Fine. Great. No worries. All words I have used excessively over the last two decades to answer the question, “How are you?”

This last week, I’ve had countless friends and family ask that very question. This time my answer is different. It’s honest. It’s vulnerable. I simply respond with “I’m ok.”

And it’s the truth. I’m ok. I’m not good. I’m not fine and I’m certainly not great. This recovery is slow going. There’s no pushing pass or pretending I’m not exhausted. There are countless appointments, orange pill bottles and specialists. There’s a fear of course. That what if. And of course the unknown. Will I truly recover?

My Aunt reminded me that I have been carrying fluid in my lungs and around my heart for over a month. So she said it’s safe to assume the healing process won’t be a mere week. She’s probably right. She normally is.

So I’m ok. I’m not great. And there are plenty of worries. And it’s ok.