There’s nothing profound to say about facing something like this. It isn’t heroic or brave; it’s necessary.
Blessed
Tonight, I’m not really thinking about the operation itself. I’m thinking about everyone who’s been part of this journey, from the NHS staff to the amazing people that I am incredibly fortunate to have as colleagues.
What strikes me most is how blessed I feel. Blessed in the knowledge that I am surrounded by love and light, even when I’m physically on my own. The messages, the calls, the check-ins, they have never meant more.
I’m am also sitting here with new learnt knowledge that even on the eve of something that should be making you shiver in fear that you can still feel like the luckiest person alive, and this is an absolutely valid feeling to have.
To my friends
Thank you.
Thank you for all the laughter, the patience and the gentle reminders that I’m more than a prognosis.
Thank you for loving me in all my messy, anxious, sarcastic glory.
You are the reasons why I’m still able to bumble along this path, why I’m still finding reasons to laugh and most importantly you are the reasons why I actually look forward to tomorrow.
To everyone
No matter who you are know that I am sending you both love and gratitude; for some reason you’ve read this far and are now involved in my story and for this I thank you, truly I do.
I hope that if you ever find yourself in this position that you can take some strength in the knowledge that there will very many people, some who you never knew cared, who will come and stand shoulder-to-shoulder with you, quietly rooting you on.
And if you can’t find someone? Well, I am here and I promise you things will work out. Have some love for others, have some love for yourself, and the darkness will soon disappear.
Right then. Time to try and sleep, which I’m fairly confident I will, as I know that with whatever comes next that I am not alone.