This photo… it’s raw, honest, and a little scary, I know. This is what I look like now, on the outside, after so much struggle. A little swollen, with purple marks that tell stories of intense treatments, and this tiredness that seems to have become my companion. And this thumbs-up?

Inside, I am afraid.

Not just a little afraid, but deeply, quietly afraid. The kind of fear that sits in your chest and doesn’t leave. The kind that makes it hard to sleep. Every time I close my eyes, my mind starts asking questions.
What will happen tomorrow?
Will the surgery go well?
Will I wake up the same?
Will I wake up at all?

These thoughts come again and again, like waves that don’t stop. I try to stay calm. I remind myself that the doctors are good, that they have done this many times before. I remind myself that I have already survived so much. But still… fear finds a way back in.

Tonight feels longer than any night I have ever lived. The clock moves slowly, almost as if time itself understands what I’m going through. Every minute feels like an hour. The silence in the room is loud, filled with thoughts I cannot escape.