
I am utterly exhausted, recovering from my first surgery. I don't typically subscribe to the stages of grief, but if I were to label what I'm experiencing, it's somewhere between bargaining and feelings of surrender. I acknowledge that these emotions might shift in an instant when the pathology report arrives. I'm wishing for the best outcome - clear margins and 'only' a radical hysterectomy.
It's a peculiar journey, laden with tears and the weight of uncertainty, pain, and fatigue gnawing at my bones. I'm granting myself all the grace and self-compassion I can muster, reminding myself that my grief is valid, and my timeline belongs to me alone. There's no guidebook for navigating through all of this. I oscillate between anger, sadness, grief, and sheer exhaustion.
Just before surgery, I was discussing goals for the week with a peer. I also like to set an intention. My peer offered a comforting reminder: 'Remember, you are worthy of being taken care of too.' That simple phrase has been a lifeline this week, as I navigate through all the aftercare restrictions and all my many needs, whispering to myself, 'I am worthy of being taken care of.' I'm immensely grateful for peer support, for creating a sacred space where healing is a shared journey. I glean so much wisdom from those I work with in this sacred space.
As I move forward, awaiting results, I strive to stay present, to stay in the moment, to stay in today. During this period, I pour my pain onto these pages, documenting this timeline, preserving memories, releasing emotions, seeking solace. I hope to look back on these words once I've emerged from this ordeal and marvel at my strength. I aspire to find joy on the other side of this pain. But until then, I'll create small moments of joy with my family and hold onto hope.