💚 “Nie będę żabą” — The Green Light of Courage 💚

The morning after surgery came quietly.
No alarms. No chaos. Just the slow rhythm of breathing — and relief.

“I’m after the operation,” she wrote, her words filled with cautious gratitude. “There were no complications. I don’t even have a drain.”

It had been a long, sleepless night, but the pain was easing.

The doctors had reduced her medication by half.
And though her body felt weak, her spirit was steady — like a flame refusing to go out.

🌿 The Green Contrast

Before surgery, the team used a special green contrast dye — a fluorescent marker meant to reveal what was dangerous, what needed to be removed.
When the surgeons looked inside, they saw that the main tumor, orsomething tumor-like, didn’t glow.
That was good.
It meant it wasn’t spreading where they feared.

But two tiny points — no bigger than a grain of sand — did light up.
One millimeter each.
Small, yet impossible to ignore.
The surgeons removed them carefully and sent them for analysis.

Now, she waits.
Waits for the results that will decide the next step.
Waits for the oncologists to call her back.
Waits, as so many cancer patients do, between relief and uncertainty — suspended in that fragile space called hope.

💚 “Only My Pajamas Are Green Now”

After the operation, she looked down and laughed softly to herself.
“The green color is gone,” she wrote. “Only my pajamas are green. I won’t be a frog.”
It was humor born from exhaustion — but also from strength.

Because even when her body is stitched and sore, her spirit finds a way to smile.

And that’s what everyone loves about her — this quiet defiance, this gentle courage wrapped in wit.

🌸 Healing, One Breath at a Time

Now comes recovery — the slow, careful process of letting the body remember safety again.
The nurses check her vitals, adjust the IV, smile when they see her texting friends.
Visitors come quietly, bringing soft laughter, warm blankets, and whispered prayers.

She’s not in immunosuppression yet, which means she can still receive hugs — real, human contact.
Every one of them feels like sunlight.
“Still… for now,” she adds with a wink.

Somewhere between the hospital walls and the faint smell of antiseptic, she finds gratitude.
Not because this journey is easy — but because she’s still on it.
Still here.
Still fighting.

🙏 Faith That Holds the Line

“Don’t stop praying,” she writes to her friends.
“Because of you, I’m handling all this so well. I’m still a winner — and I’m holding onto that version of myself.”

It’s not just a message.
It’s a declaration.
A reminder that victory isn’t always in the lab results or scans — sometimes it’s in the will to smile after pain, to laugh in a hospital gown, to find humor in the absurdity of green dye.

Every word she types carries that unshakable resolve — the same light that’s guided her through diagnosis, treatments, and endless waiting rooms.

🌤 Between Fear and Faith

The coming days will bring answers — biopsy results, oncologist updates, maybe another round of treatment.
But for now, there’s peace in the waiting.
A peace that comes not from certainty, but from surrender.

She’s learned that healing is more than medicine — it’s the courage to trust, to hope, to believe that the story isn’t over yet.

She signs off with love and her signature optimism —
simple, heartfelt, full of life:

“Still a winner. Still me. And still holding on.”

And somewhere, in a small hospital room filled with laughter and prayer, a woman in green pajamas smiles —
because she knows she’s already won more than she’s lost