Well, That Escalated Quickly

When did it become okay to take a photo of your feet and legs while you're taking a bath?  No, I mean, really? How is that normal?? (As I proceed to show you said photo)


I'm laying here in my bath, tapping out all these words into a phone so it can later be transferred to a blog post (this one).  I've noticed that I don't write words in pen anymore.  Ink no longer touches paper in my life.  I use to fill up journal after journal of my daily - who am I kidding, almost every few hours - thoughts.  They were always private.  And now I still "journal" but it's online for anyone to read.

There are so many things I want to write.

Like how "This Is Us" affects me as I binge-watch every episode I can on Hulu every night. 
See, I got on the TIU train a little late and just started watching last month.  So, no, I haven't been living under a rock.  It's just life.  It gets in the way a lot.  Anyway, so I'm watching TIU last night and it's the episode called Number Two.  The one with the miscarriage. (Trying not to make this a spoiler just in case you're like me and just started watching)  Just like the character, I was about six weeks along, got super excited, told everyone...It was two years after my oldest daughter was born and we had planned the next sibling out perfectly.  And because you don't plan life because it's already planned out for you, I had a miscarriage.  I remember the feeling of pretending like it was okay, that it happens to everyone, that it wasn't my fault, it wasn't God's fault either, that I should treat it like my period was just really late.  And I pretended that pretty well for maybe a day.  Then I just lost it, like I lost the baby.  Having to tell everyone that there was no longer a baby.  The overwhelming sadness that hit me.  I had forgotten all of that until tonight.  All the tears and emotions came back as if it were that day in the doctor's office.  Laying in a bath, typing this out with tears down my face.
Which of course reminds me of other struggles and pains I've gone through and just try to brush under the rug.

Cancer.

I absolutely fucking hate that I had cancer.  There I said it.  I hate that it happened to me.  I hate that I had to be strong, that I had to warrior on.  I hate seeing people who knew me "before" and they ask what happened.  "Where were you?"  "Oh, I heard."

Having to talk about it. 

Do you know that I talk about cancer, leukemia, fatigue, my diagnosis, not having my period anymore, chemo-brain, my diagnosis, my remission pretty much everyday?  How did that become me and all that I am?

It hurts my feelings.  That I got it at all but also that it has changed the way people see me.  People who know me and especially people who don't know me or are complete strangers.
Because of my new hair, I've been asked if I am my daughter's grandmother or called a sexy manly woman.  As my hair grew out from its baldness, I had parents hold their children a little closer if I was standing in line in front of them. 

Yeah.  That's fun.

I'm not mad...at it or about it.  I don't want you to read this and think that.  It gets tiring.  Talking about it, thinking about it, hearing about it.  When you "survive" things, it feels like you have to be strong all the time.

All.The.Time.

And for a long time I felt like I couldn't complain.  "But you're alive." or "You're a miracle." or "Don't do this/that/anything."  It can definitely take its toll sometimes. I am grateful I am alive.  There is nothing in this world than life...breathing.  I'm grateful that I have a chance to spend time with my husband, my kids, my best friend...that I can enjoy looking at a cloud-filled sky, or a sunset at the beach, or just watching life around me.

But I hate that it's ever-consuming - cancer.  That and that my daughter is pretty much deaf. 

That's another thing I talk about, think about, or am asked or commented on.  Why must I recount why she's deaf, how we're learning sign language.  Or my favorite...hearing: "oh you poor things" or "is she the one that can't hear?" or "can it be fixed?" or "it must be terrible."

Let me be super crystal clear.  It's not!

It could be worse.  It can always be worse.  Trust me, I know.

But I believe she is who she is because it's what God wanted.  God blesses us with her deafness.  He has.  He does.  I truly believe that He gave her to us because He knew we were the ones that needed her, not the other way around.  He knew we'd fight for her, defend her, and treat her no different...just like the other two kids.  He knew that.
So don't feel bad for us...for her.  We're good.  Trust.

Don't feel sorry for me because of my childhood, miscarriage, leukemia, deaf child...
I am and always have been strong enough.
Exhausted? Sure.
But brave and strong enough to take whatever comes my way, our way?
Definitely.

And...by the way, I will always talk to you about any of this. 
Whenever you want. 
I am here for you. 
You know that. 
It's just sometimes...sometimes, I just need to let it all out every so often.

So, um...what was I saying?
Oh yeah.
About taking photos while you're taking a bath...
Um, how is that normal again?

xoxo,
Nay 

ps: that was real life right there, huh?

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