The clock on the wall ticks slowly. It is the night before the biggest day of my life. As I look at this cardboard sign I wrote with my own trembling hands, a mixture of paralyzing fear and overwhelming hope takes hold of me. “Tomorrow is my surgery. Wish me luck?” I wrote the words carefully, but my blue pen felt so heavy.
I’ve been preparing for this moment for months, years perhaps, and now that it’s just hours away, it all seems surreal. When I look at the camera, the tears just fall. I cannot stop them. My eyes are red and tired. I am so scared, but I am also trying to be brave.
Let me tell you a little bit about how I got here. A few years ago, my life was completely different. I was always moving, working, and enjoying life out in the sun. But one day, everything changed in a single second. I had a terrible accident. It hurt my neck and my spine. In an instant, my fast and busy life stopped. The hospital became my new home.
Now, I am here, sitting in this wheelchair that has become my safe space and also my limitation. The thick green cervical collar around my neck keeps me stable, but it restricts my view of the world. It forces me to look forward, and sometimes, to look deep inside myself.
Every detail in this image tells a piece of my story, a fragment of my long journey. Look behind me. Do you see the beautiful patchwork blanket with the purple flowers? It was sewn with so much love by my grandmother. It is my refuge. When I feel cold or alone, I wrap it around my shoulders. It feels like a warm embrace from her in each square of fabric. It reminds me that I am loved.
Then there is the physical pain. The scars and marks on my legs are medals from past struggles and previous surgeries. The IV line in my arm is a constant reminder of the medicine I need just to get through the day. And yes, even the diaper, which is part of my vulnerable reality today. At first, I cried so much because I felt like I had lost all my dignity. But not anymore. All of this is me, raw and honest. There is no shame here, only the truth of my daily battle to stay alive and keep fighting.
Tomorrow’s surgery is very complex. It carries the weight of so many expectations and dreams. The doctors will try to fix the damage. This surgery is to relieve the terrible pressure on my neck. If it works, it might give me back a little more freedom. Maybe the pain will stop being so loud. Maybe I can lessen my dependence on this wheelchair and do simple things by myself again. There are no certainties. The doctors told me the risks are high. I only have the determination to try, and faith in an incredible medical team.
But when the room is quiet and the night is dark, the “what ifs” come into my mind. What if it goes wrong? What if the pain gets worse?
That is why I decided to hold this sign and take this photo. I wanted to share this moment, not to ask for pity, but to ask for human connection. I know the power of a community, of collective love, and of good vibes. Sometimes, in the silence of the night, when the pain is unbearable and the future is uncertain, it is this invisible energy from other people that sustains me. I know that many of you reading this are with me and truly rooting for me.
So, if you’ve read this far, if my story has touched you in some way, if you see the real person behind the tears and the medical equipment, I only have one humble request. Please, leave a ‘good luck’ in the comments. A heart, a word of encouragement, a simple positive thought.
I promise I will read every single one before closing my eyes tonight. I will gather all your kind words and take them with me into the cold operating room tomorrow. Your words will be my armor of love and courage. With endless gratitude and faith in my heart, I am ready to move forward. Thank you for seeing me. I will see you on the other side. 🙌❤️🙏