I Prayed For You by Chynna Laird I have always been a spiritual person; a characteristic I learned in my early childhood from my beloved grandparents. They taught me the importance of believing in a higher power beyond myself and that even when it doesn’t seem so, there is always someone watching over me. I don’t think I fully understood the significance of these lessons until much later. Another strong characteristic I possess is being fiercely independent, which others may see as stubbornness. I don’t ask for help unless I absolutely need to, I take care of myself and those most important to me and I keep moving forward. I don’t see obstacles as a sign of defeat, but more as challenges I need to face in order to become who I was meant to be. The same holds true for my health. After spending a good part of my younger life enduring health issues that were never tested nor diagnosed properly, I simply ignored symptoms until my body said, “Yeah, um, Chynna? It’s time to take a time out and rest.” Now, we all know that a person can only go for so long on ‘empty’. I learned that the hardest of hard ways. I remember it as though it were yesterday. One of my daughters, Jordy, had a friend, Paige, who has always been more of one of my children, spending the weekend with us. For weeks prior, my health was plummeting. I knew. I felt it. But my spirited nature wouldn’t give in. “Mom?” Jordy said, concern etched in her porcelain face. “I know you don’t want to hear this but you don’t look good.” “Thanks so much,” I quipped. “Don’t ever get a job that required building someone’s self-esteem.” 22 | ON M AG A Z I N E N ACORNER ME FAITH EVERY
“I’m not joking, Mom. Your skin is yellow, your eyes are even more yellow, you’ve been puking all week, your stomach is bigger than when you were pregnant with any of us and I think the last time I saw you eat something solid was last week. Please. Please let Ryan take you to the hospital.” Ryan, my husband, had been hounding me to do the same thing for weeks. I’d been battling advanced liver disease for almost two years and my symptoms became too strong for me to fight or hide anymore. I was angry with having no control over something raging my body to the point that I wasn’t functioning and I refused to give up. Yet, I knew the hospital was where I was supposed to be. I just…couldn’t. I never admitted it out loud but I was terrified. What if it’s gotten so bad that there’s no cure? Who will take care of everyone if I need to stay? Most importantly, what if I don’t come back out? My daughter’s friend piped up. “Chynna-mom, Jordy’s right. Honestly, you can’t go on pretending nothing is wrong when it clearly is. I know how much you want to take care of all of us but you need to let someone take care of you. Please let us take you to the hospital.” I looked at the two beautiful faces in front of me as I laid on the couch, nursing a glass of water and fighting the urge not to throw up again. None of it made sense to me. How could this be happening? I was making things worse for myself by pushing away rather than accepting the help I was constantly offered. And the girl’s pleading with me was a sign to listen. So, I reluctantly did what I had to. “Fine. Get Ryan and take me.”
