I thought I would have more time.
More time to mentally prepare. More time to ease into the idea that this was really happening. More time to adjust to the weight of it all. Instead, everything moved faster than I expected.
The call came on a normal day. I was sitting at my desk, working from home, when my phone rang. The conversation moved quickly once I answered. There was an opening sooner than expected. If I could be ready, the date could be mine.
There was a moment of pause — not doubt, but surprise. The kind that takes your breath for a second. And then, almost immediately, a quiet knowing followed. This is it.
Along with the date came the realities. I had to start my liquid diet immediately. No long runway. No gradual transition. Five days, starting now. After that, everything accelerated. The timeline I had been holding in my head collapsed into something much shorter. The days began counting down whether I felt ready or not.
It felt abrupt. Disruptive. Like the ground shifted beneath my feet without warning. One moment I was preparing in theory, and the next my body was being asked to participate fully. I remember thinking how quickly things move once you stop standing still.
Those days were uncomfortable in ways I hadn’t fully expected — physically, yes, but also emotionally. Hunger wasn’t just hunger. It carried anticipation, nerves, and the weight of what was coming. Every day felt like a quiet countdown.
And then came the morning of surgery.
The nerves were strong — stronger than I had let myself imagine. Not panic, exactly, but a full-body awareness that something significant was about to happen. My mind felt steady, but my body was buzzing with energy, fear, and adrenaline all at once.
I remember noticing how calm everything around me seemed in contrast to what was happening internally. How the world kept moving like any other day, even as I stood on the edge of a moment that would change mine.
There was no dramatic revelation that morning. No sudden surge of confidence. Just presence. Just breath. Just the decision to keep moving forward even while my hands shook and my heart raced.
Those days — the sudden scheduling, the liquid diet, the nerves — stripped everything down to what mattered most. There was no space left for overthinking or negotiating with myself. Only showing up.