I am not alone.

It's 3 am, the lights are down, and the only sounds are the quiet beeps from other patients in nearby rooms, and the music I've got softly running through my phone.

My nurses before and after their shift change have gone out of their way to hug me, and have taken extra time to be encouraging as best they can. I've had the same tech three nights in a row, and he's gotten so good at reading my mind that half the time he shows up before I've gotten the energy to hit the call button.

By the grace of God, my surgeon is actually my normal obgyn that has been taking great care of me and my list of chronic illnesses for years, and the comfort of having someone I know and trust here the whole time has been incredible.

Every time I wake up from a nap, I have a dozen texts, calls, and messages from family and friends. Some who are just down the street packing another supply bag to get me through the next few days, some who are several states away but managed to find a way to send me dinner last night when all I wanted was french fries. I have a friend on the other side of the world that has offered to stream movies together when I can't sleep in the deep hours of the night.

In so many ways, this should feel terrifying and isolating and impossible but... I have been surrounded by so much love that it just feels like all of those fears are overwhelmed by goodness.

Time to say the hard thing.

Hi, I'm Erin, and in June, 2025, a week before my 35th birthday, I got the very unfortunate news that I have a rare and aggressive cervical cancer. There's a lot I don't know about what's happening and what's next, but I do know I'm not walking into it alone. I have my faith, my friends and family, and a strong foundation of hope to stand on.