The Night Before

Tomorrow, I begin chemotherapy.

Tomorrow morning is my first chemo treatment.

It feels strange to write that. Like I’m talking about someone else’s life.

My dad is here. Just his presence shifts something in the room. My sister is picking me up in the morning and will sit with me throughout the hours of treatment. I am so aware of how held I am.

I’ve been prepping in the ways I can. The practical things. The research. The questions. The organizing. The mindset work. The meal planning, how to meet hydration needs and the protein shakes lined up neatly like I can out-plan uncertainty.

Some of that preparation is about control. Some of it is about love. Most of it is about wanting to walk into this informed and aware.

Tonight I got to say goodnight to my youngest kids. I got to hug them. I know they are loved beyond measure and their dad’s steady presence is such a blessing to us all. I got to sit in a home that feels safe and calm and loving right now-a place I can come back to tomorrow to rest and recover.

That is not small.

I don’t want cancer to become my whole identity. It is something I am moving through-not who I am. I am still me. Still reflective. Still learning. Still paying attention to what this is shaping in me. At the same time, I can no longer be the same person I am right now throughout this process, so in a way I’m saying goodbye tonight because there’s a new version coming.

Tonight feels quiet. Not dramatic. Just…significant.

I don’t know exactly how my body will respond. I don’t know what the next months will bring. But I do know this: I am walking in supported, informed, and surrounded by people who love me fiercely.

And that matters.

If you’re the praying type, I’ll take that. If you’re the good-energy or thoughts-sending type, I’ll take that too. Mostly, I’m just grateful you’re here.

Tomorrow, we begin.