My first and last 5K

Phil and I getting ready to start the race.

Oh how I love profound quotations. This one  is one of my favorites: “You must do the thing you think you cannot do.” - Eleanor Roosevelt. Recently, I put this to the test.

For weeks I'd had my race packet sitting on a shelf in my closet. The hot pink survivor t shirt lay there folded neatly with my race bib on top of it. I'd put it in my closet so I wouldn't have to see it on a daily basis. I had so many mixed emotions about the race, and still, I couldn't figure out why I'd signed up. (In an earlier blog post I'd written about my fingers magically doing their own thing and me having signed up without really comprehending what I was doing.)

A few days before the race was to begin, I'd made hotel reservations in Macon for us. It would be easier for us to travel down the night before and get a good night's sleep in the hotel. When we arrived at the Hilton, race preparations were already underway. Tents were going up. Large banners were everywhere. The large start/finish line inflatable trestle lay on the ground ready to be inflated the next day. 

We entered the hotel and went to the registration desk. There were breast cancer gift bags behind the counter. As we received our room assignments, the front desk clerk handed us a folded letter with a breast cancer ribbon affixed to it. She explained the information contained in the letter was regarding the race and various streets that would be closed in the surrounding area. I told her I was there for the race and she asked if I was a breast cancer survivor. I just shook my head as we left her desk and headed for the elevator. 

Once inside our suite, I began to unpack our bags and make things more accessible. As I unzipped our luggage, our race shirts were the first thing I saw. They reminded me, once again, that tomorrow morning, I'd be participating in my first ever 5K. After attaching our bib numbers to the shirts, I hung the shirts in the closet. My husband's shirt was white and mine was pink. All survivors had hot pink shirts with the word survivor and a cute graphic image of a woman racing on the front. I shut the close door and tried not to think about the race. I was afraid to admit to my husband that I was afraid.

Fear of the unknown is one of the worst kinds of fear. This quote  speaks it best: “The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown.” ― H.P. Lovecraft. In reality, I doubted myself. I knew I was perfectly capable of walking. I loved to hike and have done it for years. I could walk for days and days...but that was before all this trauma had been done to my body. I used to know my body well and know what it was capable of and now, I didn't trust my body. My body was weak and broken. It didn't always do the things I wanted it to do. How could one small 3.1 mile race intimidate me so???

When it came time for bed, I prayed and asked God to give me a good night's sleep. Psalm 4:8 kept flowing through my mind..."In peace [and with a tranquil heart] I will both lie down and sleep,For You alone, O Lord, make me dwell in safety and confident trust." I drifted off to sleep and didn't give the race a second thought. 

The alarm sounded at 6:30 a.m. Both my husband and I did not want to get out of bed. It was so cool in the room and the bed was so comfortable, but we made ourselves get up and begin to get ready. I was prolonging the inevitable and offered to let Phil shower first. He showered quickly and put on his clothes. He liked his race shirt and as he pushed up the long sleeves, I thanked God he was going to be right beside me today. A small amount of anxiousness left me at the thought of knowing I wouldn't be alone.

Since Phil was dressed and ready, he offered to go down to the restaurant and get breakfast for us. While he was gone, I had time to shower and get dressed. I looked at myself in the hot pink shirt. Survivor. It was written across the front of my shirt so it must be so...

At 8:15 a.m. we started across the hotel parking lot and headed for the survivor's tent. A huge pink banner marked the entrance. Phil said he'd wait outside while I went in and I grabbed his hand and told him I wanted him with me. We went inside and instantly were greeted by lots of smiling faces. I was directed to the back of the tent where I received a survivor's cap and a bag full of goodies. 

The survivor's celebration ceremony began and the emcee stood on the stage asking every survivor present to come forward. A sea of pink began to form and merge into one continuous, long line. We were instructed to come, one by one, onto the stage. The "Fight Song," by Rachael Platten, began to blast through huge speakers at the sides of the stage. As soon as the words began, I felt myself tearing up with emotion. This was my fight song. I had fought long and hard and I was so tired of it. I was ready to take back my life. 

It was my turn to step up onto the stage. To my right there were several presenters holding survivors' medals in their hands. I turned and bowed my head as the medal was slipped gently over my head. As I looked straight into the eyes of the presenter next to me, He smiled a big smile. "Congratulations, survivor!" Shaking his hand, I fought to keep the tears at bay and then walked across the stage to the sounds of immense clapping and shouts of joy. I couldn't even feel myself walking. It was as if I were on a cloud like conveyor belt. It was all so surreal. 

When all the survivors had made it across the stage, the emcee made some final comments and then the music changed. An upbeat exercise tune began to play and the emcee led everyone in some stretching moves with his great motivational chatter. At 8:55 a.m. we were told to prepare for the race. I quickly made a porta potty pit stop and we headed toward the starting line. 

Survivor

The race began promptly at 9:00 a.m. I have no idea how many people there were because people were everywhere! Phil and I were able to get right up front and I was thankful. Runners began pushing their way forward since they were participating in a timed race for prizes. The starting horn blasted and we were off. Phil took my hand and held it tightly. I knew he'd done it to let me know he was with me all the way on this journey. 

At first, I felt like I was back at home walking around our old neighborhood. Phil and I would do that often in the evenings as a form of relaxation after a long day at work. The street was pretty level and smooth around the Mercer University campus. We enjoyed seeing the campus buildings and weren't in a hurry but were walking at a good, even pace. We kept our position near the front of the pack and continued on. 

Pretty soon the trail began to include some steep grade hills and the walk became a little more challenging. The first mile was over and we pressed on. The course wound through the college campus and into the historic district of downtown Macon. We began passing some beautiful old homes. We noticed our pace had slowed just a bit and people were passing us. It was getting a little more difficult to walk. I felt the right side of my recent incision pulling and my shins were hurting from the hard pavement. I slowed down and Phil noticed. He encouraged me to keep going. He told me I "was going to make it to the finish line even if he had to pick me up and carry me." I laughed at him and said, "you can't carry me" and he said, "oh yes I can." We passed several Mercer basketball players who were cheering and carrying signs of encouragement. All along the way, the volunteers and school students made a point of being there to spur us on. 

At the 2 mile marker, a water station was available. We quickly grabbed 2 cups of water and kept going. I looked in front of me and saw a sea of people. I looked behind me and saw the same. It seemed we were now somewhere in the first third of the pack instead of at the very front, but that was okay. I looked down at my feet. I was in this race. I was walking and that's all that mattered. 

Between the 2 mile marker and the 3 mile marker I got really tired. My legs hurt so badly and I was just wiped out. I realized I was old and out of shape...no...I was old and had just had surgery! It's no wonder I wasn't feeling my best. I cut myself some slack and just kept going. Even though it was hard, I didn't stop. I started repeating Philippians 4:13 over and over again..."I can do all things through Christ who gives me strength." Yes! I could do ALL things...

I was so happy to see the 3 mile marker! That meant the finish line was just around the corner. The crowd started cheering as we neared the end of the line. Our voices rose together into one big "WHOOOHOOOOO!" Phil let go of my hand so I could cross the finish line alone. He'd held it for every step of the race but wanted me to do this part alone. I wasn't afraid any longer. I knew I could do this!

We were almost there...I could see the big inflatable start/finish trestle just in front of me. As I got nearer, I heard the emcee on his microphone. What was he saying? Was he talking about me? Yes! He said, "here's another of our brave survivors approaching. Let's make some noise for this beautiful lady in pink." As I approached the finish line, spectators on both sides began to clap and cheer. I felt like a celebrity on the red carpet! When I crossed under the finish sign, I was so relieved. A little boy handed me a red carnation and smiled the biggest smile at me. I thanked him and instantly felt peace. It was over. This race I had dreaded for weeks now, was done....and so was this chapter of my life. I knew I would never walk another breast cancer race again...not because I didn't want to, but because I didn't need to.

It all made sense now. God had encouraged me to sign up for the race. I needed a visual picture of the accomplishments I'd made over the last 15 months. I needed to see, feel, and understand all of the emotions I'd been suppressing. It had been a huge struggle to face all the challenges that had come my way as a result of a breast cancer diagnosis. There had been many ups and downs just like in the walk today with all the steep hills and valleys. It hadn't been my choice to participate in breast cancer. I'd just been forced along the way. I'd been led down a path I didn't want to travel, but I'd kept walking. I hadn't stopped. I'd kept fighting. I'd pressed on toward the goal!

God knew I needed closure on this chapter of my life and that's what the race represented. Yes, I'd been going through the motions...doing everything I'd been told to do. I'd had the required surgeries. I'd allowed myself to go through various treatments, all with a goal of getting better. Now it was time to move on and to stop focusing on the past. It was finally time to start looking toward the future. Instead of just surviving, it was time for me to thrive. It was time for me to live a life filled with happiness, excitement, and joy. I was not going to let cancer define me any longer. Yes, it had been a major part of my life but I wasn't going to continue to allow it to have place in my life. Indeed, I had cancer. There's no doubt about that but it doesn't have me. 

The race was a much needed event in my life. It signified setting goals and accomplishing them. So I  will continue to set goals and work toward completing them. With God's help and in His strength, I can do ALL things because He equips me and strengthens me to do them. 

I'm glad I signed up for the race and I know the reason I dreaded it so was only a spiritual attack from the enemy. He (Satan) wanted to rob me of all that God was going to give me by allowing me to participate in this event. 

My medal of honor

Today, my shins are killing me. I know it's from walking so fast and hard on that rough pavement but it's okay, I know they'll heal in time. There's an old exercise motto, "no pain, no gain." I don't know who said it first but it means, in essence, if you aren't willing to put forth the effort, even if it requires suffering, you won't gain anything from it. While that quote is true, I know God often uses painful situations to grow and stretch our faith. I like this quote better: “The stretching of your faith is immediate pain that results in ultimate gain. It is in the waiting that we become who we are meant to be.” ~ Mandy Hale

God uses all things for His glory. I know He's not finished with me yet. I know I have much to learn and much to accomplish before my life is over. I can't wait to see what journey He's going to take me on next! Stay tuned as I continue to document my life through my blog. 

©bonnie annis all rights reserved

Faux pas

I love foreign languages! Some of them sound so beautiful, especially the French language, but for some reason, when I was in highschool, I opted to take Spanish. Most of my friends were taking Spanish, so I took Spanish, too. We had a blast in class with our teacher, Mrs. O'Dali Morales.

Mrs. Morales was a short, wide, brown, woman with a thick, heavy, Hispanic accent. She didn't like tom foolery in her classroom but we always loved to cut up in there. I remember one day we were learning to roll our r's and everyone in the class was busy tickling the roof of their mouths with their tongues to produce the perfect "r" sound. Mrs. Morales stomped her foot and folded her arms. She shouted, "SILENCIO INMEDIATAMENTE POR FAVOR!" She wanted us to be quiet and wanted us to do it immediately. We stopped our whirring tongues and became very still. Mrs. Morales was not happy. We'd crossed the line.

While we were busy learning with Mrs. Morales, some of my other friends were studying French. French was beautiful language and seemed so romantic. But sometimes, as we'd listen outside the classroom door, it sounded like the students were talking with gravel in their mouths. I just didn't understand French. Spanish made more sense to me. It was very close to the English language and very easy to learn. I did try to learn a few phrases from my friends and today, the title of my blog contains one I'll expound on shortly.

About ten years ago, I had the opportunity to work for an ex Catholic priest. Every once in a while, he'd twine Latin phrases into our conversations. I wasn't very familiar with Latin and always asked him what each phrase meant. There was one in particular that he used often, "mea culpa." When I asked him what it meant, he said it meant "I screwed up...or through no one's fault but my own." That phrase came to mine today.

This morning, I got up bright and early. I had an appointment with my oncologist at 11:00 a.m. Every three months, I go to have blood work done and while I'm there, he does a checkup. He always asks how I'm doing and if I have any new symptoms. I had several things I needed to share with him today, so I looked forward to going and getting some answers.

It was a beautiful day! The air was crisp and the leaves were just starting to turn into beautiful shades of Autumn color. As I headed down my driveway, I hoped the weather would be this perfect all weekend.

I arrived at the medical complex next to the hospital and since I'd arrived a little early, I sat in the car talking on my cellphone to one of my daughters. We had a nice chat and then I noticed it was almost 11:00 a.m. so I ended the call and went inside.

In the lobby, a large, black woman was standing by the directory. She stopped me and asked if I could help her and then she said something. I couldn't understand her because of a thick accent, which was apparently Jamaican, so I asked her to repeat herself. She said the same words again and I still couldn't understand her. I could tell she was frustrated and I really was trying to help her, there was just a communication issue. She reached up and tapped her heart and said the words again. Ahhh, I finally could grasp what she was trying to tell me. She was hunting the cardiologist's office. I quickly found it on the directory and told her where to go. I smiled at her and waved, saying "have a nice day!"

The short elevator ride to the third floor dropped me off just outside Dr. F's office. I took a minute to stop by the restroom and then walked up to the counter to sign in. The receptionist asked my name. She looked at her computer and then up at me and said, "Mrs. Annis. We have you down for the 29th. We called and left you a message, did you not get it?" I could feel my cheeks begin to turn red as I explained that I had not received the message. She apologized and said the doctor had her reschedule several appointments due to an emergency situation. I felt so dumb. This was the second time in 6 months that I'd committed the blunder of coming to his office on the wrong day.

In my head I was shouting, MEA CULPA, MEA CULPA!!! What a terrible faux pas! I felt MUY ESTUPIDO right about then! (And I'm sure you can guess what that means...but if you can't, it means "very stupid" in Spanish.)

I nodded to the nurse as I walked out of the office. She was kind and understood my embarrassment. She even apologized at my having not received the message and motioned for me to wait a moment so she could check the phone number they had on file for me before I left.

A little snipped from one of my childhood TV shows, Hogan's Heroes, popped into my brain as I walked quickly to my car. Colonel Klink was shouting at Sargent Shultz in German as he waved his arms...."DUMMKOPH!" (That means stupid person or blockhead.)

I'll admit, I did feel a little foolish and my love of languages waned a little this afternoon. It's pretty bad when you beat yourself up for making a mistake and you don't even do it in your own language! Oh well. LO SIENTO (that means "I'm sorry" in Spanish.) At least I feel a little cultured in my blundering and if I can't laugh at myself when I screw up then I must be LAME. (And that's English slang for just plain stupid.)

Don't you feel dumb - Major Payne

© bonnie annis all rights reserved

Clinging to hope

Last night, my husband and I went to visit an elderly neighbor. We'd met this sweet lady when we moved into our new home last year. As we were busy unloading boxes, she pulled up in her golf cart to offer us some fresh tomatoes she'd just purchased from the local fruit stand. I took the tomatoes from her and introduced myself. When I told her my first name, she smiled a big smile. "Really," she said, "Bonnie's my first name too!" I told her I was very surprised. I explained that I was named after my aunt and she told me how she'd received her name but I can't remember what she said at the time. We chatted for a bit and I introduced the rest of my family to her. Before she left, Bonnie handed me a slip of paper with her phone number on it and told me to give her a call when I had time. I promised I would and we watched her drive away. I mentioned to my husband how nice it was to have met one of our neighbors and he agreed.

About a week later, after we'd gotten all of our belongings moved in and arranged, I came across the slip of paper with Bonnie's number on it. I picked it up realizing I'd never given her a call and made a point to call her later that afternoon. When I finally got around to calling her, Bonnie was cheerful and full of helpful information about the neighborhood. We had a delightful conversation and I promised to call her again soon.

Two months later, I was diagnosed with breast cancer. One day, as I was feeling pretty down, I called to talk to Bonnie again. I shared my news with her and she told me that she, too, had been a victim of breast cancer. She explained that 22 years ago, she'd been diagnosed. She'd gone through all the radiation and chemotherapy, had fought hard, and had beat it. Her news was encouraging to me and I thanked her for sharing. Just hearing that she'd already lived past the typical 5 year mark the doctors give all breast cancer patients, I was very hopeful.

Throughout the year, I touched base with Bonnie several times. As I was going through treatment, sometimes I didn't feel like talking on the telephone so I'd email her. Bonnie and I developed a sweet friendship and soon, in order to delineate which Bonnie was which, my new neighbor decided to call herself "Bonnie over the hill" referring to her age. I became "Bonnie up the hill" since my house was on a hill and I lived above her. Our emails continued and Bonnie shortened her nickname to Bonnie "OTH." I did the same and signed off Bonnie "UTH."

For some reason, several months passed by and I didn't see or hear from Bonnie "OTH." I began to worry about her and wondered if perhaps something had happened to her. She lived alone and didn't have family close by to check in on her. One day she was so heavy on my heart and I shot her a quick email asking how she was doing. Her reply shocked me...her cancer had returned.

I called Bonnie "OTH" and talked with her. I could hear the devastation in her voice as she explained about her test results. She never expected the cancer to come back after all these years, but it had. My heart broke for her and at the same time, I felt my expectations fade. When I'd first heard about her surviving for 22 years after her first round with cancer, I expected to have a similar outcome...now I wasn't so sure any more.

Time slipped away and before you know it, the summer was gone. We hadn't seen or heard anything about Bonnie "OTH" in a long time. I told my husband that I was very concerned and told him I was going to get in touch with her so we could plan a visit. Once again, I sent her another email. I asked if she would mind a short visit and she replied she'd love it. So we planned to go after dinner and stay for about half an hour or so.

I was nervous as the time drew near for us to go and see her. I don't know why, but I felt a hesitation in my spirit. As the clock neared 7:30 p.m., our scheduled visitation time, I gathered up the potted plant we'd purchased for Bonnie (some beautiful Fall chrysanthemums) and a book I thought she might like.

The road was rough as we traveled over it. Gravel roads can get filled with potholes when left unattended after heavy rains and her road was filled with them. I bounced and jiggled all the way there. When we pulled up to her house, I could see someone sitting on the front porch in a motorized scooter. I knew instantly that it was Bonnie. We got out of the car and greeted her. She seemed glad to see us.

As  I went up the stairs to her front porch, I could see a marked change in Bonnie's appearance. The last time I'd seen her, she had a head full of reddish hair. She'd looked healthy but old. This time, her hair was very sparse and her skin was paper thin. She looked like she'd lost a lot of weight and had been struggling physically.

Bonnie motioned for us to have a seat on her beautiful old porch. I chose the rocking chair next to her and my husband sat just across from her so we could all talk easily. I noticed on the table by Bonnie's chair were many pill bottles. There was also a bottle of liquid medication. We asked Bonnie how she'd been feeling and she explained she'd had to begin treatments again. The chemotherapy had caused horrible mouth sores and made it difficult for her to talk. The liquid medication was for easing the pain of the mouth sores and so I told her not to feel obliged to speak. She nodded her head and agreed to just listen. We chatted a while and she did take time to ask me how my cancer journey was going. As I shared, she looked sympathetically at me and nodded her head. She understood completely.

Bonnie sat huddled in her rocking chair with a thick sweater wrapped around her. She also sat underneath an outdoor heater (the kind restaurants use so their customers can eat outdoors even in chilly weather). It had turned off a little cooler, but 78 degrees didn't seem cool enough for all that to us.

When I noticed Bonnie starting to look tired, I stood up and told her we'd better go. We didn't want to overstay our welcome. I asked if Bonnie had anyone that checked in on her daily and she replied no. She pulled something out from around her neck and told us it was a Life Alert necklace. She explained she'd fallen 3 times in the last couple of weeks and had been unable to get anyone to help her. Her daughter, who lives in another state, made Bonnie agree to wear the necklace telling her it would give her peace of mind knowing help was just a button push away. I told Bonnie she could call us at any time and we'd come immediately to help. I made a mental note to check in on her every few days. We said our goodbyes and I bent down to hug Bonnie. I could feel her bony shoulders through the sweater and realized her poor, little body was declining rapidly.

I didn't talk much on the ride back home. It was so hard to see Bonnie in her current state. It was only natural, I guess, to think about my own mortality now. I'd never really given it much thought. After surgery, I just figured I was now "cancer free" although the doctors had never said it.

Tomorrow I will see my oncologist again. Every 3 months I go for checkups. I'll mention several things to him that have been concerning me...my overwhelming lack of energy, insomnia, and a new lump I've found in my neck. I'm hesitant to mention the lump for fear of more testing, but you see, that's the thing with cancer. You're always on the lookout for anything new because it could show up any time, any where. That's why the doctors tell you to pay close attention to your body after diagnosis and that's why so many women freak out at any and every little lump or growth they find. Bonnie's cancer came back in her spine and has now traveled to other parts of her body. I can only imagine how she felt when she discovered a change that signaled a red flag to her doctor after 22 years.

Seeing Bonnie "OTH" was very difficult. It made me realize how very quickly things can change. I felt so sorry for her and I was so glad we took the time to visit with her. I wondered why Bonnie chose to go through treatment again. She'd already been through it many years earlier, but why now, in this late stage of her life? When she was younger, I'm sure she chose to go through it to prolong her life. Chemotherapy and radiation are so hard on a young person. I can't begin to imagine how difficult they must be on a person in their 80's. But that's the thing...we always cling to hope, don't we? When we stop hoping and stop fighting, cancer wins...so we can never give up. We have to keep on fighting. Bonnie is my hero. She's fought this battle once before and won.I surely hope she can do it again. If she can do it, I can too.

This weekend, as I walk my first 5K with the Susan G. Komen "Race for the Cure," I'll be walking for Bonnie "OTH" too. She can't physically be there, but I'll walk in her honor. Bonnie "UTH" will make it a point to keep going even when the battle is tough. I have to cling to hope, just like Bonnie "OTH."

©bonnie annis all rights reserved

A second letter to cancer

Me in Gerri's jacket

Dear Cancer,
This is my second letter to you. I never thought I'd be writing one again so soon, but here I am again. I don't even know why I'm writing you. You're supposedly gone and good riddance! Dr. S cut you out of my body over a year ago, so why am I still dealing with side effects from your presence?

Early this morning, I had to call my doctor's office. Fluid has built up again in my chest. This time, it's concentrated on the right side instead of like last time when it was all in the center of my chest. I asked her if she wanted me to come back into the office so she could drain the fluid off again. I didn't really want to have to go through all that again, but I was willing to do it if it was necessary. Dr. S said sometimes, it can take 2-3 weeks for the fluid to dissipate. I told her it was really uncomfortable and it hurt when anything, even clothing, touched that side of my body. She told me to wait a few more days and if it's not better, to come in next week. When I touch my chest, I can see a big pocket of fluid jiggling near the space where my right breast used to be.

Did you know the Susan G. Komen Race for the Cure is next weekend? I've signed up and I plan on walking across that finish line with pride. I was supposed to walk last year but that was too soon after my first surgery (thanks to you) and I couldn't. People donated money for me and I let them down. I didn't feel good about that at all but what could I do? This year will be a different story. Even if the fluid remains, I'm going! We've already got a hotel room reserved and we've already paid the registration fees. My sweet husband is going with me. We're going to show you!

Today I was reminded of you again, not only when I looked in the mirror and saw the swelling and fluid, but also when I had an unexpected visit from a dear friend. The doorbell rang and I knew I wasn't expecting any visitors, so I almost didn't answer it. I figured it was a delivery man with a package and if I didn't answer the door, he'd just leave it and go on his way...but something told me to go to the door, and I'm so glad I did. Standing on the front porch was Doc, my best friend's husband, and in his hand was a denim jacket. As I greeted him with a hearty hello and a big bear hug (one sided of course, once again, thanks to you), he stepped inside. (Doc had just recently had surgery on his brain and I had no idea that he was okayed to be driving just yet.) I asked him to come in and have a seat as he held out the jacket to me. Taking it, I almost burst into tears. This jacket had been my best friend's jacket and Gerri (my bestest friend in the whole, wide world, had died unexpectedly last month.) Doc told me Gerri would have wanted me to have the jacket. With tears in my eyes, I looked at the front of it. Gerri had several pins attached to the jacket. There was a silver biker pin (she loved to ride motorcycles with her husband), a "He is risen" pin (Gerri was a devout Christian), and a tiny pink breast cancer ribbon pin. (I know she wore that one for me.) I took the jacket and hung it across the back of a bar stool while Doc and I talked.

We talked about Gerri and how much each of us missed her. No, you weren't part of her life, too, and I'm so thankful. Gerri died of a heart attack, they think. We really aren't sure, but it was sudden and none of us were prepared for the loss of her from our lives. Doc and I shared sweet memories. As he talked, I could feel the deep pain in his heart. He was so lonely. After a couple of hours, he looked at his watch and said he had to go. As I walked him to the door, I gave him another big hug and thanked him for coming.

When Doc was gone, I took Gerri's jacket from the chair. I held it in my hands for a few minutes and then took a big sniff of it. I just wanted to see if any part of Gerri lingered there. I smiled as I was able to smell her on the jacket. There was such a familiarity there.

I walked into my bedroom and stood in front of the mirror. I wanted to put the jacket on but was afraid. I knew it was going to be an emotional time when I did and I wasn't sure if I was ready for that. I lay the jacket down and went to my office. I worked on some things for a while and then went back into my bedroom. The jacket lay there waiting for me.

Picking up the jacket, I slowly slipped one arm into it and then the other. Instantly, I could almost hear Gerri's voice whisper, "my ace boon coon." That's what she used to call me. It was her term of endearment that meant I was her very best friend ever.

I stood in front of the mirror a long time. The jacket fit perfectly. It did look funny with the pockets sunken in because I had no breasts (thanks to you, dear cancer), but I didn't care at that point. I could feel the closeness of my friend.

The tiny pink ribbon pin was attached to the right front breast pocket. I could just imagine Gerri placing it there and thinking, this is for my friend, Bonnie. She was always thinking of others, just like you, cancer, but you are always looking for those you can destroy. Gerri looked for those she could love.

So cancer, you may think you still have a hold on me but let me tell you something...you don't own me. You don't define me. You are not a part of my life currently and I hope you never will be again in the future. I don't want to have to write any more letters to you...YOU GOT THAT! Ok.

Sincerely,
Bonnie Annis
Breast Cancer Survivor

© bonnie annis all rights reserved

Last night I slept alone

I missed him last night...missed his snoring...missed his warmth, but it was my decision. Since surgery last week, it's been so hard to sleep. A healing incision and constant pain don't make good bedfellows. I'm a side sleeper and that makes it even more of a challenge. For nights, I've piled pillows all around me and my poor husband has held on to his tiny sliver of bed tightly. He's been so generous to give me most of the space but I couldn't allow it to continue. "How unfair," I thought to myself. I did my best to keep my pillows close around me so they didn't encroach on his territory but inevitably, they'd slip and slide over into his space. I felt so guilty. Trying to keep those pillows corralled while working to sleep on my back and deal with the pain became too much to bear. I had to come to a decision and that I did.

It wasn't easy to make the decision to sleep in another room. (This would make the second time we'd slept apart in our own home. The first time was right after my initial surgery. I wrote a little about that experience,too, and you can read about it here. ) I like the comfort of knowing my husband is right beside me. It makes me feel safe and secure, but we talked about it and decided it was worth a shot.

So after our late night television show was over, he carried all of my pillows into the guest room for me. I watched as he arranged them the best he could on the bed. We kissed each other goodnight and he turned to walk back to our bedroom. He looked sad but neither of us said anything.

I crawled into bed and rearranged the pillows. After a little reading, I fell asleep. This morning, when the sun peeked through my window, I knew it was time to get up. I looked around this small, little room and realized it hadn't been as bad as I'd thought to sleep apart from my hubby. I'd gotten a pretty good night's sleep and I hadn't worried about trying to keep the pillows corralled. I hadn't heard one single solitary snore all night long. Knowing he was just on the other side of the house made me feel a little better. It also made me laugh as I thought about what it would be like to have had 2 twin sized beds in our room instead of one California King. We'd have been like Lucy and Ricky Ricardo.

As a child, I remember watching the "I Love Lucy Show." Back in the early 60's, television was careful about even hinting about sexuality much less openly displaying it. I never gave a thought to seeing Lucy and Ricky's separate beds, and maybe that's because I was a child. I'm sure the adults noticed it more than we did. Lucy said, years after the series: "Despite sleeping in separate beds throughout the entire series, Lucy and Ricky slept in two beds pushed together in the same box spring during the first two seasons of the show. Once Little Ricky was born, however, CBS suggested the beds be pushed apart as to diminish any hint of a sexual relationship between the Ricardo's. Despite this, however, from time to time, especially after moving in to the bigger apartment in the Mertz building, the beds would occasionally be seen pushed together again."

I don't know if this separate bed thing will become permanent or if it will just be for a few short weeks. I need to talk to my husband and see how he felt about our being apart last night. For now, the arrangement is copacetic. If we do decide to sleep apart, we'll just use separate rooms. I'm not about to get rid of my king size bed in favor of 2 twin beds. I'm sure there are many couples in America who opt for sleeping in separate beds or bedrooms, but I don't know of many. It's not something people feel comfortable discussing and it's not really proper to ask about either.

The decision to sleep in separate rooms came a little easier under the circumstance of my recent surgery. It also helped that we've been married for 22 years and we're secure in our love for each other. If we'd been newlyweds, I'm sure one or both of us would have put up a little more fight. But hey, the reality is, we're an old married couple and we've learned to handle whatever life throws at us. If it works for us, that's all that matters.


© bonnie annis all rights reserved

I feel like I'm on an emotional roller coaster

It's been 459 days since I heard a voice on the telephone telling me I had cancer. It seems so long ago and yet, sometimes, it also feels like it just happened yesterday. That's the weird thing about cancer. It comes into your life and totally turns your world upside down and inside out. You're never the same after you hear those words and that's the part I'm learning to come to grips with. 459 days have passed since I received my life changing news. I'll never forget that day...that Thursday afternoon in June and I don't think God wants me to forget it.

I've done my best to process things on a day by day basis. It's been very difficult, I won't lie. Some days I've felt like giving up. Some days I've cried all day long but then there have also been days when I've been in a deep soul searching mode. It's felt like a roller coaster. Some days up and some days down. Some days I'm flying through the air gripping on so tightly to life that my knuckles are white with fear. But then there are other days, days when I'm so overcome with an indescribable, beautiful peace that can only come from God Himself.

I'm sure I could have attended support groups through the breast cancer wellness center in our town. I could have listened to other women sharing their struggles and pain, but I chose not to do that. I chose to fight my battle alone. It was something I had to do. I had to process things in my own way and in my own time. I cried out to God over and over. Sometimes I asked for an explanation. Sometimes I just cried and begged Him to hold me in His arms and let me feel His love surround me. Every once in a while, I dared to ask "why me?" and He lovingly chided me in His answer, "why not you?"

For people of faith, a journey like this causes immense introspection. It's a test that will prove the depth of your commitment. It's a huge floodlight shining into the deepest, darkest, crevices of your soul. For some, like me, faith is made stronger and more secure. For others, faith wavers and may crumble.

Why does God allow such suffering and devastation into lives? The answer is His alone. Sometimes He chooses to use suffering to reveal flaws...to refine and remold. Sometimes He allows it to show His great mercy and love. For whatever the reason, He allows it. He chooses it. He orders it...specifically for each individual. He deems the length of time for the suffering. He sets limits and boundaries on the pain. He mandates the beginning and the end of it. Sometimes He chooses to remove it completely and sometimes He allows it to linger a little longer.

Over these past 459 days, I've come to see things in a new light. Some days I've done extremely well and other days, I've failed horribly. It's been a roller coaster but through it all, I've learned to accept the fact that I'm not in control of the ride.

God has much to teach me still. I'm trying my best to be a diligent student and learn my lesson well. I know I've grown. I know my faith has been refined and for that, I'm very thankful. Cancer has been both a blessing and curse but, it has also been a great teacher.

Why did God handpick cancer for me? I may never know. I've spent many of the past 459 days trying to figure it out but I have no answers. Today, I listened to a beautiful song that may hold some clues as to His reasoning. The story is called "Blessings" and is by Laura Story. Listen to it by clicking on the link below and as you do, hear the verse that spoke to my heart today. It says "what if trials of this life are Your mercies in disguise." Could that be the answer? Could the trial of cancer in my life be His mercy in disguise? I am beginning to think so. I know He'll continue to reveal more to me in the days ahead as my ride continues. I'm so very thankful He loves me and even more thankful I trust Him in all of life's ups and downs.

Listen to Blessings by Laura Story

©bonnie annis all rights reserved

Why did I sign up?

Almost a month ago, while checking my email I came across one from the Susan G. Komen Foundation. It seems the Race for the Cure is coming up soon. I read the email and clicked on a link that took me to their website. As I was reading it, I felt like I needed to sign up and participate in this year's race. Today, as I'm still recovering from surgery, I'm wondering why on earth I did it! Why in heaven's name? Since being diagnosed on June 5, 2014, my life has suddenly become inundated with breast cancer, for lack of a better word, "stuff." I am now and forever more entangled in the web of pink...not at my choosing. It was thrust upon me.

I don't know diddly squat about the Susan G. Komen Foundation other than it's an organization committed to help raise money to fight breast cancer and the name, Susan G. Komen, came from a woman who died of breast cancer. The name, Susan G. Komen, and breast cancer have become practically synonymous due to all the publicity and hype in the media.

So why did I sign up to be a participant in the Race for the Cure? Honestly, I don't know. I think maybe my subconscious took over and it just felt like something I needed to do for me...maybe a right of passage...to prove that I've given all I had to give in the fight...maybe just to prove I'm a survivor, I really don't know.

Another thing I didn't know was that Susan G. Komen expects each race participant to raise money for the campaign. (No, I didn't read all the fine print before signing up. I'm a jump right in and ask questions later kinda girl.) We're each supposed to raise $150.00. That's not a lot of money if you have friends and family who'll sponsor you, but if you don't have folks to get behind you and dish out their money, you're not going to make the fundraising goal. So, since I signed up myself to walk as a survivor, and my husband to walk as a support person for me, we've got to raise $300. To date, I'm almost there. I've raised $110 through some sweet friends, but I haven't met my goal. He's only raised $50.

It's going to cost us a good chunk of change to participate in the race. We have to drive 3 hours to Macon, Georgia, and stay in a hotel overnight. We'll also be eating out along the way. My click happy fingers didn't think about all of that when I subconsciously decided to participate. We've also had to pay registration fees that would cover the cost of our t-shirts and caps.

So, all in all, this race, while for a great cause, has cost me a lot personally. I lost 2 breasts to participate. I've been fighting for the past year and a half to get through surgeries and treatment. And yes, I'm finally at the point where I proudly can claim the title "Breast Cancer Survivor," but do I need to walk in a 5K to prove it? Not really. And did I need to fork out a lot of hard earned cash...well, no.

I don't think I really NEED to walk a 5K to prove anything to anybody, but, for some reason, this walk will validate all I've been through. It will throw me into a situation where I'm surrounded by other breast cancer survivors and will probably make me face a lot of emotions I haven't dealt with yet.

I'll admit it. I'm scared. I don't know why I signed up. I don't even know if I'll be fully healed by the time the race comes around the end of this month. I haven't been training for it. I'm not ready but by the grace of God, somehow, someway, I'll make myself do it. One foot in front of the other in a sea of pink, I'll walk. I may not make record time but I'll cross that finish line. And when I do, I'm sure it will be emotional. There's no way it couldn't be. This past year and a half have been the hardest days of my life.

Do you know what I really think happened, I think God guided my hand toward the link because He knew it was something I needed to do. In any event, it's done. I can't back out now. I guess it will be one more thing I can cross off my bucket list and I'm thankful I'll have my sweet hubby right by my side.

Donate to my Susan G. Komen Race for the Cure Campaign here

Donate to my hubby's Susan G. Komen Race for the Cure Campaign here

©bonnie annis all rights reserved

Ice Packs and Ice Cream

A huge horizontal incision trails across my chest. The steri-strips are yellowing and slightly pulling away. It's been a little over a week since this last surgery. I am sore. No, that's an understatement...I am EXTREMELY sore. I feel like I have had a type of Chinese water torture but instead of water, battery acid has been slowly dripped inside my chest wall. Drip by drip the acid bores deeper through tissue and the pain doesn't ease up. I try hard not to complain, but it really hurts. I used to think I had a high pain threshold but now, I'm not so sure. I think I've become a bonafide wimp.

On Tuesday, I went to the doctor and had fluid drained off. It was not pretty. After the fluid had been drained off, the doctor and the nurse used me for a human maypole. They took wide elastic bandages and wrapped me like a mummy. I was instructed to remain wrapped up for a week to ten days. The wrappings were to help keep the fluid from rebuilding. I went home and took a couple of pain pills and put an ice pack on my chest. The coldness of the ice pack took my mind off of the chest pain and maybe helped just a little.

Today has been a difficult day. I've felt pretty rotten. I woke up feeling bad. My incision is pulling and the burning continues. When I took a shower, I noticed several steri-strips have come loose. I imagined there were stitches under them but I can't see any. Dr. S. must have used surgical super glue again. At my last surgery, she told me there were stitches inside but she used glue to hold the outer edges of my incision together. She said it made for a cleaner line, a prettier piece of work. So the steri -strips were reinforcements, to hold things together until I've healed. I've had an ice pack on most of the day and Advil has taken a slight edge off the pain.

My sweet hubby volunteered to go to the grocery store for me. We haven't been in weeks and both the cupboard and the fridge are bare. I made out a small list. I didn't want to overwhelm him. I told him as he was leaving that I knew I hadn't thought of everything and asked him to pick up other things he thought we might need as he was perusing the aisles.

I lay on the sofa and rested while he was gone. Discouragement overtook me and I began to cry. How much longer was this ordeal going to continue? It seems I've been in recovery mode for almost 2 years now. As I lay there thinking, my chest pain intensified. I got up to go change out the now thawed ice pack with a frozen one.

The sound of the garage door going up signaled that hubby was home. I watched as he brought in the bags of groceries and put them on the kitchen counters. As I rose from the sofa to put the groceries away, he waved me off. "I've got it," he said. So, I watched. He systematically put away each item and mentioned, as he opened the freezer, "I got you some ice cream, too." (I didn't ask for ice cream but he knows how much I love it.)

We had lunch in the living room. (We rarely eat at the table any more unless it's something messy and we just feel like sitting in there.) After lunch, he asked if I wanted some ice cream. As I readjusted my ice pack, I smiled at him with a big cheesy "yes, please" grin. He fixed me a big bowl of Moose Tracks and as he slipped it into my lap, I whispered up a silent prayer..."thank you, God, for ice packs and ice cream. The ice packs help me feel better on the outside and the ice cream helps me feel better on the inside. Thank you most of all for my sweet husband and for his tender, loving care. He's so good to me and I am so very blessed.

I'm so tired of hurting but I know it won't last forever. At least I've got ways to get a little more comfortable when I need it. I'm so thankful for the person who invented ice packs but even more thankful for the person who created ice cream!

© bonnie annis all rights reserved

The sounds of silence

I heard a quote the other day that really touched my heart. It was made by a well known psychologist, Dr. Laura Schlessinger. She's a wise woman and very well educated. She has a way with words and tells it like it is. This quote, by Dr. Schlessinger, is profound: "We won't remember the words spoken from our enemies, but instead, the silence from our friends." Powerful, isn't it? Those sixteen words resonated in my soul and prompted my blog post for today.

Why should they care? It's just cancer. I mean it's not like I'm at the point of death or anything, right? And yet, the silence is deafening. When the diagnosis was fresh, of course, some family members and friends rallied but the majority have remained silent. Blood. We share the same blood and yet, it's as if I'm non existent. How long does it take to pick up the phone and dial a number? And if that's too much, why not write a quick note and mail it off? Simple. I don't get it. Perhaps that's human nature..."if it's not affecting me or my family, why should I get involved?" Maybe that's what they're thinking, who knows. Maybe I shouldn't expect anything and yet, I do...not necessarily from friends, but definitely from family.

Thinking back over the last fifteen months, I remember how helpful people were to me during my cancer diagnosis and treatments. I received encouragement from old high school friends through Facebook. A few distant relatives got in touch with me personally or called my mother to get the latest updates. Some of my husband's coworkers, whom I'd never met before, asked him about me constantly. One of my neighbors brought home-cooked meals. Even the cashier at our local pizza parlor became involved in my struggle and asked weekly how things were going. Those efforts were very touching and ones I'll always remember.

There were many kind words provided to me over the past year. But as difficult as it sometimes is, I try not to focus on friends or family members who might not have spoken to me, or made some kind of effort at contact, during my trial. I try not to focus on the people I would have expected to hear from, but didn't. People who, for whatever reason, didn't step up to the plate. And the reason I try not to focus on them is because it takes time away from something more important...the people who blessed me in so many more ways than I can comprehend. Those are the people I'll choose to think about and remember well. Dr. Schlessinger was right. Rarely do we ever remember the unkind words spoken to us from our enemies but silence from our friends (and family members) speaks volumes.

Listen to the Sounds of Silence by Simon and Garfunkel here.

© bonnie annis all rights reserved

Yes, he's really that good

My biggest cheerleader, my husband, Phil

I've bragged about him before, but I have to do it again...and yes, he's really that good! If you haven't already guessed, I'm talking about my sweet husband.

For the past fifteen months he's been taking care of me non-stop...and I mean, really taking care of me. He's let me cry on his shoulder. He's listened to my discouragement. He's replaced bandages. He's fluffed pillows. He's done all the things that nursemaids do, and then some. He's been so understanding and so sympathetic. He's been priceless. And when I question him, when I ask him why he's been so good to me, he tells me it's because he loves me. He reminds me of our wedding vows...for better or worse, in sickness and in health. I look at him and try to see what he sees. I tell him I'm broken and he says, "that's okay, I love you anyway."

I'm the lucky one...the one who is blessed beyond measure. Not many men would be as giving. He never demands his own way. He is the epitome of 1 Corinthians 13 love. Listen to what the Bible says about true love in verses 4-7 of 1 Corinthians chapter 13:

"Love endures long and is patient and kind; love never is envious nor boils over with jealousy, is not boastful or vainglorious, does not display itself haughtily. It is not conceited (arrogant and inflated with pride); it is not rude (unmannerly) and does not act unbecomingly. Love (God’s love in us) does not insist on its own rights or its own way, for it is not self-seeking; it is not touchy or fretful or resentful; it takes no account of the evil done to it [it pays no attention to a suffered wrong]. It does not rejoice at injustice and unrighteousness, but rejoices when right and truth prevail. 7 Love bears up under anything and everything that comes, is ever ready to believe the best of every person, its hopes are fadeless under all circumstances, and it endures everything [without weakening].  Love never fails [never fades out or becomes obsolete or comes to an end]."

How many people do you know that have a love like that? Not many, I'd venture to say...but I do, and I'm so very grateful.

It seems our entire marriage of 22 years has been filled with him giving and me taking. It seems a very unfair balance and he's never complained, not once. He's a good man, a truly good man. God knew I'd need someone to love and care for me and He chose the best.

I wish I could help you really understand the selfless love my husband gives me but you probably wouldn't believe me even if I wrote it down and gave  you very specific examples, because that kind of love is so very rare...yes, he's that good. So, I won't. I'll keep my priceless treasure all to myself and thank God every single moment of every single day for His remarkable blessing...a godly man and a loving husband.

Taking one day at a time, one hurdle at a time with someone who loves you isn't hard. Health challenges are easier to conquer with a constant cheering section and I'm so glad he isn't too proud to pick up the pom poms. Yes, he's THAT GOOD.

© bonnie annis all rights reserved

Suck it up and suck it out!

I feel like I'm always behind when posting on my blog but sometimes it's a little easier to write things after they've already happened. Yesterday was one of those days. I don't think I could have written yesterday if I'd really wanted to because I was in so much pain.

Since surgery this past Friday, I'd been hearing a strange noise emanating from my chest cavity. It was most prevalent when I'd turn in bed, trying to find a little comfort. At first, I thought it was my imagination...surely I couldn't be sloshing...that was ridiculous. I'd just had surgery. What would have been left in my chest to make a liquid sound? The only thing I could think of was blood.

So when the doctor's office called to check on me, I knew I had to mention it, this sloshing. At first, i thought the nurse would think I was a nut case...yeah, right, Mrs. Annis...you're sloshing...okay, really? But then I figured if I didn't say anything at all, this could be an important development and it might go from interesting to serious in a short time. When the nurse asked how I was, I heard myself say, "I'm doing okay but there's this weird sloshing noise." There was a moment of silence on the phone. The nurse had to process what she just heard. Sloshing, did she say "sloshing?" When she realized I had indeed said that I was sloshing, she said she needed to talk to the doctor. She'd call me back in a little while. I waited. She called later and said she'd talked to the doctor and the doc wanted me to be seen asap. I had an appointment at 2:30 p.m. on Tuesday afternoon. I knew what was coming and I didn't want to go.

Upon arrival at the doctor's office, the receptionist greeted me. I sat in the waiting room with my daughter and my granddaughter. We watched several people come and go. When was it going to be my turn? After about fifteen minutes, I was called back and put into an exam room. The nurse was polite and said I'd only be there until the woman in the next room was done with her appointment. It seems the ultrasound machine was in the next room and they were going to need it to work on me.

After about half an hour, I wondered if they'd forgotten me. My bladder was screaming so I went out into the hallway and asked a nurse where the restroom was located. Murphy's law says as soon as you get up to go pee, the doctor will come and be ready to see you. Sure enough, it worked. While I was in the restroom, the doctor was waiting on me.

When I exited the restroom, the doctor was in the hallway. She ushered me into the ultrasound room and began talking to me. "So, I hear you're a little squishy today?" I wanted to laugh, but it wasn't funny. I told her I was pretty sloshy and she had me remove my shirt and sit up on the exam table. As she mushed around on my chest, I could see the pocket of fluid underneath my skin. She continued manipulating my chest and as she hovered over the lower right hand side, I cringed. I knew as soon as she touched me there, I was going to be in extreme pain. I winced as she pressed firmly and told her I was really hurting there. She explained it was normal for me to hurt there. That's where she removed the dead tissue on Friday. That's where she had to scrape and work so hard to take all the bad stuff out. Oh.

I watched as the doc pulled packets of gauze, some needles, some syringes, antibiotic, Lidocaine, and other items from her crash cart. As she began setting up, I knew it was not going to be pretty. She draped a blue sterile pad across my lap and laughed as she said she was going to try to keep my clothes dry.

She took a syringe and inserted a needle. Then she drew up about 300cc of Lidocaine. As she was drawing up the numbing medicine, she looked at me and smiled..."no worries, no pain for you today." I smiled back and thought I hope she's right.

An antiseptic swab was rubbed over the center of my chest and then the doc said, "little stick." I felt what amounted to a small bee sting and she said, "how was that?" I told her it wasn't bad. She waited a few minutes for the Lidocaine to kick in and then she screwed a larger needle onto the syringe. As she readied the needle, I squeezed my eyes tightly closed. I didn't want to see her insert it. I felt the pressure as the needle went in. The doc knew exactly how deep she could penetrate my skin because she'd already scanned it with the ultrasound machine. I was thankful she had one in her office!

I opened my eyes to see a syringe full of dark blood red liquid being extracted from my chest. She told me I could keep my eyes closed and I told her I'd rather keep them open. I explained that I had wanted to be in the medical field at one point in my life and the blood and gore didn't bother me. She asked why I hadn't pursued my desire to work in medicine and I told her because my life changed and I started having my family. She smiled and told me she understood.

She emptied the first syringe into the red bio-hazard container and took another from the crash cart. She plunged the needle deep into the center of my chest and drew up another full syringe of bloody fluid. This procedure was repeated for a total of 5 and 1/2 times before she stopped. On the last vial of blood, the doc told me she didn't want to suction me totally dry because my insides were so traumatized from radiation and surgery. She said they needed a little cushioning to keep things loose and where they could heal nicely.

When she was done, the doc called in her assistant. They took 2 large ace bandages and wound them tightly around my chest. The compression, she said, would help keep my chest cavity from swelling up with fluid again. As I left, she told me to check on the swelling daily. If it got worse or felt hot to touch, I needed to call her immediately. I was given a prescription for antibiotic as I left the office. The doc wanted me to take it for 10 days.

When I got home, I pulled an ice pack out of the freezer and placed it on the insertion site. I was already sore from the surgery and now the Lidocaine was wearing off leaving me in even more pain. My husband and my daughter could tell I wasn't feeling well. It had been a rough day.

What I'm thinking: 
I was thankful my breast surgeon was skilled enough to remove the fluid from my chest cavity in her office. At least I didn't have to go to the hospital and have it done. I was also thankful to know I wasn't imagining things. I really was sloshing! If this wasn't the 21st century, I might have had leeches placed all over my chest to suck out the excess drainage. I'm thankful that didn't happen. I have a pretty strong stomach but I don't think I would have done well with a bunch of blood suckers wriggling and thriving all over my middle. Ewww! In any event, I'm glad to have the drainage procedure completed. Hopefully I won't ever have to go through that again. I'm really hoping things will start to get better and better from this point onward. I'm very tired of feeling rotten and look forward to some good days. I think I deserve them. It's time for someone else to share in the suffering just a little.

© bonnie annis all rights reserved