It finally happened on Thursday this week.  The reality of my upcoming surgery hit with full force.  January 14th looms closer, and with the boys at their dad's for the last couple of days during the school week, the usual distractions of our morning routine were absent. I woke up in tears on Thursday and spent much of the day, on and off, consumed by sadness and worry.  These feelings carried into Friday as well.  My thoughts race uncontrollably, a whirlwind of 'what ifs' and 'last times.' I know these aren't truly my last moments, but the fear of the unknown is overwhelming.

Cancer rarely follows a fairytale script. Three years into this battle with an incurable disease, I constantly question the limits of my endurance, physically and mentally. Am I truly in control, or is my body, or a higher power, dictating the pace?  I was feeling utterly depleted. I sometimes long for a temporary escape, a break from the constant mental and emotional exertion. I'm not giving up, but the weight of responsibility sometimes feels unbearable. I often crave a moment of surrender.

This constant awareness of my diagnosis permeates every aspect of my life. It's a stark reminder that my life has been irrevocably altered. But amidst the despair, I cling to a powerful mantra: 'When the days get hard, don't let them win. Breathe and remember who the f*ck you are!' You are valued, strong, and capable. You bring joy to others. Your worth extends far beyond a medical diagnosis. You are loved and cherished. This is my daily reminder, my guiding light as I navigate this challenging journey. Onward and upward.