Full disclosure

On this, the night before my life changes forever, it’s probably appropriate that I am full.

I’m full of trepidation.

When I started this process, tomorrow was nine months away — nine months filled with obstacle after obstacle. I didn’t have much time to stop and think about the actual surgery and beyond. I was too busy trying to get here. Now that I’m here, I can’t really think about much else.

I am nervous, of course, despite some suggestion that I shouldn’t be. Because here’s the thing: While this is no big whoop to the surgeon and his nurses and his aides and the hospital people and the support group people and the nutritionist and the exercise physiologist and every other freakin' person I’ve met over the past nine months, it’s a big, ol’, honkin’ whoop to me.

So yes. I’m worried. And I’m OK with that.

I am full of gratitude.

The response to my news — your response — has been overwhelming. The support and love and “yay you!” that I feel from you people has reduced me to tears about 14 times over the past three days. (Of course, I also broke down in the vitamin/protein shake aisle at Target a few days ago, but I swear, the tears I cry for you have much more meaning.)

Since Urchin’s surgery a year-and-a-half ago, I’ve been crystal clear about how seriously amazing you are, Village. Even so, every time you show your strength, it takes my breath away.

So yeah, my cup runneth over.

I’m full of anticipation.

I can’t believe what’s about to happen. Already tomorrow morning, before I drink my first protein shake, I won’t have to inject myself with medicine that makes me slightly sick to my stomach for 12 hours a dose. This evening’s shot was the end of that wretched stuff.

I can’t wait to wake up in recovery and know that I’m on my way. I can’t wait to walk out of the hospital with a hole in my gut and a spring in my step. I can’t wait to watch my numbers drop and my moods even out. I also can’t wait to tuck my shirt into my jeans and my jeans into my boots.

Tomorrow gets me whole bunch of steps closer to all of that, and more.

Wouldn't you be full of anticipation, too?

And finally, my friends, I’m full of food.

I gave myself free rein this week, to eat and drink what I wanted without worrying about calories or carbs. The week has been filled with “last” meals. Last big plate of Mexican. Last Indian buffet. Last Big Mac (oh, shut up). Last Coca-Cola. Last tequila shots. Last Oreos. Last salted caramel brownie.

Of course, these aren’t really “lasts.” They’re more “last, for nows.” Post-surgery, I’ll be able to eat anything I’ve eaten beforehand — first in my dreams, then in teensy-weensy amounts, eventually in small amounts. But never again in the amounts I’ve eaten this week.

Tonight, I am so full of “last” that I’m looking forward to the simplicity of the next two weeks: A protein shake for breakfast, V-8 juice for snack, protein shake for lunch, yogurt for snack, protein shake for dinner, V-8 juice for snack.

Lather. Rinse. Repeat.

So tomorrow. Tomorrow is big, big, big, my friends.

For the past nine months, I’ve been making my way, slow and steady, to the station. Tomorrow I get on the train.