Ready to Move On
There were no more decisions left to make.
If you’re just joining the ride, I recommend starting from the beginning. Each post builds the trail that led me here.
Surgery day was nearly upon me — just a handful of days to go. By then there were no more decisions, no more doubts, no spiraling fear. What remained was a deep-rooted acceptance that the moment had arrived, and with it, so had the possibility of something new.
Time didn’t stop, but it dragged. The final days blurred together, carbon copies of one another — a strange déjà vu, as if I had been here before.
Up until then, I had relied on routines to keep the flare in check. But as the prednisone taper continued, that grip weakened. With every reduction in dosage, the flare tightened its hold, as if it sensed the end was near and refused to let go.
Still, there were small moments that shifted my attention away from the narrowing world.
Walking became a steady companion. Those quiet outings grounded me. They didn’t offer escape — they offered presence. There was no inner narration, no running commentary. The walks weren’t empty; they were full. Full of clarity. Full of attention. Full of being exactly where I was meant to be.
Courtney was my anchor. Meditation my compass. While my body continued to fail, my mind finally found a clear path forward. Acceptance softened into something closer to optimism. The constant mental noise dissolved, not because everything was resolved, but because it no longer needed to be argued with.
I stopped fighting reality. The surgery was coming. I could, in theory, walk away — but I knew I wouldn’t. It was time to let it happen.
I did only what was necessary. Nothing more.
Anxiety made one last appearance the day before surgery. Even with acceptance, fear wanted to remind me that I was human — that maybe, just maybe, I could keep coping the way I always had. But the prep, the nausea, the antibiotic cocktail stripped away any remaining illusion of control. By the time morning arrived, the moment felt both surreal and unavoidable.
The waiting was over.
It was time.
I was ready to move on.
This post reflects personal experience. A medical disclaimer is available on the About page.


