1 Day to Go: The Final Handoff, My Rock Kim, and the 24-Hour Eve

This is it. The final twenty-four hours before the reconstruction begins.

Yesterday morning, before the lab results came through, I unrolled my mat with Ella to film her introductory class. Watching her step in front of the lens felt monumental. Between Ella and Tricia, we now have incredible guest teachers ready to keep Five Parks Yoga moving while I am unable to film new content. I felt so much pride watching Ella. Both she and Tricia belong to a generation raised on screens and Zoom; they have an effortless, un-self-conscious comfort in front of a camera that took me years to build. Ella put together a brilliant mandala flow with handstand kick-ups, a chair challenge, and smart transitions.

Teaching and moving with her was a joy, but the physical tax was immediate and merciless.

Every time I practice now, I pay a brutal price. The throbbing across my lumbar spine wouldn’t let up all day yesterday and stayed locked into place when I woke up this morning. Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, I could see that familiar, swollen hump protruding visibly from my side profile. I hate that hump. It’s inflamed, tender, and keeps me from ever lying flat on the floor; instead, my back wobbles on this painful fulcrum.

I’m entering today running on pure momentum, but the schedule doesn’t slow down.

First up: a hike (or limp) with Kim. Kim is my ultimate rock, my anchor, and the living definition of friendship. We’ve been intertwined since we were kids, but watching her endure two craniotomies last year to clamp a life-threatening brain aneurysm showed me what real bravery looks like. We were terrified of losing her, but she faced the scariest thing imaginable and came through whole, healthy, and fiercely loving. She helped me advocate for my second opinion and has stood by me at every turn. Hiking up Table Mountain, despite her injured achilles tendon and my bad back is going to give me the exact emotional oxygen I need to face tomorrow.

And then, a facial… a bit of self care.

Back at home, Maria is coming to clean, which means an internal frenzy of pre-cleaning before she arrives. And upon my return home, I am going to scrub the Brinkley from top to bottom, so Matt can take it back to storage. Stepping out of this house tomorrow morning knowing it is spotless, and the r.v. is tucked away brings a lot of mental peace.

Tonight, the clinical prep takes over: the Hibiclens antibacterial showers, the measured carbohydrate-loading drinks, and the pre-op collagen.

The bags are packed. My toes are blue. The labs are green. Tomorrow morning, we excitedly head to the hospital. Check in is at 11:30!