I’ve been holding off on posting an update, thinking I’d wait until I had something useful to say — like “I’m healthy!” or “Surgery is back on!” or literally any progress at all. Instead, here we are. I’m exhausted and honestly feeling pretty defeated.

Felix and I had two or three short-lived viruses before my pre-op appointment in mid-December. By the time I went in, I felt great. Healthy. Stable. Ready. They told me: as long as you stay healthy — no cold symptoms, no cuts, no infections on the surgical leg — you’re good for January 13th. I was locked in. Mentally packed. Go time.

Then December 31st rolled around. I felt a little off, but blamed bad sleep. I even went to a movie that night, left before midnight like the responsible, boring adult I am. By the next morning? Wrecked. Fever, body aches, and then it settled into my chest with a cough that sounded like I’ve been smoking since 1923. I called the surgical team a few days in when it was obvious this wasn’t a 48-hour thing. They told me to reschedule once I was 100% symptom-free, and they’d book me two weeks out from that.

Cool. Fine. I can work with that.

When I finally felt better, I called. It took them five days to get back to me. Surgery rescheduled for February 6th. Victory, right?

Later that same day — SAME DAY — I start getting sniffles and body aches again. Virus number five this season. Five. I don’t even leave the house unless I have to. I’m not out licking shopping carts for fun. And yet, here we are. Still sick. So I reported it again this morning.

I was planning to move April 1st into a bigger place. I was planning on having an active, productive spring and summer. I was planning on healing, being pain-free, and finally moving forward instead of treading water in survival mode.

Instead, this cold and flu season has apparently chosen me as its tribute.

I genuinely cannot remember a single year in my life where I’ve been sick this many times, this close together, for this long. It’s unreal.

Every time surgery gets pushed back, everything else gets pushed back with it — the move, the healing, the momentum, the ability to actually function without constant pain. It feels like the universe is running some kind of twisted bit:

“Oh hey Summer, everything’s cleared! The finish line is right there. Just kidding. Here’s every virus currently circulating within a 50-mile radius. Stay down.”

WHAT. THE. ACTUAL. FUCK.

Anyway. That’s where I’m at.