Recovery has been more challenging than I expected. While I’ve made progress, there’s still a long road ahead. My strength and endurance aren’t what they used to be, and dealing with the aftermath of losing my gallbladder, a portion of my pancreas, and adjusting to new eating habits has been tough. Even the smell of certain foods can make me nauseous—a strange reminder of my time in the hospital.

But things are improving. I’ve started walking more and working with physical therapists, slowly rebuilding my muscles. Though I still struggle with low energy, the progress is undeniable, and I can see it every day. I’m also addressing lingering back issues with massage therapy after spending two months in uncomfortable hospital beds.

Mentally, the battle has been just as intense. Initially, I struggled with frustration, especially during nights in the hospital when I was overwhelmed by misery. There were times I wanted to leave against medical advice, but I pushed through. Now that I’m home, I’ve left that phase behind. Although there are still hard days, they’re rare. For the most part, I’m just grateful to be alive and optimistic about the future.

Despite this optimism, I had initially hoped that once discharged, I’d snap back to my old self. That hasn’t been the case, but I’m learning to accept that it’s a process. What excites me most is that Lisa and I are now making long-term plans without fear of cancellation, and I’m even hoping to get back on stage in the first half of next year.

I’m not where I want to be yet, but I’m getting closer every day.