I had a five-minute-freakout today. The enormity of what’s going down tomorrow morning is hardly lost on me. But, besides the few-and-far-between mini breakdowns – when I just feel sadness, nothing else – I feel so strong, so well really, and like God has been preparing me for this very moment my whole life.
Six weeks from now, on May 12, I will be officially recovered. It will be springtime, the yellow daffodils in front of my house will be in bloom, the new green grass will be freshly mowed, NJ's unsteady trot will be a fast and furious gallop, these little sprouts on my head will begin to look a little something like real hair, I'll love my husband 6 weeks more than I do today, and I’ll be cancer free. I just know it.
When I fall asleep before my surgery, this is what I'll dream of – NJ dancing, twirling, falling on the bed.