servings.

i found out that this tumor was the size of a cherry tomato. i don't know how large the other one was. it's strange to imagine this malignant mass of cells joining to become that large. "strange" isn't the right word; whatever the word should be eludes me for now. i'm still digesting.

worst salad ever.

brush strokes.

in some ways, i want to be like my hair.

it is resilient: it was shaved off completely-twice-and still grew back. it was cut into but still grew back. thick. and even protected the wound it surrounded.

it is strong: some follicles were destroyed at their very root during treatment but rebuilt themselves and returned, anew.

it is rebellious: when it grew back it parted on the other side. it does what it wants every day and doesn't care how ridiculous it looks.

but there is another side (swept bang) to it:

many hairs fall out daily, but not in an organized clump. there is no obvious "proof" of my experience, treatment or loss. to the onlooker i am whole. to the onlooker there is an entire head of hair that has existed for 26 years without radical interruption.

no, they do not fall out at once. individual strands cling to my clothes and my pillow and my towels and everything they can cling to as if to mock my hope that this could soon be over. daily i am reminded that there are parts of me that are not strong enough to hold on. the strong. thick hairs cover these tiny empty spots so they go unnoticed. progress masks deficits. no one would know if i didn't tell them. but i know. i am the one who sees it. i am the one who lives it.

the truth is-no matter how sturdy the rest of them seem, there are always some that fall.

fixer-upper.

That last one is the most important part of getting through the past two years. my husband has had to have an unbelievable amount of strength. He has had to be EVERYTHING to me. he has had to reassure. he has had to listen-SO much listening! he has seen every frustration and so, so much pain. we have this perception of what love is until it has to kick into first gear without any warning.


sometimes it was a hospital chair and knowing he would stay with me. during my week-long EEG hospital stays he said there wasn't anywhere else he'd rather be.

it was him with his phone in his hand and his arms ready for mine as crouched into a corner waiting for the news.


it was him telling me how beautiful he thought i was-even when i had no hair and when my cheeks were puffy from the steroid i was on.


it's him coming home with a huge smile on his face-SO happy to see me-even though there wasn't anything for me to be smiling about. even though i would have a new sad thing to tell him. there are always new sad things to tell him.

it's him praying with me.


it's what he does every single day. i couldn't do what he does; i can't even articulate all of it in blog post (especially since i am running out of tissues as i type).


he's the one thing that hasn't gone to waste. i'm so happy he's my family.