Eagle HealthWorks

03/17/2026

🌟 Staff Spotlight: Courtenay, CNP – Nurse Practitioner 🌟

Meet Courtenay! 💉💜 For the past 6 years, Courtenay has been a steady force in the recovery world — bringing compassion, clinical expertise, and a whole lot of heart to her role here at Eagle Healthworks. 🦅

When asked what she loves most about her work, Courtenay didn’t hesitate:
💬 “My patients — and knowing I can help make a positive impact on their recovery journey.”

Her motivation? 👉 Her patients.
Her goal? 👉 To make them feel seen, supported, and successful.
✨ "It won't be easy, but it'll be worth it." – her go-to motto that says it all.

Courtenay is also working on making time for self-care – more nature walks 🌳 and a little movement in her day 🏃‍♀️ are at the top of her list.

☕ In the mornings, it’s coffee with lots of flavored creamer, followed by a sugar-free energy drink when the afternoon hits 🔋😅

And fun fact?
Her coworkers say she’s famous for her laugh 😂 – and if you’ve heard it, you already know!

💬 Secret talent? She swears she’s a human lie detector. So watch what you say… 😉
Drop a 💙 to show Courtenay some love for the way she shows up and shows out for our clients every single day!

03/17/2026

🦅 Read this out loud. Let it sink in. You matter.
Not just for what you’ve done — but for who you are.

5 reasons why I matter:

1️⃣ I’ve survived things I never thought I would.
2️⃣ I bring something into this world no one else can.
3️⃣ I’m capable of healing, growing, and changing.
4️⃣ Someone out there needs to hear my story.
5️⃣ I’m still here — and that means something.

✨ At Eagle Healthworks, we don’t just treat addiction. We remind you of your worth.
Because recovery isn’t just about surviving — it’s about remembering you were always enough.

📞 Text or Call (740) 781-0808 — because you matter, even if you forgot why.

03/16/2026

Yesterday a woman walked in at 4 PM. No appointment. Asked if I could squeeze her in.

“What do you want?” I asked.

She showed me a photo on her phone. Numbers. Just numbers.

“392. On my wrist. Simple. Black. Can you do it now?”

I looked at her. She’d been crying. Eyes red. Hands shaking.

“Yeah, I can do it. But can I ask what 392 means?”

She sat down in my chair. Took a breath.

“It’s the number of days my daughter stayed clean before she overdosed. I found her yesterday. I want to remember she tried. That 392 days mattered.”

I didn’t know what to say. Just nodded. Started setting up.

She kept talking. Needed to talk.

“Everyone’s going to say she relapsed. That she failed. That addicts always relapse. But they won’t say she was sober for 392 days. That she went to meetings. Got a job. Started painting again. That she was my daughter again for 392 days. They’ll remember one day. The last day. But I’m going to remember 392.”

Her voice broke.

“This tattoo is proof those days existed. That she fought. That she almost made it.”

I finished the tattoo. Simple numbers. 392. On her wrist. Where she could see it every day.
She paid. Tipped way too much. Started to leave. Then turned back.

“Can I ask you something weird?”

“Anything,” I said.

“Can you keep that stencil? The 392? And if anyone ever comes in here struggling with addiction. Or losing someone to addiction. Can you offer to do this tattoo for free? Any number. However many days their person stayed clean. 10 days. 100 days. 1 day. I don’t care. Just so they know those days counted.”

She left before I could answer.

I kept the 392 stencil. Put it in a frame behind my counter. Wrote under it:

“Days of sobriety tattoos — always free. Any number. Because every day counts.”

I didn’t think anyone would take me up on it.
Three days later, a man came in. Saw the sign. Started crying.

“Can you do 1,279?”

“Absolutely. Who’s it for?”

“My brother. He was sober 1,279 days. Died in a car accident last week. Sober driver hit by a drunk driver. The irony is killing me. He fought so hard. And some stranger took him out.”

I did the tattoo for free. He hugged me for five minutes.

Word spread.

I’ve done 23 sobriety number tattoos in three weeks. Free. Every single one. 47 days. 6 days. 1,823 days. 2 days. One woman got “14 hours” tattooed.

“My son stayed clean for 14 hours before he relapsed and died. Everyone says 14 hours doesn’t count. But it does. He tried. For 14 hours he tried.”

I tattooed 14 hours on her shoulder. She sobbed the entire time.

When I finished, she looked at it and whispered, “Now everyone will know he tried.”

Yesterday someone came in and asked for “0 days.”

I was confused. “Zero?”

He nodded.

“My daughter never got clean. She tried to quit so many times. Went to rehab four times. But never made it past a few hours before using again. She died at 23. Everyone says she didn’t try. But she did. She tried so hard. Zero days sober but a million attempts. Can you tattoo 0 with a little infinity symbol?”

Because her attempts were infinite even if her days weren’t.

I cried while doing that tattoo. Zero with an infinity symbol. For a girl who never stopped trying even though she never succeeded.

A teenager came in two days ago. Seventeen years old. With his dad.

“Can you do 91 days? For me. I’m 91 days sober. I want to remember.”

I looked at his dad. Dad nodded.

“He asked for this. I’m proud of him.”

I did the tattoo. 91 on his forearm. When I finished, the kid stared at it.

“Now when I want to use, I’ll see this. I’ll remember I made it to 91. I can make it to 92.”

His dad paid. Tipped $200.

“You’re saving lives with ink,” he said. “Keep doing this.”

The kid comes back every 30 days. I add a small tally mark next to his 91. He’s up to 151 days now. Five tally marks. He’s going to make it.

The original woman came back yesterday. The 392 tattoo.

“I wanted to show you something,” she said.

She pulled up her sleeve. Another number.

“1.”

Just the number 1.

“What’s that for?” I asked.

She smiled through tears.

“One year since my daughter died. One year I’ve survived without her. Someone told me I should get a tattoo for my own sobriety. From grief. From giving up. I’ve been sober from ending my own life for one year. Because of this.”

She pointed to 392.

“Every time I wanted to give up, I looked at this. If she could fight for 392 days, I could fight for one more. So I’m marking my days now too. One year. 365 days of choosing to stay.”

I have a wall now. Photos of every sobriety number tattoo I’ve done. 47 tattoos in two months. Numbers ranging from 14 hours to 6,247 days.

Every single one free.

Every single one a story of someone who tried. Who fought. Who stayed clean for as long as they could. Some made it. Some didn’t.
But every number matters.

Because addiction isn’t about the day someone relapses. It’s about all the days they didn’t.
And those days deserve to be remembered. Marked. Honored.

I started this because a grieving mother asked me to remember 392 days. Now I’m remembering hundreds of days. Thousands of days. Marking them in ink on the skin of people who refuse to forget.

Every number tells me the same thing:
Trying counts. Fighting counts. Even if you lose, the fight counted.

I’m a tattoo artist. But these aren’t just tattoos. They’re monuments. Proof that someone tried. And in a world that only remembers the last day, I’m making sure we remember all the days before it.

03/10/2026

How many people looking at this post was counted out, never thought you would amout to sh*t,looked down at everywhere you went, judged..We have been there at the bottom. Now we are here to help anyone who is tried of being counted out, looked over, judged and ignored 🙁. This doesn't have to be your future but a story you tell. We are here we care about you and we don't want you to feel counted out anymore.
Call us today 740-781-0808

Vowless

03/07/2026

03/07/2026

03/07/2026

03/07/2026

Some losses echo louder than others.
The kind that leave an empty chair at the table… a quiet bedroom down the hall… a phone that will never ring again.
Every single day, beautiful souls are stolen by overdose. Not statistics. Not headlines. Sons. Daughters. Brothers. Sisters. Friends. Whole worlds wrapped inside a single heartbeat. And when that heartbeat stops, the shockwave tears through families like a storm that never quite passes.
A parent should never have to bury their child. Yet too many do. They stand beside a small piece of earth holding a lifetime of memories, asking questions that will never have answers. That kind of grief doesn’t fade with the calendar. Death is a wound that does not heal overnight. Sometimes it doesn’t heal at all—it simply becomes a scar carried quietly through life.
That is why this mission matters.
We fight to lower those numbers not because it’s easy… but because every life is sacred. Because behind every overdose is a family whose world collapses in a single moment. Because somewhere tonight a mother is praying her child makes it home. Somewhere a father is staring at a phone hoping it lights up one more time.
We do this work for the parents who now visit their children in cemeteries instead of living rooms.
For the brothers and sisters learning how to laugh again through the ache.
For the families that addiction tried to break.
And we do it for the souls still here — the ones who deserve another sunrise, another chance, another breath.
Every life saved is a universe restored.
Every hand reached is hope refusing to die.
And as long as breath remains in us, we will keep fighting. Because even in the darkest valleys… one life saved can change everything. 🕊️

03/07/2026

Some people clock in for a job.
Some people show up for a mission.
Today, Eagle HealthWorks wants to shine a light on someone very special.
We are deeply grateful for every single Advocate on our team.

The compassion, the patience, the daily fight for our patients — it’s the heartbeat of what we do. But every once in a while, someone’s light burns just a little brighter, and today we want to honor that light.

This Advocate carries a heart of gold. Not the shiny kind you see from a distance — the real kind. The kind that shows up early, stays late, and refuses to let a patient fall through the cracks.
She fights for her patients like they’re family.( not my family but family)🤣😂

If people truly understood what it takes to get some payers to approve alternative treatments — especially injections — they’d know it’s not a straight road. It’s a maze of paperwork, denials, resubmissions, research, phone calls, questions, and more resubmissions.

Most people hear “no” and move on. Not her, She pushes! She pulls! Then pushes some more! She researches!
She asks questions! She fights until the fight is won!

She stays awake think of ways to succeed!
She goes around the system and then back through it again.
Until one day… the med approval comes through.

And when it does? She celebrates like it’s the greatest victory in the world — because to a patient in need, it is.

At Eagle HealthWorks we are a growing company, but we’re still small enough that everyone rolls up their sleeves. Dennis and I paint walls, clean rooms and sweep carpet, handle outreach, advertising, and whatever else the day throws at us.

And this young lady!
She’s right there with us, sleeves up cleaning floors, scrubbing toilets.

Crawling under the house with the plumber asking, “Do you need help?”🤣 she's a busy 🐝
Because to her, there is no job too big and no job too small when it comes to helping the people we serve.
We are blessed with an entire team of compassionate, dedicated Advocates. Truly. Each one brings heart into this building every day.

But every team has that one person whose light seems to glow just a little stronger… the one who reminds us why we started this company in the first place.

Today, we celebrate that light, that Hero inside that pushes her.
And we are grateful beyond words to have

💜Crystal Poland Rn. the 🐐 of nursing💜

as part of the Eagle HealthWorks family.
Keep shining. Our patients — and all of us — are better because you do. ✨
Tracey Eagleeye
🌺Chief of Staff🌺

03/04/2026

03/04/2026