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?

And yet… I am still here.

This thumbs-up you see in the photo… it looks strong, doesn’t it? Like I’m saying, “I’m okay. I can handle this.” But the truth is different. This thumbs-up is something I give to others more than to myself. It is for my family, so they don’t worry too much. It is for my friends, so they don’t see how scared I really am. It is my small way of protecting them, even when I feel like I need protection too.

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?