It’s been five days since my last update, and so much has happened in that time. It’s been a bit of a rollercoaster, but today I finally feel like I’m in a stable recovery phase. My mind is clearing which allows me the ability to journal.

I had a big bounce back, as I mentioned in my post on Monday, January 20th, but that “high” only lasted about 12-18 hours before I hit a setback.

I’m learning that setbacks are all part of the journey. 

On Tuesday morning, I woke up overwhelmed with homesickness and found myself in tears. The tears lasted all day. My heart ached for my boys, for home, for the comfort of familiar things. I craved the taste of home-cooked food, the freshness of the air outside. I felt so grimy, having not showered since I was admitted on January 14th. My blanket and personal belongings smelled only of the sterile, unfamiliar hospital, and it made everything feel even worse. I was sluggish, a stark contrast to the energy I had the day before.

Since being taken off my PCA dilaudid pump, the pain in my abdomen had worsened but I knew this was part of the process—my body had to step in and do the work of healing. When my team came in, I told them I wanted a shower, and they made it happen. I’ll never underestimate the power of a shower, a bath, or even just water on your skin—it gave me a small but important boost. They also upgraded my diet, and while the change felt a bit much at first, it really helped. My appetite was tiny, like a bird’s, but it felt good to chew something and actually get some substance in my stomach.

Wednesday arrived with a mix of emotions—I didn’t cry, but I felt incredibly down. My mom and brother-in-law were coming to visit, and to our surprise, they were able to take me home. I was in pretty rough shape, but my medical team felt I was ready, and that being at home would be better for my recovery. I now had a drain to manage, which I was shown how to change and monitor, along with a 6-inch incision with 14 staples through my belly button, plus five smaller incisions on my stomach that needed to be kept clean and covered.

They didn’t waste any time with my discharge. In fact, I asked for an hour to rest before the transport team arrived to take me to the car. It all happened so quickly. The three-hour ride home was smooth, but the bumps and jolts irritated my abdomen, making me tense up and leaving me in a lot of discomfort.

Arriving home Wednesday evening was emotional, I cried getting out of the car and being assisted to my front door. The last few days in the hospital, I honestly began to think I would not make it home.  I practically fell into the recliner and was trembling in pain. I started having bowel movements with nothing but blood, which triggered a wave of panic attacks. My mom didn’t even change her clothes, worried we’d have to go back to the hospital that night. Before we left, my doctor made it clear: if anything went wrong, we were to come straight back to her, or she would come get us herself—no going to another hospital. My family spent the whole night praying for healing.

Thursday morning, I woke up feeling a little better. The tension left my body and pain was manageable. My doctor said as long as blood subsided, it was forward progress. Thank God the bleeding had slowed down throughout the day, and I could finally feel myself making progress.  It was time to start introducing gentle foods, moving around a bit, and focusing on recovery. Most of the day was spent going back and forth between bed and the bathroom. After school, I finally got to see my boys in person. When they walked in, I couldn't help but cry, pulling them into a tight hug. AJ chatted away from the end of the bed while Willie sat next to me, and we worked on homework together.

Friday brought a fresh start. I took a shower, changed my drain bag, and swapped out the dressing on my incision, all while being extra careful because I was dealing with extreme fatigue and a rapid heartbeat. Given my history with heart issues, it made me feel pretty anxious. I spent most of the day moving from the guest bedroom to the recliner. Later, I managed to walk up five stairs to the couch, where I ate while my family had dinner at the table nearby. The best part? After 13 long days, I finally slept in my own bed again. It felt incredible.

This round has been the toughest challenge I've faced in the fight against cancer. The complexity and invasiveness of the surgery was something I truly did not fully grasp—maybe that was a blessing in disguise. This wasn’t just a fight; it was a full-scale war, and for the first time, I felt fear. A kind of fear I’ve never known before. Over the course of countless surgeries and treatments over the past three years, fear was never something that truly consumed me. But fear is a formidable enemy. It tries to overpower you, convincing you that you can't endure. But faith? Faith is the antidote to fear. I dug deep to find it and once again, my faith has shown itself to be stronger than my fear.

Thank you for the endless prayers, positive thoughts, kindness, encouragement, and monetary generosity. Thank you for following me on this journey and reading my updates. My desire to share my story with you is to show that even though you often see me smiling, staying positive, and focusing on the bright side, I also face real struggles and pain. I'm human. We are all human. We all have our hards. The difference is, while the challenges may knock me to my knees, I always get back up. I will always rise up.