed hope, and the power of expectation allowed it to run its course.
The truth is…
No one knows.
History records that the dancing ended.
History does not tell us exactly why.
Five hundred years later, the streets of Strasbourg are quiet once more.
The dancers are gone.
Frau Troffea disappears from the historical record almost as suddenly as she appeared.
The questions, however…
Never left.
What We Know
More than five centuries have passed since the Dancing Plague of 1518, and while many details remain debated, historians broadly agree on several key facts.
What We Don’t Know
This is where the mystery begins.
Leading Theories
For more than 500 years, historians, physicians, psychologists, and researchers have debated what happened in Strasbourg during the summer of 1518. No single explanation answers every question, but several theories continue to dominate the conversation.
Mass Psychogenic Illness (The Leading Theory)
Today, many historians consider mass psychogenic illness—sometimes called mass hysteria—to be the most convincing explanation.
The people of Strasbourg were already living under extraordinary stress. Years of crop failures had driven up the cost of food. Famine was widespread. Disease, including the recent spread of syphilis, had created constant fear. Many believed deeply in curses, divine punishment, and the supernatural.
Historian John Waller argues that this combination of extreme psychological stress and sincere religious belief created the perfect conditions for a collective psychological response. In other words, the dancers were not pretending. Their suffering was real, even if its origin may have been psychological rather than physical.
While this theory explains many aspects of the outbreak, it still cannot answer every question—including why it began with Frau Troffea.
Ergot Poisoning
Another well-known theory suggests the dancers may have been poisoned by ergot, a fungus that grows on rye.
During times of famine, people often had little choice but to eat spoiled grain. Ergot contains chemicals related to LSD and can cause hallucinations, muscle spasms, convulsions, and other neurological symptoms.
At first glance, the theory seems convincing.
However, many researchers now question this theory. Ergot poisoning typically causes severe pain, gangrene, and uncontrollable muscle contractions that would have made days of coordinated dancing nearly impossible. It also fails to explain why the outbreak spread through social contact rather than affecting everyone who consumed contaminated grain.
Today, most historians consider ergot poisoning possible, but less convincing than mass psychogenic illness.
A Religious Curse
For the people living in Strasbourg, the answer may have seemed obvious.
Many believed the dancers had been cursed by Saint Vitus, a Christian martyr who, according to medieval folklore, could punish people with uncontrollable dancing.
Whether or not the curse was real isn’t the historical question.
The important question is whether the people believed it was.
Their beliefs shaped how they interpreted the outbreak and ultimately influenced the city’s response. The decision to abandon medical treatment in favor of pilgrimages, prayers, and religious rituals only makes sense when viewed through the worldview of sixteenth-century Europe.
Something We’ll Never Know?
Perhaps the most honest answer is also the least satisfying.
History doesn’t preserve every detail.
Many records from 1518 have been lost, while others contradict one another. Historians continue to debate the number of dancers, the number of deaths, and even the identity of Frau Troffea herself.
Five hundred years later, we may never know exactly what happened in Strasbourg.
But perhaps that’s why the Dancing Plague continues to fascinate us.
It reminds us that even in an age of science and technology, there are still moments in history that refuse to fit neatly into a single explanation.
Sources & Further Reading
Every History After Dark article is built from multiple sources whenever possible. Historical events—especially ones as unusual as the Dancing Plague—often contain conflicting accounts. Where historians disagree, I’ve done my best to reflect that uncertainty rather than present speculation as fact.
Books
Historical & Reference Sources
Continue Exploring
If you’d like to hear another engaging retelling of this story, I highly recommend:
History is rarely as tidy as we’d like it to be. Many historical events—especially those hundreds of years old—contain conflicting accounts, missing records, and competing interpretations. Whenever possible, I compare multiple sources and distinguish between documented facts, historical beliefs, and modern theories. If historians disagree, I’ll do my best to tell you why rather than pretend there’s a simple answer.
The people of Strasbourg never got the answers they were looking for.
Five centuries later…
Neither have we.
Maybe one day new evidence will emerge. Maybe historians will uncover a forgotten document tucked away in an archive somewhere. Until then, the Dancing Plague remains one of those rare moments where history asks a question it cannot fully answer.
History is often stranger than fiction.
See you next Friday.
— Destiny
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