Introspection

341 days. 491,040 minutes. Those are the units of time that have passed since my diagnosis and they've given me plenty of time for reflection...introspection...thinking. I've thought of so many things since that day. I thought my head might explode, but it didn't. Thinking for hours on end has kept me from sleeping and yet, as I've processed my thoughts, I think I've made great progress.

I've wondered a lot. I've questioned God over and over again...so much so, that when I pray, He probably shakes His head, rolls His eyes, and thinks to Himself, "oh no, not her again!" All I've wanted to understand was why I was allowed to have breast cancer enter my life. Was it used as a teaching tool? Was it a wake up call? Was it a genetic fluke? Was it from my own poor choices? None of these questions has been answered, but the one question that has been answered, "Why me?" was answered with another question several months ago. When I asked God, "Why me?" The reply I felt in my spirit from Him was, "why not you?" And that question, started my avalanche of thoughts once again.

When someone is diagnosed with a devastating disease, often medical professionals recommend counseling to help the patient understand and process their emotions. With breast cancer, at least in my case, I was offered nothing in the way of counseling or any type of mental support. I've had to deal with it on my own and that's okay...I've learned over the years how to handle things through my own determined strength and my faith in God.

The thoughts have changed since I was first diagnosed. In the beginning, I could only think about the next phase of treatment and how I was going to get through each one. When treatments ended, I began thinking about how I was going to survive in the days, weeks, and months that were approaching. Every once in a while, I'd think about the possibility of recurrence but I didn't linger on those thoughts for long. I didn't want to devote time to thinking about the "what if's." Currently, I think about the 1440 minutes I have in this day and what I'm going to do with them.

It's amazing to me how cancer has shifted my focus. Instead of always thinking ahead, I've learned to be in the moment. Realizing that I have 1440 moments in each day, I try to make the best of them. I'm more careful with them. I try not to let any of them slip away unused. I know I can't store them up for use another day...once they're gone...they're gone.

Each morning, when I wake, I thank God for the minutes ahead of me. The ones I've yet to use. I ask Him to give me wisdom to know how best to use them for they are like precious gems to me. I don't want to squander them, I want to spend them wisely.

The quiet solitude allows me to constantly think and question. As I think, I'm reminded of an old TV commercial that said, "a mind is a terrible thing to waste." How true that statement to be. Although my mind wanders and thoughts run rampant through it on a continual basis, I'm thankful I have a clear mind, one not ravaged by disease...a mind that is capable of thinking different thoughts every second of every minute of every day, and all the thoughts I think are all mine. I can share them if I choose to share them and keep them safely hidden inside if I choose not to share them.

I wonder how many thoughts I've "thunk" over the past 341 days? I'm sure, if I'd counted them, I would be amazed. I wonder how many minutes it's taken you to read this post. What could you have done with those minutes? Did they matter to you?

Cancer is a scary disease. It's a time thief but then again, it can help you realize just how very precious time is and then, when you realize those moments are priceless, you begin to count them and consider what to do with them. 1440 minutes in each and every day. How many have you wasted today? Maybe it's time for a little introspection on your part...

© bonnie annis all rights reserved

Psych exam

Yesterday I had an appointment for a psychological exam with the Social Security department. I don’t understand why they require a psych exam for disability benefits but, whatever. I’ve been jumping through hoops for the past 7 months in an effort to obtain acceptance into their disability program. I’ve filled out paper upon paper. I’ve submitted tons of medical documents and I’ve already been denied benefits once. After the last denial letter came, I decided to appeal it. A friend of mine told me that 99% of the applications are denied at least once. I was shocked to hear that.

I had no idea what to expect as I entered the Social Security Services building. There was a small counter directly across from the front door and as I went up to it, I saw a clipboard with some papers on it with a small webcam mounted in the corner of the room. Within a few minutes, a woman came to the counter and explained she’d be with me shortly. She asked me to take the clipboard and complete a list of medications I was currently taking.

I took the clipboard and pen and sat down in one of the black vinyl covered chairs. I surveyed the room noting the furnishings were sparse. This must be an office designated for use by multiple businesses, I thought to myself. As I sat filling out the list of my medications, my husband sat quietly in a chair beside me. He’d come along because the instructions on the disability exam notice said to bring someone who was able to explain my current health issues.

A few minutes passed and the psychologist came to take me back to her office. We walked down a narrow hallway into a small room. Inside the room was a tiny desk. On top of the desk was a laptop computer. There was a chair behind the desk and two chairs in front of the desk. The psychologist motioned for me to have a seat in one of the chairs in front of the desk. I wonder which one I should take…the one closest to the door or the one furthest away? Will she evaluate my decision on which chair I choose? I took the chair furthest from the door. I felt more comfortable against the wall. I sat there and watched as she began to type information into the computer. She glanced up and asked for my Social Security number and as I gave it to her, she quickly entered it into the system. Shouldn’t they already have that information? I’m sure they did. This must have just been a formality for her own program.

The psychologist, a petite woman of very slight build, was dressed in retro fashion. I was surprised to see she was not only wearing a sweater vest, but also cuffed, bell bottom, double knit pants. As she crossed her legs underneath the open desk, I could see she was wearing white hosiery with her clunky beige shoes. I wondered if she had purposely chosen this outfit or if she was trapped in a fashion time warp. I wanted to laugh as I stared at her pants. They reminded me of a pair of wide bottomed, cuffed pants I’d had back in the early 70’s. Those pants almost killed me! I remember coming down a set of stairs in them one day and my high heeled shoe got caught in one of the bell bottomed cuffs. I began to somersault down the stairs and landed with a thud hitting my head on the wall at the end of the landing. I hated those pants because of that scary fall and now, I was being reminded of it once again because of her pants. It’s funny the things that jog our memories, isn’t it?

She leaned across the desk and told me we were about to begin. She explained the exam would take about 50 minutes. Odd number, I thought. Why not just say, it will take about an hour? Maybe that was a psychological mind game. She began asking me questions and inputting my answers into the computer. To begin with, the questions were generic, name, age, marital status, number of children etc. Then we progressed on to work history. Next was medical history and then physical limitations. As I explained each item, she busily typed away. She rarely glanced up at me but when she did, I could see compassion in her eyes.

After the psychologist had completed the current information, she told me we were going to move into the mental part of the exam. We’d talk about my emotions and my mental status. Afterwards, she said we’d do some math problems and work on some memory tests. I wasn’t concerned about any of these because I felt confident I’d remained fairly healthy in my thinking over the past year. Sure, I’d faced many challenges and I’d had many emotional meltdowns, but I was doing pretty good under the circumstances in my personal opinion.

She asked me if I’d ever suffered any depression or had thoughts of suicide. I told her I did have some mild depression over having both breasts removed but I’d never thought of killing myself. I explained to her how devastated I was to have lost my femininity and she nodded her head in understanding. She moved on to a new subject and asked if I had any difficulty dressing and undressing myself. I explained to her that I was unable to put on or take off any blouses unless they buttoned up the front. She said, “so your husband has to dress you?” I smiled and said, “yes, pretty much.” She asked me to elaborate on this and I told her about the lymphedema in my arms and how the swelling prohibits me from having a complete range of motion. She asked if this was a temporary situation and I explained to her that it was permanent. As I went into a detailed description of how the lymphatic system works, she sat there and looked at me like a deer in headlights. I was surprised she wasn’t aware of this medical issue. She must have read my mind because immediately she said, “I’m not a medical doctor. I’m not trained in these types of things.” I smiled and completed my explanation.

When we’d finished the physical limitations aspect of the exam, she began giving me a battery of tests. She started out with memory tests. She told me she was going to give me 3 words and she wanted me to remember them because sometime down the road, she’d ask me to repeat them back to her. She said 3 words and then continued with her testing. About half an hour later, she said, “Now I want you to tell me the 3 words I told you to remember.” For the life of me, I could only remember 2 of those words! I was dumbfounded. She told me not to worry. She said, “Many of the breast cancer patients I work with have short term memory problems due to their treatment.” I couldn’t help but be bothered. I was downright scared, truth be told. I was afraid I was getting early onset Alzheimer’s or something. She conducted more memory tests and I don’t think I did well on them at all, although she said my long term memory was great. The short term, not so much. She began giving me mental math problems and I think I did well on those. She made a comment to that effect, anyway.

Finally, the exam was over. She abruptly closed her laptop and said, “We’re done here. I’ll submit this report and you’ll hear from the Social Security department shortly thereafter.” That was it. She motioned for me to exit her office and as I walked down the narrow hallway again, I felt my head pounding. I’d had a migraine headache since before I’d walked into this office and it was still with me. I’m sure it was stress related. I couldn’t wait to go home and take some Tylenol.

Now it’s a waiting game. I’m curious how this will turn out. Hopefully, I’ll be approved and begin to receive benefits soon. I think it’s a shame that we are required to pay into Social Security as soon as we start working and when we need to draw on those earnings, we have to fight for our right to our own money. It doesn’t make sense to me. Not only do cancer patients have to go through the trauma of dealing with physical and mental devastation, they also have to face financial devastation, too. The medical bills are astronomical and for those without any insurance whatsoever, bankruptcy seems to be the only option. There’s got to be a better way. I hope someday our government will change and make things just a little easier for those who need it most.

©bonnie annis all rights reserved

Reality hurts sometimes

I always hate going to the nursing home. It’s so taxing on my emotions. As we pull into the parking lot, my heart skips a beat. I know what’s coming next. Slowly, I walk across the parking lot with my bags of magazines and other items I’ve chosen to bring Mama today. When we approach the door to the building, I see my hand reach out to press the large black button that allows us instant access.

We walk into the entryway and I purposely avoid looking directly into any of the residents eyes…it’s too painful. I quickly survey the room with a sweeping glance and plaster on my huge “what a beautiful day” grin and we continue walking. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the heavyset African American woman, a double amputee, sitting in her wheelchair parked in front of the TV with the other residents. She seems strong and feisty. I know she sees me glance her way and I smile. She doesn’t smile back. I think she’s probably hardened herself to the glances of pity at her loss of limbs and she’s just learned to take it with a grain of salt.

The door to Mama’s room is closed. I stand in front of it and stare at the “please knock” sign for a few minutes before gently tapping on the door. There’s no answer but I know she’s inside because I can hear the TV blaring. I push the door open and peek around the corner catching her eye. She seems shocked to see us but happy at the same time. She doesn’t look away from the TV but just for a minute and we make ourselves at home in nearby chairs.

At first, we begin with the normal chit chat…how are you today? What’s been happening? Anything new with you? After a few pleasantries, and trying to talk over the TV, I ask if we can turn it off for a while. Reluctantly, Mama agrees and hands me the remote.

It’s nice to be able to talk without the constant noise from the television. As we talk, she mentions a recent trip that my sister made to Chile and as she’s talking about it, I pull up photos on my cellphone from my sister’s Facebook page to show my mother. She looks intently at the pictures analyzing each detail and committing them to memory. I continue pulling up various photos to show her and we talk about each one. We cover a myriad of topics and then the room becomes quiet. There’s nothing left to say to fill the void, so I try to think of a childhood memory that might help start up a new conversation.

Do you remember when you and Daddy took us to a sugar cane farm when we were younger? Where was that, Mama? She didn’t really remember but thought it might have been at a state fair. I had hoped to glean more details for my own memory bank but she doesn’t offer anything else and I let it drop.

A nurse’s aide comes in to bring the lunch tray. I get up to help Mama remove the lid and also to see what’s on the menu for today. There are chicken strips, pork and beans, coleslaw, potato soup and some sort of chopped fruit. There’s no color and it looks disgusting. I asked her if she ever gets fresh fruit and veggies and she tells me that it’s very rare to have those things. No wonder the people here have such sluggish movements. It’s not only because of their age but they’re not receiving vital nutrients they need either. I make a mental note to bring fresh fruit and veggies on my next visit.

As Mama picks at her lunch, I glance toward the end of her bed and notice her uncovered feet. Both of her feet are drawn into an unnatural position. Her toes are gnarled and curled under. While she’s eating, I ask if she can get out of bed. I would love to take her out into the garden on this beautiful, sunshiny day. She tells me she can’t. She has disks in her back that are very fragile and are in various stages of disintegration. How very sad, I think to myself, to be confined to a bed 24 hours a day 7 days a week. I don’t think I could stand it.

In just a few minutes, the TV comes back on. Mama wants to see a movie. Our conversation stops and she focuses on the actors on the screen. We sit and watch her as she watches her program. My husband is patient and understanding but I can tell, after a few hours, he’s ready to get back on the road. I send him a text and ask, “What time do you want to leave?” He responds and says, “Whenever you’re ready.”

We sit with Mama a little longer, watching the clock slowly tick the minutes away. I reach into my bag and pull out a Mother’s Day gift. I purchased a book I knew she’d wanted to read. Along with the book, I’d chosen a sentimental card. She thanks me for both and begins flipping through the pages of the book talking about the pictures inside. Her hands shake as she turns the page. I watch her eyes, intent on what she was reading and I realize time continues to march across her face as I count wrinkle upon wrinkle.

It’s time. I just feel it in my bones. It’s time for us to go. I lean down to kiss her and tell her goodbye. I try to come in close for a hug but I can’t get close because of the bedside railing. I try to maneuver around to the other side of the bed thinking I might have better luck there, but I still can’t get close enough. I manage to plant a wet kiss on her forehead and feel her do the same to my cheek. Oh how I wish I could get close to you, Mama. I long to be your little girl again.

We say our goodbyes and pack up our things. Mama is engrossed in her television show and barely seems to notice as we get ready to leave the room. The nurse comes in with some pills and before leaving, I ask about them. “What are they for?” I say. Mama explains that one pill is for nausea and the other is for pain. I ask if she’s hurting now and she says no but it helps to keep the pain she does suffer manageable.

As we back slowly toward the door, I look around the room. There are photos and family mementoes everywhere. My brother, sisters, and I have tried to make the room as pleasant as possible. We’ve tried to surround her with memories and love. Mama is content with her puffed corn and her movie. She doesn’t seem to mind being confined to bed at all. Just outside the window a cardinal flits by. I see the bright red brilliance and remember how very much Mama loves birds. I wish she could see it and I start to point it out to her but stop. I don’t want to interrupt her routine again. She’s settled and comfortable. We’ll just leave and maybe next time we can talk about birds.

My fingers press the exit code into the keypad. I try to use my knuckle to depress the numbers because of all the germs from previous users. We hear the door unlock and quickly make our exit. I wonder how many of the residents have tried to sneak out behind visitors when the door opens. As we depart, I look back and through the glass, I see the African American woman still sitting in her same spot, exactly where she was 3 hours ago. Two words cross my mind…stationary and still. How many hours do those residents sit in the exact same location without being moved? Do they sit there all day until some kind and caring staff member decides it’s time for a change? How do they survive their mundane existence? Many of them have already checked out through their gift of Alzheimer’s or Dementia but there are those sad few, the ones who are still of sound mind, who must struggle.

We pull out of the parking lot and I hang my head. My husband notices and says, “What’s wrong honey?” I tell him I am just so very sad…sad that things are the way they are for my mother and sad for all the residents who live there. I beg and plead with him to never, ever, put me in a nursing home. I tell him I can’t bear the thoughts of being held captive there. I make him promise me he’ll never put me in one and he does. He makes me promise the same.

We drive in silence over half the way home. I think we were both impacted by our visit today. When we arrive home, I am so thankful I can get out of the car and walk into my house. I’m thankful I can lock and unlock my door at will. I’m thankful I can get up and look out the windows whenever I choose to do so, and I’m thankful I only lie in bed when I’m ready to sleep or when I’m not feeling well.

Seeing a loved one’s health decline is not easy. The miniscule day to day changes are more evident when visits are infrequent. and seem to be magnified when viewed in their entirety. Geoffrey Chaucer said, “Time and tide wait for no man.” No matter how much I want to stop the hands of time, with regard to my mother’s aging process, I know I have no power to do so. It’s painful to watch her slowly decline but then again, “from the moment we are born, we begin to die,” says Janne Teller.

I guess the thing that makes it the hardest for me is knowing that one day she’ll be gone…and when she is, I won’t have my mother any more. But even though she’s still here, it’s almost like she’s already gone. She never asks me about me. She never seems to care what’s going on in my life. I know she still cares, but it would be nice if she would just ask. Even though I’m 57, I still need a mother.

There are so many days I want to pick up the phone and call her to ask advice or to just share a piece of news with her. When I do call, she doesn’t listen or perhaps she just can’t hear what I’m saying. She is either watching something on TV or is sleeping. At those moments, I realize, even though she’s still very much alive, my mother has checked out on her motherly duties. She’s no longer to be held responsible for offering motherly advice or fulfilling that role in my life. In the book, For One More Day, by Mitch Albom, his quote, while speaking of his own mother, explains exactly how I feel: ““But she wasn’t around, and that’s the thing when your parents die, you feel like instead of going in to every fight with backup, you are going into every fight alone.”

My father is gone. Both of my in-laws are gone. My mother is the only parental figure I have left in my life. I want to cling to her with all that is within me…but how selfish of me. I know she can’t shoulder my problems any longer. When I found out I had breast cancer, I wanted to run to her and hide in her skirt like a little girl and wrap my arms around her legs and cry, but she wasn’t there. When I called her and told her about my dilemma, she sympathized with me but offered no more. I needed her. I needed her to be there for me throughout my treatments and healing process. Instead, in the back of my mind, I kept hearing myself telling the little girl inside to grow up! To be an adult. To handle it. And so I did.

©bonnie annis all rights reserved

Canceritis

When I was first diagnosed with cancer, I immediately thought I'd been given a death sentence. I wondered how much time I had and I begin to become fearful. I went through all the motions, had the surgery, did all the treatments, and followed doctors' orders. I was a good patient. And now that my active treatment is officially over, I think I've developed a new malady...Canceritis.

It's common, they say, for breast cancer survivors to live in a constant fear of recurrence...after all, who wouldn't be scared to death that one of those random, rogue cancer cells might still be lurking around in your body? Surgeons can do amazing things but they never guarantee that they were able to "get it all." When treatment is over, it's difficult to go from being constantly proactive in fighting cancer, to allowing one's self to relax, let down the guard, and just get back to living life. Every new ache and pain causes a feeling of dread and a wondering of the big, "what if."

I was overcome by random pains yesterday. I hadn't felt anything like that since having my surgery. It was scary. Deep inside my right chest wall, there was a constant, nagging, very obvious pain. I reached up to touch the place where my breast once was and winced when my fingers brushed against my incision. As I felt along the surgical line, I noticed several places that were sensitive and enlarged. Had those been there before? Were these places of concern? Should I call my doctor?

I put some lotion on my hand and began to smooth it gently into my skin. I made a mental note of every lump and bump, every nook and cranny. I wanted to memorize what each place felt like so I could recheck in a day or two.

As I continued palpating my skin, I realized I have just a touch of Canceritis- a fear of the recurrence of cancer. While I don't want to admit that fact, it's definitely true. Canceritis has got to be one of the most common and least treatable side effects of breast cancer. There are so many remedies for other cancer side effects- nausea, hair loss, etc. The body heals, although it may often take some time, but the mind...that's another story. There's only one cure for that...faith.

How does a cancer patient learn to relax and let go of the fearfulness that a recurrence brings? The only way I know to combat that fear is by faith. Why should I allow fear of the unknown to have power and control over my life? I don't want to borrow trouble!

So instead of focusing on every little ache, every random pain, every new lump or bump I might feel, I'm going to leave the diagnosing to my medical staff. Of course, I will pay attention to my body and I will report anything that seems suspicious, but I'm not going to dwell on it and live in a constant state of Canceritis.

A couple of Tylenol knocked the edge off of the pains I was having in my chest. This morning, it's barely noticable. I'm thankful I don't have to walk in fear...that's a dangerous place to be. I'd rather think positively and realize I probably overdid it yesterday. I was quite busy and did lift several items I shouldn't have. Maybe I strained a muscle or maybe the scar tissue in that area was just loosening up a bit. In any case, I'm feeling better.

I never asked for cancer to come into my life. It was certainly an unwelcomed guest. There's a beautiful poem by Michael Hayes Samuelsen speaks so profoundly into the lives of Breast Cancer survivors and it has certainly meant a lot to me. I hope you'll enjoy it too.

Close the Door When You Leave

I never asked you to visit…at least I don’t believe I did
Maybe…I don’t know
It’s so confusing

At any rate, you’re a rude guest
You take my energy,
Rob my sleep, and with a stick

You swirl and distort my dreams
All right; You are here -- for now
But understand

There are two places
That are forever off limits

You may not tread on my spirit

You may not occupy my soul

I have heard of your visits to others
I know the damage you leave in your path
The wanton disregard for innocence, value, and what some would call fairness

Also, I hear that laughter confuses you; that good foods make you feel bad, and
That nothing causes you more distress than an autumn sunset, the forever blue of a summer sky,
Or the unconditional radiance of a child’s smile

Listen and understand
You might pilfer my closets, empty all the drawers, and trash my house
But there are two places forever off limits

You may not tread on my spirit

You may not occupy my soul

Do not mistake my nausea, weakness, and pain as signs of your victory
They are simply small dents in the armor I wear to fight you
Instead, look deeply into my eyes

They will once again remind you that there are two places forever off limits

You must not…

May not…

Will not tread on my spirit

You must not…

May not…

Will not occupy my soul

Canceritis may come and go. I'm sure in the days ahead I will experience more aches and pains that may lead me to become just a tiny bit fearful again. But those aches and pains along with that fear can only touch my body. It can't touch my spirit or my soul. I will not choose to walk in fear, but instead, choose to walk in faith. My days are numbered by my Heavenly Father and He is the only one who knows when He will call me home. Until that day, I've got a whole lot of living left to do!


©bonnie annis all rights reserved

Flying boobs

Well, today was an interesting day. Early this morning, I had a doctor's appointment. It was time for my yearly physical so I was thankful I wasn't going to another "-ologist." Since my husband and I had our appointments back to back, I figured what the heck, I don't even think I'm going to put my boobs on today. I'm finding that I'm getting more and more comfortable without them as long as I have a print blouse on that camouflages my flat chestedness just a little. So we jumped in the car and got on the road. When we arrived at the medical complex, there was only one other car in the parking lot. So far, so good. I didn't have to worry about hiding my chest.

Walking into the building, I was enjoying the cool breeze blowing through my hair. The weather had changed since yesterday and was cool enough for a jacket. Once inside the building, hubby and I chatted while waiting for the elevator to come down.

The waiting room was empty as we entered. We were the first ones at the desk and quickly got registered and seated. Soon we were each being called back for our appointments. I was taken back first and Phil waited to be called a few minutes later. The doctor diagnosed both of us with upper respiratory infections and prescribed medications. Next, we headed to the lab.

At the lab, I waited to be called back for blood work. I always have to remind the nurses they can't stick me anywhere but in my left hand and the tourniquet has to be placed near my wrist. They always look at me like I'm crazy until I explain that I have Lymphedema and that I've had both breasts removed as well as 6 Lymph nodes. You'd think they'd make a note of this in my chart since I've been to this same lab several times already, but they don't.

Finally we were done at the doctor's office and now it was time to find a quick place for breakfast. Fasting for blood work isn't fun when you're used to eating breakfast very early in the morning and we were both starving! Directly across the street from the doctor's office was another medical building that housed a small cafe. We grabbed some breakfast sandwiches and coffee and talked about our next appointment of the day.

After breakfast, we sped back to the house to change clothes for our next appointment. This one was much more important than the doctor's visit. Since we'd be going to downtown Atlanta, I decided to dress up a little and felt the need to wear my boobs. A high class office park would be full of business men and women. I didn't want to look like a frump, so I donned my camisole with the polyester fiberfill "poufs." They were so much lighter than the silicone breasts and I felt much more comfortable in them.

When we pulled out of the driveway, I glanced down at my chest. My boobs had migrated to the center of my chest and formed a "uniboob." I carefully separated the girls and patted them into position while I whispered, "stay" to them. On we drove and about twenty minutes later, I felt them rising up along my chest. They were just under my chin now. I told my husband that my boobs wouldn't stay put. He laughed and said, "take them off." So, I began trying to finagle the polyester forms out of the camisole without taking off my shirt.

After a lot of work, I finally got one of the boobs out. I was so glad! Now for the other one. The one on the left hand side was more difficult and try as I might, I couldn't get it out. We were driving down the road and I was lifting my shirt up trying to get the boob out. It was stuck on something! I asked my hubby if he could help but he said he couldn't because traffic was heavy and he had to keep his eyes on the road. I continued to pull and yank and tug. Finally, I was able to get the fiberfill form free of the camisole. I lay the two breast forms in the center of our captain's chairs and we drove on.

When we arrived at the office park, we had to valet park because there were no free parking spaces anywhere. I looked at my husband and said, "what am I going to do with my boobs?! I don't want the valet to see them!" He told me to hide them and I asked where. He said, "throw them in the back of the van!" So as we were pulling into the office park and circling into the valet parking area, I was madly pitching my boobs into the back of the van. The first one flew into the cargo hold perfectly, but the other one hit the window and bounced into the back seat. I scrambled to grab it and ditch it just as the valet came up to the window. Whew! Thankfully he didn't see them!

As we exited our car, a gust of cold wind blew into my face. I grabbed my jacket and held it up to my chest, not realizing I could have easily slipped it on. As we entered the building, I was clutching the jacket to my chest. I guess subconsciously I was trying to hide my booblessness from the elite business people walking to and fro in the common area.  At the base of the elevator, a huge smile came across my face. I couldn't help thinking about my flying boobs and wondering if the car behind us had seen those unidentified flying objects being hurled across the interior of our car. I wondered what in the world they must have thought if they did see me flinging something into the air. Flying boobs...what a concept!

© bonnie annis all rights reserved

Why am I still so tired?

Early morning energy

I let my book slip gently from my hands to the floor. It was 10:30 p.m. and I was exhausted. As I lay in the bed, my mind wandered back over the days events. It hadn't been an ordinarily busy day and yet, I had been tired most of the day. Oh yes, I had made myself walk 2 miles at the park and I had kept a smile on my face the entire time I was doing it, but it was hard. I just don't understand why I'm still so tired. It's been 10 months since my surgery and 6 months since I completed radiation treatments. Shouldn't I have regained all of my energy by now?

Throughout the day, my children and my husband remind me to take time to rest. They tell me that even when I'm supposedly resting, I'm usually doing something else and I need to just stop and slow down. They know me well. I can't just sit and watch a movie on television. If I'm sitting there, I'm usually writing letters or crocheting or doing something else too. I've always felt the need to make the most of my time. "Remember, Bonnie, idle hands are the Devil's workshop." (I can almost hear my grandmother sharing this old idiom with me as I type this.)

I'm not used to having to slow down but my body is telling me otherwise. I guess I need to realize that I'm the only one who's set the bar high. No one else is expecting me to "be" or "do" anything. Why is it so hard to just relax? I'm tired but don't take time to let my body "catch up." Who am I comparing myself to anyway? Why do I feel the need to constantly stay busy? Is it to keep my mind off of things, perhaps.

For the past few days I've been fighting an upper respiratory infection. I've noticed it has affected me more severely this time than times in the past when I was ill. Maybe my white blood cells are low. Maybe that's why I'm feeling so very tired. Tomorrow I'm going to the doctor for a checkup and I'm sure he'll draw blood so we'll see.

I get so frustrated when I want to do things and can't do them. I guess I just need to learn to shift my focus from what I can't do to what I can do. I'm so thankful for the times of day when I have little spurts of energy. Those are the times I try to accomplish my biggest tasks. Friends wonder why I get up at 6:00 a.m. when I'm no longer working. I don't want to tell them it's because I know I only have a small window of time that I'll have energy to do what I need to do.

I'm still struggling with the swelling in my upper arms. I guess this is something I'm just stuck with from now on. Since having those lymph nodes removed, my lymphatic fluid just seems to collect around my armpit and upper arm area. It makes movement limited and I have to remember not to lift anything heavy.

Hopefully, my energy level will continue to improve. If it does, I'll be overjoyed but if not, I guess I'll have to learn how to do the best with what I've got. I need to remember my body is still in fighting mode.

It's amazing what a smile can hide! Even when I feel my lowest, I try to smile. I know it wouldn't do a bit of good to get down in the dumps and depressed. If I can just keep a positive outlook, I know things will be so much easier.

One day I'll be soaring again and be full of energy. I can't wait for that day to come!

©bonnie annis all rights reserved

Sick and tired

Here I go again, complaining. I'm sorry. If you want to stop reading now, I completely understand. I don't mean to complain, really I don't, but I am just so sick and tired of being sick and tired.

The other day, I caught my husband's upper respiratory infection. He didn't mean to give it to me but he did. I was already feeling pretty crappy thanks to the general malaise after radiation therapy and surgery. Now, I have to deal with these extra germs on top of that.

My energy level is kaput! I could barely drag myself out of bed today. I don't ever stay in bed past 7 a.m. but this morning, I stayed in bed til 9 a.m.! That's very unusual for me but I was just so stinkin' tired.

I feel like all of my get up and go, got up and went. Have you ever been anemic? If so, you know what I'm talking about here. It takes every bit of effort I can give to just walk across the floor, but I make myself do it.

It isn't something I want to consider, but I keep hearing a nagging little voice in the back of my head saying, "what if it isn't just the upper respiratory infection that's bogging you down? What if the cancer has come back?!" I don't want to listen to that little voice. I don't want to even think about it but I have been having more and more aches and pains lately.

My upper spine, in between my neck and the middle of my shoulder blades, hurts all the time. A deep hurting, down in my bones....and that worries me. My left shin bone aches incessantly, again, deep down in the bone. I try not to dwell on the pain, but it is pretty annoying. At night, it gets even worse. I guess that's because I'm lying still and nothing is distracting me from feeling the pain.

Dr. "F" always asks me when I go for my checkups if I'm having any weird headaches, stomach pains or bone/joint pain and to date, I haven't had anything to report. I know he asks these questions to determine if there has been a recurrence. On this next visit, however, I'm going to have to tell him about my spine and shin. I wonder if he's going to finally order a PET scan for me. I haven't had one yet and most of my friends who've also been diagnosed with cancer have already had several of them. I don't want to borrow trouble, as my grandmother used to say, but I'm really tired of hurting. I'm really tired of being sick...and I'm really tired of feeling tired. I just want my energy back again.

My hiking boots are lying on the floor of my closet. They've been there for some time now. I don't want to retire them, but I wish I had the energy to just put them on and do some hiking. Usually, at this time of year, I'd be out in the woods on a trail somewhere. My mind says, yes...let's do it, but my body says, no, we can't.

So I guess I'll sit inside and read a book. Someone told me recently to listen to my body because it was telling me I needed to rest. I'm not used to resting. I'm used to being busy and going and doing...
When will this season of my life be over? I'm frustrated.

God, I don't know why I've been chosen to suffer these physical ailments, but I know you have a purpose for them in my life. I don't like them. I don't want them. Could you please take them away or at least spread the suffering around a little? I know my ailments pale in comparison to so many others but I can only complain about what I'm going through because these are the things that affect me personally right now. You say in your Word that we are to cast all of our burdens upon You, so that's what I'm doing right now. I'm taking these aches and pains and casting them onto your sturdy shoulders, and I'm trusting You to do with them what you will. Forgive me for having a pity party. Forgive me for complaining. Forgive me for focusing on myself today instead of keeping my eyes fixed on You. Forgive me for falling short. Forgive me for listening to the lies of the enemy whisper in my ear, "your cancer has returned." I know You are the only one who controls when or IF the cancer ever comes back in my body, and I'm choosing to trust you that it will NEVER come back again. But even if it does, I know you will give me the strength to face that day and You will provide everything I need to get through it. Thank you, Father, for reminding me that when I am weak, you are strong. I'm glad you're so very strong, because today, I feel so very weak. Thank you for loving me anyway, in Jesus' name I pray, Amen.

©bonnie annis all rights reserved