After about an hour of prep and precise positioning, my surgeon leaned over and said, “anything we can do comfort-wise before we start?” I took a deep breath to release the tension in my body. “A vodka soda would be great,” I sassily replied as humor is often the path I take when I’m feeling anxious.

Right about now, I should be laying on the operating table. But, instead, I am here. Writing to you from my couch and listening to the rain fall, wishing things could have panned out a little differently today.

The funny thing about earth-shattering fear, though, is that it reminds us that we want something- something so passionately and out of our control that, if we lose it, we might not ever be the same. Fortunately, the resiliency of the human spirit…

What I'm scared about now is what's next. What I've been doing all of this for. The one thing that's been keeping me up at night for the last two months. And, that's whether or not this drug will work.

I went into this blindly. Without knowing if my body is capable of reaping the benefits of this drug. And this not-knowing, shot-in-the-dark kind of thing absolutely terrified me.

So, on the ride up to Boston yesterday morning, I started recounting all of my body's little victories and defeats as far back as I could remember, and one time stood out in particular.

"I'm so sorry, Alyssa," my surgeon said for the umpteenth time. "I'm so sorry that was more difficult than the last time. "Although my first procedure went incredibly well, that didn't guarantee the second time around would be the same.

Although the odds were somewhat stacked against me, I knew the only choice I had was to proceed with the opportunity. I've waited for this my entire life- I had to, at least, try.