October 25. 10pm. Thoughts.
I’ve never felt so vulnerable. So exposed, and in so much pain.
Having a date for transplant has shaken me.
I worry the days are blurring together—I KNOW the days are blurring together, because I can’t remember what I did on Sunday. There’s leaves, there’s the FedEx guy, asking me to sign for insulin; there’s nursery school pickups and toddler class with our friends. I’m broken, completely devastated. I am still in motion. I am still going.
But I’m heartbroken too. Terrified I am living my last days in a blur of pain meds and conflict. I watch Leo pick out pumpkins on our walks, God I love these kids so much, they’re my salvation…but it hurts to be alive.
And yet: my dog encourages me to hit the pavement; I’m reading a new book every 4 days; I’m taking vitamins for the first time in years.
I am signing up for a new life, but as of now? I am holding on for dear life.
Broken. Broken. Broken.
And yet...
I say this all the time but I really fucking mean it, more than ever:
Keep going. Keep going. Keep going.
I promise I will too.