The bags are packed. Everything is ready. Tomorrow morning, I leave for Brisbane.
This weekend the pain has been relentless, each wave crashing over me like a cruel reminder of why this surgery is so necessary. My body is exhausted, my mind stretched thin, and now the nerves have begun to creep in. They catch me in the quiet moments, dragging myself through the shops to make sure I have everything I need, zipping up the last bag, double checking the paperwork, sitting still long enough to feel the weight of what’s coming.
This stage of waiting is emotional. The mix of fear and hope sits heavy on my chest. There are tears close to the surface, not from weakness but from the reality of walking into another operating room. The last one gave me two years of life I never thought I’d get back, and I am holding onto that memory with everything I have.
Tonight, I am breathing through the nerves and clinging to hope. Tomorrow begins the next step of this journey. I don’t know exactly what the outcome will be, but I know this: I am ready.

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