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."

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