Fighting with myself

What a struggle decision making can be at times, especially when those decisions can impact your life in ways that may not always be positive. I have a big decision to make and I don't know what to do. I've been struggling with this decision for several weeks now. Weighing the pros and cons hasn't made it any easier. Talking with my husband hasn't brought me any peace either. I've taken it to God and haven't received a clear answer....it's been really challenging. So what's the big decision? Well, here goes.

When you have breast cancer, no one gives you a set plan on how things are going to proceed. Sure, the doctors tell you what they want to do and supposedly they gather together with all the physicians on your "team" and meet to discuss you case. This meeting is called a "tumor board." It allows the doctors to share their opinions and suggest the best course of treatment for their patient. (I would have liked to have been a fly on the wall when my doctors were meeting about me. I wonder what they said. But, regrettably, I wasn't invited to attend.) When the decision was made for my healthcare, I was told what they had decided. Of course, I had the right to refuse their treatment plan, but who was I? I didn't have the medical expertise to balk at their suggestions so I accepted them and followed them, to a degree.

Before deciding what I'd do, I did a lot of research. I read many books. I searched for hours on the web. I wanted to make an informed decision and when I met with my oncologist to discuss the treatment plan, I was able to present my reasons based on case histories and test results. I think Dr. Feinstein was impressed.

The original plan in my case was to be surgery, chemotherapy and radiation followed by anti-hormone therapy for five years. I'd read so many horror stories about chemo so I made a  point to talk with my doctor about it. When I asked him point blank to tell me, if I were his wife or daughter, if he would recommend chemotherapy for me, he was frank. He told me no. I was surprised by his answer but I was glad he was truthful. It made me respect him even more. So, I didn't do chemo. I did, however, do radiation treatments. Don't ask me why because I really don't know. I knew chemo was really bad for me because it was putting poison into my system. I knew it would make me extremely ill, cause my hair to fall out and cause me to become extremely nauseated and fatigued. I knew I would get much worse before I got any better. With the radiation, I figured it wouldn't be too bad because I'd already had a good bit of radiation from past x-rays and other tests. I knew you couldn't really feel it, so I did it. Boy was I wrong. About halfway through my treatments, my skin was burned severely and I became so fatigued I could barely move. (But, I made it through 28 rounds! In fact, I was supposed to have had 33 rounds with 5 booster rounds at the end and the radiation oncologist told me I'd done so well she was able to reduce my treatment plan. I was so glad to hear that.) Now those treatments are over and the next phase of my treatment should have already begun. In fact, it should have begun last August.

The third phase of my treatment was to be anti-hormone therapy. Since I was post menopausal, the oncologist wanted to put me on an aromatase inhibitor or AI, as they call them, so he started me on Arimidex. Arimidex was fairly new and there wasn't a lot of data on it. I tried to read and find as much as I could on it. I read about the side effects and prayed I wouldn't have any of them as I started the medication. Unfortunately, I had all of them! I knew after a few weeks, I wouldn't be able to stay on this medication. I called the doctor and told him. He explained the type cancer I had (invasive ductal carcinoma stage 2B with metastasis to the lymph nodes) was fed by both Estrogen and Progesterone. He told me if we didn't block those hormones, the chances of the cancer coming back were very real. He suggested I try Tamoxifen, the old tried and true breast cancer medication. So, being the good girl that I am, I tried it. It did the same thing Arimidex did plus some.

After having been on 2 different anti-hormone therapies and having bad results, I decided to go the natural route. I made huge changes to my diet. I began taking all sorts of supplements. I was determined I was going to live and I talked to God about it. I felt like I was doing the right thing, until this past doctor's visit with a new oncologist.

The new doctor wanted me to be on anti-hormone therapy and was insistent about my taking a drug and taking it now. He wanted me to be on Aromasin, also called Exemestane. He made me feel like it was urgent and that's where my struggle comes in. I just don't know what to do. While I want to do what's best for my body, I also want to live.

I looked at my face in the mirror today and I saw tiny little peach fuzz hairs all along the outer edges of my face. This is an indicator that my body is continuing to produce Estrogen...not a good sign where cancer is concerned, especially cancers that are fed by Estrogen. And I thought maybe I should be taking the medication to block it. But then again, I thought God made my body produce Estrogen for a reason...to give me healthy skin, hair, bones, nails, etc. If I took some medication that blocked that hormone, wouldn't that be detrimental to my body? Of course, it would! That's why my hair would start falling out and my bones would start thinning and I'd be at a greater risk of fractures and moods would change and I'd be so tired and fatigued all the time. So what's a girl to do????

I've been fighting with myself all day trying to justify doing what the doctor said. I talked to my husband about it and he wants me to try the medication for one month and see how I do on it. I'm afraid.

Sometimes I just wish God would speak in a loud, clear, audible voice and tell me what to do. I wish I could hear Him say, "YES, BONNIE, TAKE THE MEDICINE OR NO, BONNIE, JUST TRUST ME." I have a big faith and I know God's in control but sometimes, I think he uses doctors to accomplish His plan too. Maybe I'm totally wrong on this. Maybe I'm not making the right decision, but I guess I'll do what my husband and the doctor want me to do...I'll try the medication for one month. If I experience any bad side effects, I can stop the medication immediately. And maybe, just maybe, I won't have any at all and that would be wonderful!

There are days when I wish I could just turn back the hands of time. I wish I could go back to my pre-cancer days. I wish I had found a doctor who would have been a little less aggressive in being so eager to perform surgery and follow the standard breast cancer treatment plan. It's so hard to know the right thing to do. All you can do is trust your heart and do what you feel is best for you. Sometimes you make a great decision and other times, maybe not, but really and truly, it's your body and you're the only one who can decide what's best for you and your situation.

I'm still not really sure what I'm supposed to do, but I'm going to do it anyway and hope for the best. I'm not taking the attitude that I'll just make a decision and expect God to bless it...I'd never be so bold or presumptuous. But even if I take the medication, I can choose to trust God while taking it. I can ask Him to protect me from severe side effects and I believe He will. On the other hand, if I don't take it, I trust God enough to know He is fully capable of completely healing me if He chooses to do so. He's also capable of keeping the cancer from ever recurring.

Maybe my sister's voice keeps echoing in my head. When I told her, after my last medical report that I was cancer free, she said, "you've dodge a bullet this time." Maybe I keep thinking she was right and maybe I should have stayed on medication the entire time instead of taking almost an entire year off with nothing.

Tomorrow is the first day of the new year. I'll be entering my second year of life after being diagnosed with breast cancer. I want to be around for as long as God will allow. Medicine or no medicine...that is the $50,000 question...

That bottle of Aromasin is sitting in my cabinet. I see it every day when I open the doors. I keep feeling like I'm supposed to take it. Would God prompt me to take the medicine? Maybe. I just don't know...but tomorrow, after we've rung in the new year, I'll take the first pill out of the bottle. I'll get a glass of water and chase it down while saying a prayer asking God for His protection. Some folks might think I'm making a big deal out of nothing but really, I'm not.

Every decision I make in my life, I bathe in prayer. I have to because my faith is my anchor. I don't always have a clear answer and those are the times I think God really wants me to step out in faith, so I do. This is one of those times. I'll keep you posted. In the meantime, happy New Year's eve.

©bonnie annis all rights reserved

A new oncologist (well for a day anyway!)

I'd been dreading going to see the new oncologist. Since my old oncologist decided to up and move his practice, I was forced into choosing a new one. It's hard to choose a new doctor when you don't know a thing about them. All I had to go on, in making my selection, was what I could read online. It wasn't much and I was nervous, but I chose a name that sounded familiar, Dr. Assiskas. He'd been my neighbor's oncologist and she'd told me he was quite good. I'd just have to trust her opinion, but it wouldn't be easy.

It's hard to give your story to a new doctor in an abbreviated version. Doctors are always looking at their watches...to them, time is money and money is time. When Dr. A walked into the room, he extended his hand. I took it and shook it and as I did, he told me his name. He sat on a little stool across from me and before I'd even had a chance to mutter 2 words, he said, "I want to put you on Exemestane...Aromasin. I think it's the best choice. Yes, that's what we'll do." Then he got up to leave. I was dumbfounded. This new doctor didn't know jack squat about me unless he'd taken time to read completely through my file and I doubt he'd taken time to do that.

As he was rising, I said, "Wait. I have a some concerns." He looked at me like a deer in headlights and I continued. I told him I was concerned about the polyps in my stomach. He asked how I knew I had stomach polyps and I handed him a stack of photos from the EGD I'd had done in 2013. As he looked at the photos, he sat back down. Ha! Gotcha Doc! He only took a few seconds but as he realized I did indeed have polyps in my stomach, he told me he'd get me scheduled to see a gastroenterologist. Then, he walked out the door.

I sat there trying really hard not to be ticked off. I had come all the way into town to see this new doctor and had expected him to spend at least 15 minutes of time with me. I may have gotten 4. I was not happy. I had not been able to share any of the other concerns I'd had with him before he left the room. Yes, I could have demanded he stay and listen to me, but I didn't. That's not my style. I'd given him a trial run and he had failed...miserably failed.

At the checkout desk, the receptionist tried to schedule another appointment with Dr. A for me. I started to make the appointment and then I told myself NO. No, I was not going to see this uncaring, unfeeling jerk again. No. I talked to the receptionist about it and asked her if Dr. A was always in such a hurry. She said he wasn't usually. I explained my disappointment and told her I didn't want to see him again. She assured me it was fine. She said, "You can choose another doctor in the practice and I'll make the appointment." So I did. I chose to see the last partner in the group, Dr. Franz. In three months, I'd give him a trial run and if he didn't pass the test, I'd drive 30 miles to see my old oncologist, Dr. Feinstein.

I guess doctors get so busy they forget how it feels to be a peon...a patient. All we want is a listening ear and some suggestions for solutions. It's terrible to feel like your doctor doesn't see you or hear you. It's very unnerving to have real health issues that need to be addressed and to have those needs go unattended.

If Dr. A had looked into my chart, he would have read I've already been on 2 anti-hormone therapy medications - Tamoxifen and Arimidex. Both of those caused me to have horrible side effects. After trying those drugs, I'd told Dr. Feinstein I wanted to pursue a natural route in my healing process. I'd chosen not to take any medications but to focus on changing my diet. I'd done a lot of research on natural remedies for breast cancer and had come up with a daily regimen. If he'd read my chart, he would have known I'd gone into great detail with Dr. F. He would have also seen that Dr. F had given me his support and understanding. But, Dr. A had failed to read those important notes and had just looked at me as yet another breast cancer patient.

All breast cancer patients can't be treated the same way. We all can't just be given a medication and shoved out the door. We have real physical problems, side effects, that come as the result of treatment and we need to be able to talk to our doctors and get help with those issues.

Needless to say, I was very disappointed when I left Dr. A's office. I cried all the way home. I don't want to take a drug that is going to make me loose my hair, have extreme bone pain, be prone to fractures, be fatigued all the time and suffer severe depression or mood swings. No. That's not for me. The quality of my life is important and no, I may not get to have the quantity of life I want to have, but I do want to feel good in the days I have left.

A few days after I'd seen the doctor, I got an email requesting input on a provider satisfaction survey. I had fun taking that survey, especially since I was able to remain anonymous. I guess that will prompt Dr. A to do a little reading, huh?

© bonnie annis all rights reserved

It's only a jacket

Doc and Gerri on the bike

Just a few more days until Christmas and all of a sudden, I've turned into a sentimental sap. Anything and everything causes me to start blubbering. I don't know what's wrong with me. I'm not usually like this. I think I've been watching too many Hallmark Christmas movies.

Each year, as Christmas approaches, I want everything to be just perfect...a cross between a Martha Stewart and Better Homes and Gardens Christmas. I work really hard to make my home inviting and do my best to fill it with memories my children and grandchildren will cherish. It's a lot of work for a few hours of celebration, but who cares.

The day after Thanksgiving we put up our tree and before you know it, decorations fill every nook and cranny. I  dig out all of my Christmas CDs and load the Bose so I have continual holiday joy filling my home. After everything is lit and decorated, I begin baking. Part of my gift giving includes special holiday recipes from years past and it's always a pleasure to remember good times as I'm cooking. Smells trigger memories and hopefully, there aren't burnt ones this year.

Today was a bittersweet day as I ran across a different kind of memory tucked deep in my closet. It was a chilly day and the thin chambray shirt I was wearing wasn't keeping me warm. Heading toward my big walk in closet, I began to rummage through my winter tops in hopes of finding something more substantial. My fingers skimmed over sweatshirts and long sleeve blouses, that's when I saw it, Gerri's jacket...that faded blue denim tucked deep. My hand stopped and paused reverently on the sleeve as I remembered my sweet best friend. I don't know where they came from but suddenly, the dam burst and I was standing in a puddle of tears.

Gerri and Doc at our last lunch together

Gerri had passed away earlier this year. It was so unexpected. When I received the news, I was devastated. My best friend had died. I couldn't process it. We'd just spent the weekend together getting our hair done, going out to eat, joking and laughing and now...she was gone. I didn't realize it until that very moment, as my hand slid down the jacket front...I'd never see her again. I couldn't pick up the phone and call her. I'd have no one to share my secrets with again. We'd never giggle so hard over her bladder control issues again. It wasn't fair.

I took the jacket down from the hanger, held it carefully in my hands thinking it might disintegrate and then all memories of her would be gone. The soft denim jacket was well worn. It was Gerri's favorite. When she'd died, her husband, Doc, asked if there was anything I'd like to have and the only thing I could think of was her jacket. She'd been wearing it the last day we were together. For some reason I just knew, if I held it up to my nose, I'd still be able to smell her...remember her. Doc had lovingly agreed to give me her jacket and had driven almost 50 miles to bring it to me one afternoon after things had calmed down a bit. I'd taken his sweet gift and hung it in my closet, thinking I'd wear it one day as the weather grew cooler, but the jacket had hung there for months and I'd forgotten all about it.

Holding Gerri's jacket was difficult. She had loved this jacket so much and had worn it everywhere she went. As I looked over the front of the jacket, I saw several pins she'd placed on it. There was one for women bikers, one for diabetes awareness and one for breast cancer awareness. That little pink ribbon...she'd put that one there for me. On the back of her jacket was a patch, another ladies bikers symbol. She and Doc were big Harley riders and it was important for her to let others know.

Me in Gerri's jacket

I gently unfastened the buttons and opened the jacket. I slipped first one arm in and then the other. As I managed to get the jacket on, I felt an instant warmth...like a huge, big, Gerri hug. Oh it was so sweet! I could almost hear her whisper in my ear, "It's going to be okay, girl. It's going to be okay." The cozy denim enveloped me and I stood there crying. All the sweet memories of my best friend mingled together into a massive, overwhelming gift that was too hard to bear. Struggling, I took the jacket off and hung it back on the hanger. I couldn't bear to wear it today or perhaps ever. I knew it was only a jacket but it held too many emotions...too many memories...too much love.

As I turned out the light and softly closed the door to my closet, I knew Gerri's jacket was safe in its place amid my winter clothes and the memory of my friend was nestled snug against my heart, just where it always would remain.

The lights on the Christmas tree twinkle brightly  as I stand before it. I'll miss you sweet friend but I'll always treasure your laugh, your smile, and your mischievous grin. Even though you're no longer with me physically, you'll always be in my hearts.

Just the other day, I was at the drugstore picking up a prescription. As I walked through the aisles to get to the pharmacy, I passed a row of feminine hygiene products. Suddenly, I felt a need to stop and as I glanced down there was a package of Tena bladder control pads lying on the floor. I swear I could hear Gerri's snicker starting up and then it turned into full blow gut wrenching laughter...but it wasn't hers I was hearing, it was MINE!

©bonnie annis all rights reserved

When the storm strikes

I'd just been out of bed not more than ten minutes when my cell phone sounded an alert. It was the most irritating sound and one I'm sure they'd chosen because of that fact. It was something that definitely could not be ignored, so I reached over to shut it off. Before pressing the cancel button, I noticed a symbol on my phone that I hadn't seen before. This symbol was a red, upside down triangle and inside the triangle was an exclamation point. Now my curiosity was peaked. I had to click on the symbol to find out what it meant. 

The alert I'd received was a severe weather alarm. It said, "Heavy Rain Event." I'd watched the news last night and knew it was supposed to rain, but for an alert to be sent out, the National Weather Service must have felt we were under some amount of danger. 

Within just a few minutes of receiving the alert, the rain began to start. I heard it pelting the windows in the dining room as I enjoyed my breakfast. It began to rain harder and the wind began to blow forcing the rain to come in heavy, straight lines. I thought about all the trees around our house. We have so many large trees and most of them are pines. I offered up a silent prayer asking God to keep our home safe. Pine trees are notorious for having shallow root systems and if the ground was saturated, chances are one or more of them would fall. 

And then it hit me. A quote, I'd read many years ago, popped into my mind. “At the timberline where the storms strike with the most fury, the sturdiest trees are found.” This beautiful quotation came from a renowned Christian author, James Hudson Taylor. (Mr. Taylor had been a missionary to China during the late 1800's.) What a deep and profound quotation. I let it ruminate in my mind for a few minutes and couldn't help connecting it to my journey.

One thing I've wanted, since the inception of my breast cancer blog, is for my readers to really understand how important my faith is in my survivorship. Without a deep faith in God, I would not have been able to weather this storm...this breast cancer trial in my life. Mr. Taylor's quote offers the perfect symbolism to my journey through the rigors of breast cancer. In order to stand firm in the storm, it's imperative to have sturdy, strong, deeply seated roots of faith. It takes a long time to develop that root system and the only way it can be developed is through experience. Previous trials and testing provide the experience and help develop tried and true faith. By experiencing God's faithfulness during times of difficulty, it becomes easier to trust when the next trial comes. The roots grow down deeper. The tree becomes sturdier. It isn't always easy to stand firm in the storm. Sometimes we bend and stretch...almost to the point of breaking but if the roots are strong...if the tree is planted on a solid foundation, it will stand firm in the storm.

The rain continues to fall and the wind is picking up again. As I watch, I see the trees along our property line and then are standing firm, like tall soldiers all in a row. The frontline...the ones who take the brunt of the storm...I want to always be planted firmly and ready to weather any storm that comes, just like those trees. How about you? Can you stand firm in the storm or do you fear you might break into pieces? If your root system is deep and your foundation is secure, you never have to fear when storm clouds appear. "At the timberline where the storms strike with the most fury, the sturdiest trees are found." I think Mr. Taylor was a very wise and godly man. Stand fast and trust. God allows the storms for a reason.

© bonnie annis all rights reserved

End of the year appointments

As the end of the year approaches, I'm working hard to get all of those "last" appointments scheduled. Since we've already met our deductible, it only made sense to try and schedule as many -OLOGISTS as I could pack into the last weeks of December. In January, the deductible will start over and everything will be financially challenging. Today was radiation oncology day.

The office had moved and thankfully, when the receptionist called to remind me about my appointment yesterday, she also gave me the address for the new location. Instead of taking me fifteen minutes to get to the office, it was now going to take me an hour. I adjusted accordingly and left the house promptly at 8:00 a.m. Amid all the 9 to 5 workers, I eased into traffic and found my groove. It was a beautiful December morning and I was thankful to be alive.

On my way to the doctor's office, I received a phone call telling me the doc had been called into an emergency meeting. She wouldn't be able to keep my 9:00 a.m. appointment...would I be willing to see her at 9:30 a.m.? I'm flexible, so I agreed to move my appointment time but since I was already en route, I decided I'd just sit in the waiting room and read a while.

I found a parking spot directly across from the office door. It was a few minutes before 9:00 a.m. so I sat in my car and checked my text messages and Facebook wall. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw something shiny. As I looked up, I saw a beautiful bald woman heading to her car. The sun was glinting off the top of her scalp and made her look even more beautiful. She was wearing her Christmas red...a lovely shirt with decorative trim. I tried not to stare but couldn't help it. I was still so very thankful I'd not lost my hair.

Entering the hospital doors, I scanned the hallways for the restroom. After finding it, I made a quick stop and continued on to the radiology oncology office. The receptionist greeted me and I asked how she liked the new office. She smiled and said, "it's great!" I picked out a corner chair and sat to read a magazine. Within a few minutes, I was being called back to get weighed.

You've lost a few pounds, the nurse exclaimed. I told her I hadn't been trying to but just hadn't had an appetite. She asked me how long that had been going on and I told her it had been several months now. She jotted notes on my folder and ushered me into the room.

The doctor came in shortly after I'd been seated and took a few minutes to make small talk. She was pleasant but we never really hit it off like I had with my regular oncologist. Something about her just didn't sit well with me. Maybe she reminded me too much of a relative...

Dr. S. had me remove my shirt and she began examining me. As she allowed her fingers to travel over my skin, she was palpating for any new or different variations in my skin and tissue. She exclaimed that my right chest cavity felt "hard as a rock," and I agreed. She said it was from the changes due to radiation.

She continued on with my exam and medical history making notes all along the way. She was attentive and thorough. When she was done, she asked about pain I might be having and I shared with her about the spinal pain, the insomnia, and the hip joint pain. She seemed genuinely concerned about all of these and told me it was important to get enough sleep so my body could regenerate cells. She prescribed some Ambien to try and get me over the "hump" of not sleeping and also wanted me to go see a pain management specialist. I left her office with all the instructions and she said she'd see me in 6 months. I was so glad...6 months instead of 3!

So now I'm waiting on the pain management clinic to call me to set up an appointment. Hopefully, I can get in before the end of the month. I'm nervous about going there. I don't want to get hooked on pain medication and I'm scared to death of having epidurals or other needle type injections in my spine.

I'm so tired of going to the doctor. It seems I have an appointment every other week. I keep wondering when or if the insurance company is going to say, "okay, we've paid enough out on you and we're going to cancel your coverage." I hope that never happens! I don't know how anyone with cancer could ever afford quality care without insurance. I'm so thankful we have good insurance and I'm even more thankful that my sweet husband is still able to work and provide for us.

Next week, I go see the regular oncologist. This will be a new doctor since my original oncologist moved his practice. I wish these doctors could just stay put! It's hard to find a doctor you feel comfortable with and then they up and move! It would be nice if everything could just stay the same but things are always changing. I guess that's just life...always moving, always changing.

Abiding

Serenberry Vineyards

This time last year I was doing an intense amount of reading, studying, and journaling. It was a very difficult time for me as I was understanding how to deal with the diagnosis of breast cancer. And just like always, when I'm lost and feel out of control...I always turn to the Bible for direction. God is my constant. His Word is my compass for navigating life. When I need answers, I can always find them there. 

Inevitably, as I was reading, I was drawn back to one of my favorite passages of all times found in the book of John, chapter 15.  I've read this chapter over and over again and it always speaks to my heart. In fact, John 15:5 is my life verse. ("If you abide in me and I in you, you will bear much fruit, for without Me, you can do nothing.") This time, while reading, one word kept jumping off the page at me. The word was ABIDE. I felt strongly that I needed to do some research on the word and its history, so I did. 

There were two definitions I came across:

1. accept or act in accordance with (a rule, decision, or recommendation)

synonyms: comply with, obey, observe, follow, keep to, hold to, conform to,adhere to, stick to, stand by, act in accordance with, uphold, heed, accept, go along with, acknowledge, respect, defer to 

2. (of a feeling or a memory) continue without fading or being lost.
synonyms: continue, remain, survive, last, persist, stay, live on

Grapes on the vine

Abide. God was teaching me that it was to be my word for the year. The more I mulled over the definitions for the word abide, the more I felt God wanted to wrap me up in it! And He didn't just want me to be wrapped up in it, He wanted me to feel the coziness of it too...just like being wrapped up in a warm, fuzzy blanket sitting in my recliner sipping hot chocolate in front of a roaring fire in the fireplace kind of cozy. He wanted me to understand it deeply. He wanted me to learn to abide in Christ. To abide in His love, His sacrifice, His plan, His purpose, His perfection, His life.

A vineyard is the perfect place to learn and understand about abiding. When I was in the mountains of North Georgia last fall, I took these photos of a little vineyard there, Serenberry Vineyards. It was a great weekend trip and the weather was perfect. We got to meet the owners of the vineyard and ask them questions about how their wine was made. As we listened, we understood how much they loved their grapes and how they devoted such tender care to them. They explained it took a lot of hard work to prune and trim the vines, but it also took a lot of dedication to make sure the vines were strong and healthy enough to produce good fruit. The vine held all the sustenance. The grapes, the fruit, were only byproducts of what the vine had freely given. 

The word Abide has become a balm to my soul. It is so deep and rich with meaning. It's a beautiful five letter word that sends my mind directly where it should, toward my Father, the One in Whom I abide. It has become a pathway I trail over and over again. I want it to become a daily habit, an involuntary action of life's journey. My heart's desire is to Abide in Him every day, in everything. 

Ripe lucious fruit

Learning to abide may be just one of the most freeing, most exciting, very best lessons God has ever taught me. When I abide, I don't have to DO anything. I just rest in His love and trust in His person. I am IN Him and He is IN me. We are one....that is abiding. And believe me, it feels so good to be wrapped up in that kind of cozy!

Where's the manual?

The words – "You have cancer" – can really feel like a sucker punch to the gut. I heard those words just last year and I remember I cried for hours afterward. Cancer took my breasts, my peace of mind, and my calm spirit. I was devastated but I kept moving forward, because really, what choice did I have?

I finished 28 rounds of radiation therapy and although it was rough, tiring, scary and overwhelming, I made it through. I'm now officially a cancer survivor. Yippee! But that feeling of joy never hit me like I thought it would. What was wrong with me? Why didn't I feel a great victory? After talking to other survivors, I found out nothing was wrong with me. The "now what?" side of cancer had just hit me and I didn't know what to do. So I did the only thing that came to mind at the time – I cried. My tears didn't really solve anything but they gave me a huge emotional release that I desperately needed.

So where is the manual for living life after cancer? Where is the pamphlet on "what to expect now"? Why didn't any of the doctors tell me about this part of it? Wasn't someone supposed to offer helpful information? At first, I was seeing my breast surgeon, radiation oncologist and regular oncologist every week and then it shifted to every three months. But even during that time, not a single one of the doctors asked me how I was doing emotionally. Not a single one wanted to know how I was handling things. When I completed radiation therapy, I got a certificate of completion and was sent on my merry way. What's up with that?

About a month later, the emotions of everything came crashing down. I felt like I had literally stared death in the face and that was something I was not prepared for. Then I began to have survivor's guilt. There were so many of my friends who had died of cancer and others were Stage 4, fighting for their lives. Why was I lucky enough to have survived? What do I do with my life now that I have been given a second chance? Everything suddenly became overwhelming. So I started digging. The more I read, the more I realized that my feelings were normal. All those cancer books I'd read talked about learning to accept your "new normal." But the thing was, I didn't want a "new normal." I wanted my old normal. Was that too much to ask for?

It took a long time to find out what my "new normal" was and to officially accept it. Sometimes I still don't want to though. I am only 17 months out from my initial diagnosis. But it seems that cancer is still hot on my heels. When will cancer officially crash into a brick wall and stop tailing me? I walk fast and it speeds up. I run and it still keeps pace. It hasn’t caught me yet and I hope it never does. But there's always the feeling that it just might...In the meantime, I keep working on learning to live in my "new normal."

From one cancer survivor to the next, things truly do get better. It's harder for some than others, but you do move forward. Acceptance is the key. Mourning your old self is a fine way to start. Allow yourself that. I did not initially. I am in the process of accepting now and it is a good place to be. You don’t have to forget, but you do need to move forward. 

There's no official manual out there for learning to live life after cancer but other survivors have a great deal of information and most of them are eager to share. I've found by reading other survivors' blogs that I get real, helpful, and unbiased information. It would be great if someone would compile all of those helpful hints and tips into an after cancer care type manual but it would be very hard to do it efficiently since every case of cancer is so different. It would be even better if the medical doctors would offer some type of counseling or advise on what to expect and how to deal with life after treatment. Instead of just kicking us out of the nest to fly on our own, it would be great if they'd help teach us to fly. 

The number one thing I would advise anyone going through a cancer struggle to do would be to cling to hope. Without hope, we have nothing. Each person has to figure out how to get through cancer in a way that works best for them. My saving grace has been my faith in God. I know even when things seem to be their darkest that He's never left me alone in this. On days when I feel I have no strength at all to get through the day, He provides the strength to carry me through and for that I am extremely grateful. 

Cancer sucks and that's the truth, but keeping a positive attitude, holding onto faith and never giving up hope can help get you through it. 

© bonnie annis all rights reserved

Apologizing for my scars

Sitting in the waiting room at my cardiologist's office, I watch the people coming in for their appointments. Across the room, I see an elderly woman sitting alone reading her magazine. Next to her sits a man in jeans, mid 30's, watching the clock. It's apparent he's here on his lunch break and needs to get back to his job. People. Just regular people. From all walks of life. We're all here to take care of our hearts, our most vital organ. 

When my name is called, I see the sweet nurse open the door and wait for me. She has the most radiant smile. Her name is JoAnn. She's one of my favorites. We walk over to the scale and I take off my jacket. She smiles at me, knowing that I'm not really hot, I just want to shed a few extra pounds before getting on the scale. She writes down the number and leads me down the hall to the examination room. After taking my vital signs, she sits down and we talk for a few minutes. She asks me about my family, the holiday preparations, and how I've been. It's nice to have a pleasant conversation with someone who truly seems interested in my life. 

JoAnn motions for me to lie back on the table as she rolls a portable EKG machine over to my side. She asks me to lift my shirt and before I do, I tell her "I'm sorry you have to see this." "See what?" she asks. I lift my shirt. I hear her inhale sharply, as I say, "These, my scars. I'm so sorry you have to see their ugliness." She just smiles and says, "I had no idea." She asks when I had surgery and I told her the first surgery was in July 2014 and the second one was in August of this year. She tells me I look amazing and I'm so thankful. I've hidden the evidence of breast cancer well. 

I don't know why but I feel like I have to explain to her the reason I didn't wear my prostheses today. As I talk about them, my silicone girls, she listens intently. "They're just so darn heavy," I tell her, "and so uncomfortable too." She nods and I go on, telling her it's not so bad being flat chested. 

JoAnn leaves the room and I wait. Sitting on the exam table, I feel the white liner paper on the table crinkling under my bottom. The sun is beating down on me and it's uncomfortably warm in this tiny room. I decide to move to the chair in the corner. Just moving there is markedly cooler. I wait.

The doctor comes in after about thirty minutes. Cardiologists are busy guys. I don't expect him to apologize. I know he's a caring physician and he's dedicated. He takes his time with his patients and I know he'll do the same with me. 

He sits down at the computer and pulls up my records. We go through all my medications and ailments before he examines me. I take a risk and ask if he'll have time to look at my throat and listen to my lungs while I'm there. I tell him it would help me kill two birds with one stone. He's okay with it! I'm thankful. I've saved another copay. 

After the exam, the doc tells me I'm doing just fine, heartwise. He says, "How does a year sound?" I give him a puzzled look. He explains he doesn't need to see me for a year unless I have any problems between now and then, I smile. We walk to the checkout counter and he hands me my prescriptions. Everyone in his office is so warm and friendly. I visit with the receptionist for a few minutes and then head toward the elevator. 

Crossing through the hospital parking lot, I dodge cars pulling in and out of parking spaces. This is a busy place today. I finally reach my car, unlock it and climb inside. I sit there for a few minutes processing everything. All of a sudden it hits me...why did I apologize to JoAnn for having to see my scars? Was it because I felt the need to shield her from cancer's ugliness? Was I embarrassed at not having breasts? I had to think about it. Yes, I was still a little embarrassed at not having breasts. Even though I like to pretend I've gotten past that, the truth is, I have not. It still hurts that my femininity has been stripped away from me due to a cluster of malignant cells that invaded my chest wall and lymph nodes. Yes, I did feel I needed to protect her by warning her about my hideous chest. I'm a Mother and a Grandmother. I'm a protector. It's what I do. I've seen the scars for over a year and a half. I've had time to get used to them, but others have not. The scars are long, ugly purple, angry looking incisions slicing my chest wall in half horizontally. I look like something out of a horror movie where an angry slasher went wild with a box cutter. It was gross. 

Today was the first time, since surgery, I've felt the need to say "I'm sorry you're going to have to see my scars," and it will be the last. I realized, as I sat in the car and pondered my conversation with the nurse, that there was no apology needed. I should have been proud to lift my shirt and exclaim, "Do you want to see my battle scars?" And that would have been telling the truth. I have been in a battle, the fight for my life. I'm a wounded warrior. I'm a veteran of sorts. I won't get any badges of honor for my courage other than the right to be alive...and I'll take it. 

©bonnie annis all rights reserved

I made it to 58!

It came and went in a flash...my birthday, but then again, don't they always? 58 years. Who woulda thunk it? Certainly not me! But I'm grateful, oh so grateful, to be alive today.

It's funny that it took cancer to teach me to learn the most valuable lesson I've ever learned in my life, and that is to "be present in the moment." As I think back over my life, I realize there have been many, many moments I let slip away without ever having fully experienced them, but that was then...this is now. Not wearing a watch has helped immensely. Why be bogged down within the confines of time when you don't have to be? I used to be a clock watcher. I used to be a planner. I used to be a control freak. Now I feel like I'm a butterfly flitting through life just enjoying the next flower I land upon and it's amazing. Life is so much better this way!

I've also learned many important things that I hope to pass on to my children and grandchildren. Here are some of them and they aren't necessarily in order of importance:

58 things I've learned in my 58 years of life:

1. I don't regret things I did when I was younger -- but I do regret things I didn't do.

2. Worrying is futile. It never changes the outcome, anyway -- and most of the things we worry about don't ever end up happening. God is in control. He's got it! If I worry it's like saying to God, "I don't trust you to take care of this. You need my help so I've just got to worry a little otherwise, it might not turn out okay."

3. No one can prepare you for hearing the three most dreaded words ever - "You have cancer." But having a faith that is strong will get you through it.

4. If you ask me for my opinion, I'll be honest. If you don't really want to know, don't ask.

5. It's okay to be silly sometimes. Even if you're an adult. If I want to sing in the car, I'm gonna sing in the car. And maybe even move my body a little. I don't care who might be looking through my window. They're strangers, after all. They can think whatever they want to think.

6. It's never too late to make new -- and wonderful -- friends. Some of my best and most enjoyable friends have been made in the last few years. The Bible says, "...there is a friend who sticks closer than a brother" and that is very true. Good friends are one of life's necessities.

7. I no longer believe the salesperson in the store when they tell me the outfit I'm trying on looks fabulous if I think it doesn't. After all, their job is to sell and move the merchandise out of the store.

8. I can and should always listen to the voice of God. That little voice speaking to my heart is the Holy Spirit and He's never steered me wrong.

9. I am definitely not the center of the universe.

10. I no longer take rejection personally. I used to, but not any more. Mainly because I'm not the center of the universe and it's usually more about the other person than about me.

11. I'm smarter than I think, braver than I seem, stronger than I believe, and smarter than I think. If I tell myself I can do something, I can usually do it. And, if I don't know how to do it, I'm going to find out how.

12. I used to love cooking. But now, after all these years, not so much. My kids are grown and gone. It's often less expensive for hubby and I to get takeout.

13. Speaking up is way underrated unless you are standing on principals or morals dear to you. Sometimes it's best to just keep your mouth closed. Listen twice as much as you speak. That's why God gave you two ears and only one mouth.

14. I'll never get to read all the books I want to read. There are just too many that I'm interested in but that's okay! I've read thousands and thousands over my lifetime and have gleaned knowledge from each of them. If you could only own one book, I would recommend the Holy Bible. It's the only book you'll ever need. It is so full of truth and wisdom. It is alive! God speaks to us through His Word and my Bible is my most treasured possession.

15. You're never too old to learn. It's when you stop learning that you start to grow old. I try to learn something new every single day.

16. Tell people you love them every chance you get. Time is short. People need to hear how you feel about them. Love is the greatest gift you could ever give someone and really and truly, that's what it's all about...love.

17. Never say never.

18. You can get over sadness even if you think you never will. While it never truly disappears, it dissipates with time.

19. Thinking you're right doesn't necessarily mean you are!

20. Everybody is entitled to their opinion. I don't have to agree with it, nor pretend I do. But their opinion belongs to them and it's not up to me to judge.

21. Earning a Bachelor's degree at age 50 feels way better than earning one right out of college.

22. It's also okay to wear earplugs if your husband snores. He won't care and you'll get a good night's sleep.

23. Leaving a show or movie early because you don't like it is not going to hurt anyone's feelings.

24. Saying no or "Sorry, I'm too busy" is okay. It's okay to set healthy boundaries and everyone should do it.

25. It's okay to ask someone to speak up or slow down if you can't understand what they're saying.

26. I don't have to convince myself to love my wrinkles and lines just because I've "earned" them.

27. It's okay to eat dessert first sometimes.

28. It's okay to take a nap in the middle of the day if you're tired.

29. I can learn a lot about life from my own children.

30. I am truly privileged to be growing old.

31. The squeaky wheel may get the grease, but everyone hates the squeaky wheel.

32. If you roll your eyes when your spouse tells a joke or a story, you're ruining it for everyone else in the room.

33. He who laughs at himself gets the most laughs.

34. It's impossible to read "Oh Mickey you're so fine. You're so fine, you blow my mind" without singing it.

35. No man can satisfactorily load a dishwasher.

36. The person who tells the best gossip is telling your secrets to everyone they know.

37. Being prompt shows respect.

38. Say what you mean and mean what you say.

39. Grudges are poison, the best antidote is to let them go.

40. Ask for forgiveness. We all screw up sometimes.

41. If you tell the truth, you don't have to remember.

42. My happiness is not your responsibility.

43. Choose your battles wisely. Some aren't worth fighting.

44. Never take anything for granted.

45. Always look for the best in others.

46. A writer writes...always!

47. What other people think of you is none of your business.

48. Less is more.

49. Believe in miracles.

50. Love heals all wounds and covers a multitude of sin.

51. Use it up, wear it out, make it do, or do without.

52. Money will never solve your problems but it's nice to have a little.

53. You can't please everyone.

54. It's not all about you.

55. Early to bed, early to rise didn't make me wealthy but might have made me wise.

56. If you find a penny, pick it up!

57. Share with others.

58. You'll never run out of love to give away so give it away freely.

© bonnie annis all rights reserved.

The Yo-Yo days

Monday, Monday! Did you love the Mamas and Papas like I did? Today, I couldn't help thinking about them and their beautiful harmony as I dove right into the day. Monday. The start of a new week. They always seem to come so fast, don't they? It seems that Monday was just here and now it's here again. Oh Monday, Monday.

I've been really sick for the past two weeks with an upper respiratory infection and haven't felt like doing much at all...but today, Monday, I've felt a little better thanks to tons of TLC from my husband, lots of Vitamin C, and essential oils recommended by my daughter, Erin, who's a natural at home health care. I'm so thankful I can breathe again. For days I've had to keep my mouth slightly open just to be able to take in some air and at night, oh boy...I'm sure my mouth was opened wider and I probably snored because of it, poor Phil! But at least my nose isn't dripping like crazy and I can breathe. It's amazing how a little germ can make us feel so horrible, isn't it?

Monday. Today is an up day. The past couple of weeks have been down days just because I wasn't feeling well. It seems I've had a lot of "Yo-Yo" days lately. I don't know if that's really an official term, but I'm going to coin it here because it definitely describes my life. There have been many days where I've been up and many days I've been down...just like a yo-yo on a string. And sometimes, in between the ups and downs, I've just been twirling in a stationary position...

When I was a child, it was rare for me to get gifts from my Daddy. Oh, don't get me wrong...he worked really hard to provide for our family and most of my life he worked 2 jobs just to help make ends meet. But once I remember him giving me a yo-yo. It was one of the toys I'd seen advertised on TV back in the early 1960's. I'd watched in amazement as the seller performed lots of interesting tricks using the yo-yo and thought it would be great to have one of my own, so you can imagine my delight when Daddy pulled a bright red Duncan Imperial Yo-Yo out of his pocket one afternoon after he'd come home from work. He carefully slipped the little loop on his middle finger, and started yo-yoing right in front of my very eyes. I watched intently as the yo-yo went up and down the string. It was mesmerizing! But then, after Daddy had showed me how to do the standard yo-yo up and down traveling, he whisked the string into a triangle position and did something he called "rock the baby." Then, he thrust the yo-yo toward the floor and performed the "walk the dog" trick. I couldn't believe my eyes. My Daddy was a genius! I asked him where he learned how to do those tricks but I don't remember him ever answering me. He just grinned and slipped the toy off of his finger placing it into my palm and said, "Now you try it." It took me forever to figure out how to make it work. I'd get frustrated and run to Daddy to ask him to help me. He'd straighten out the string that I'd gotten all tangled up and then help me wind the yo-yo tightly again and finally...I did it! I was so happy when I was able to get the yo-yo to go up and down the string all by myself. I tried the other tricks but never could get the hang of them. I was so proud of that yo-yo and held onto it for many years.

Sometimes it seems like life is going along just fine, like when a yo-yo is traveling perfectly up and down the string and then other times, it seems like everything gets all screwed up and doesn't work properly, just like the first time I tried to yo-you all by myself. Last week was one of the screwed up weeks. I wasn't feeling well. I could barely breathe. My nose was running and I was coughing all over the place. I had no appetite and I couldn't sleep. I felt terrible and that doesn't even really describe it...but this week,it's a little better.

It's so easy to get discouraged when our health is jeopardized. Feeling physically well attributes greatly to our spiritual and emotional well being. I know for me, when I'm feeling physically well, things just seem to click right into place...everything runs smoothly and I am happy. On the other hand, when I'm feeling poorly...it seems everything goes wrong! Nothing works out and I get so discouraged. Sometimes I just want to curl up into a ball, go to sleep and never wake up. It would be so easy to do that but I know I can't.

No matter how good or bad I feel, I have to keep pushing through. I have to keep on fighting. I can't let my life be like a yo-yo with constant ups and downs. Those two extremes are not for me. I'd rather be stuck in the middle on an even keel than to be either up or down. The only way I know to balance the up and down days is to keep my focus on God. I've learned that when I am weak, He is strong. I can't always do things in my own power. I have to rely on Him to help me through.

Some days my physical pain gets so bad that I have to really take it easy. On those days, I try to do things that don't require much physical exertion. When the pain gets too bad, I take a pain pill and that helps, but I try not to take them unless I absolutely must. Thank goodness my oncologist knew ahead of time that I might need them!

In just a few days, I'll be another year older and even closer to 60 than I was last year. I've come to the sad realization that my body is slowly wearing out and I can't do the things I used to do any longer. I don't like it. I don't want it, but in the words of my youngest daughter, Jamie, "It is what it is." Oh to be young again and free from bodily aches and pains. Oh to have never been diagnosed with cancer! But it is what it is and there's nothing I can do about it.

I have had to catch myself lately though. I've made the mistake of saying, just in general conversation, "I have cancer." I don't claim that any longer! I don't ever want to hear those words come out of my mouth again. "Have" is a present tense verb, but my cancer is in the past. I need to learn to start saying, "I had cancer" and even more appropriately, "I had cancer, but it doesn't have me!" I don't want it to ever be an excuse. I want to continue to live my life as long as I can, as well as I can. Yes, I'm going to have some yo-yo days but I can lick it. I know it's going to take practice and they say practice makes perfect.

© bonnie annis all rights reserved

Watch a vintage Duncan Yo-Yo commercial

We have so much to be thankful for!

Well, tomorrow's the big day! Turkey day...Thanksgiving. The day most Americans gorge themselves on turkey and all the trimmings. Each year, as Thanksgiving approaches, I'm filled with nostalgia. Memories of my childhood are close at hand and I can almost hear the sound of dishes clinking together as we passed the food around the table.

I remember seeing Mama tiptoe down the stairs in the wee hours of the morning to put the big bird in the oven. She'd always get up around 4 or 5 a.m. to be sure the bird would be done in time for lunch. After she'd slip it into the oven, she'd quietly pad back up the stairs to catch a few more winks before the household was awake. There was nothing better than smelling roast turkey wafting through the air. My stomach would begin to growl at the very thought of it and oh, how delicious that bird would be covered in Mama's homemade turkey gravy. Those were the days. When everything was ready and it was just a little after 12:00 noon, Mama would call us in to say grace. Daddy, Grandmother, my brother, sister, and I would pull up our chairs and we'd all sit around the table talking and eating. It was wonderful! Back then, I didn't realize how fast those years would slip away. I didn't realize how things would change after Grandmother and Daddy were gone and now, Mama is in a nursing home. 

This morning, I got up early and mixed up the cornbread for my dressing. As I pulled out the ingredients, I remembered I'd given my cast iron skillets away to my daughters and I didn't have even one...what to do, what to do. Cornbread doesn't taste as good baked in a regular baking pan. There was no way it was going to have that wonderful, golden crust. It was tradition to bake it in an iron skillet just like Mama and Grandmother used to do. But alas, I'd have to make the best of it since I didn't have my cast iron skillet any longer. A regular baking dish would have to suffice. I gathered the ingredients necessary to make the cornbread and poured them into the baking dish, turned on the oven and waited for it to preheat. While the oven was coming up to temperature, I decided to go ahead and chop up my onions and celery. Thank goodness I have a food processor. I remember how difficult it was to chop all of those things by hand back in the day. Now, instead of it taking twenty or thirty minutes to wash and chop 3 onions and a large head of celery, I could have it done in just a couple of minutes. I'm thankful for modern conveniences like kitchen appliances. 

The timer beeped telling me the oven was ready. As I slid the pan of cornbread in to cook, I could almost see, in my mind's eye, Mama pulling her big iron skillet of cornbread out of the oven. She always struggled to hold that big, heavy cast iron pan with her small, delicate hands but somehow, she managed. When she made her dressing, she never followed a recipe but I watched her and I learned all the secret ingredients.

There was always an abundance of food on our table at Thanksgiving. Although we didn't have much monetarily, Mama always found a way to make Daddy's paycheck stretch just enough to feed all of us. As a child, those are things you take for granted but as an adult, I look back and marvel. By the world's standards, we were very poor but how can you put a price on love? Everything we had was precious. We didn't have luxuries, only necessities, and often times, we didn't have those. At Thanksgiving, Mama always reminded us how blessed we were and how we should never take anything for granted. I remember her words well and have tried to instill them into my own children's hearts. 

The smell of my cornbread filled the kitchen. I knew it would be time to take it out of the oven soon. Today I'd prepare one dish after another to take to my daughter's house for our gathering tomorrow. When the timer sounded, I took my potholders out of the cupboard and removed the hot, delicious cornbread from the oven. Placing it on the counter to cool, I moved on to my next task. 

I gathered my container of sage, the salt and pepper, and cans of chicken broth. I'd mix up the dressing after I'd cooked a couple of pans of biscuits and the cornbread had completely cooled. I don't have a recipe for my dressing either. I've just stored it up in my memory bank and pull it out every year just before Thanksgiving. I made a mental note...one of these days I need to write it down to pass on to my children. They aren't ever around to watch me make it and learn what goes into it. I don't want our family traditions to slip away. 

Later in the day, I'll mix together my special Hashbrown casserole and my fresh cranberry/orange salad. One of my daughters will make the sweet potato casserole this year along with green bean casserole. It seems we have the same things every year but that's what makes it special. Memories of our family gathered around a full table always provide such joy. 

My husband is going to kill me! I need him to stop by the grocery store and pick up a few things that I've forgotten. I shoot him a text and pour on a little sugar coating to make it more palatable. "Honey, could you please run by the grocery store and pick up..." He always responds positively and I love him for that. Even if he doesn't really want to do it, he does. He's so good to me. I'm so thankful for him. Until I get the other ingredients, my cooking is at a standstill. I decide to make wise use of my time and head into my office. 

Pulling up my emails, I find a nice surprise. I've received a notification from a cancer magazine telling me they're sending me a check for a recent article I'd submitted. It's really real! My first check for my writing will be coming soon! I'm an official, bonafide freelance writer! Oh, I've been writing for years and years, but this will be the first time I've actually been paid for my work. It's so nice to be able to do something I enjoy and reap the benefits from it at the same time. I'm thankful God has blessed me with the ability and desire to write. 

Next, I decide to check Facebook. Every day my friends share about their lives through this giant social media network. Sometimes it's overwhelming to peruse their pages. It seems their lives are so much more full than mine but then again, I'm thankful for my life. I'm reminded, as I read through their posts, just how very blessed I am. Last year at this time, I wasn't sure I'd be around for the holidays. I'd been diagnosed with Stage IIB Invasive Ductal Carcinoma, a type of aggressive breast cancer that had metastasized into my lymph nodes. I was expecting to become very sick and die, but God had other plans. After my treatment and a time of extreme radiation fatigue, I got better. I am so thankful I've been doing well physically despite a few daily challenges like tiredness, swelling, and general malaise. Last year, my Thanksgiving celebration, though quiet and peaceful, wasn't something I really spent a lot of time dwelling on...this year is a different story.

As I spend the day before Thanksgiving cooking and preparing my favorite dishes, I'll travel back to sweet childhood memories. I'll remember the days of my youth with fondness and pleasure, savoring the holiday joy from years past. I'll count my many blessings from days long gone and add to them blessings from the present. As I mix and stir, blend and spread, I'll commit the sights, sounds, and smells to memory. I want to be sure I'll be able to recall them at a later date when I need them. 

Tonight, when I go to bed, I'll drift off to sleep thinking about spending time with family tomorrow. I'll miss the ones who've gone on before me and I'll look forward to spending time with the loved ones still present. 

Thanksgiving. What a great holiday! Of course, every day we should give thanks to our Creator for all the wonderful blessings He's bestowed upon us, but isn't it wonderful we have the tradition of celebrating with family on this special day of the year? We have so much to be thankful for and I don't ever want to take any of those blessings for granted. 

There's a special quotation I'd like to share here that sums it up pretty well: 

"I am grateful for what I am and have. My thanksgiving is perpetual…O how I laugh when I think of my vague indefinite riches. No run on my bank can drain it, for my wealth is not possession but enjoyment.” ~ Henry David Thoreau. 

As you celebrate Thanksgiving tomorrow, think about your past but don't forget to be fully present in the moment. New memories await you. Do your best to count your blessings and be truly grateful. We have so much to be thankful for! God bless you and remember, you can always loosen the top button of your britches to make room for more! Eat up! Laugh! Have fun and celebrate big!

© bonnie annis all rights reserved

What do you say to a dying person?

Heather and her husband, Joe

I don't know how to process this other than to just start thinking out loud, so hopefully you'll bear with me as I put my thoughts down in the best way I know how...it's been a week since I made a whirlwind, unplanned trip. My sweet son in law, Caleb, was my escort. He called last week and asked if I would like to come out to Texas and visit with his wife (my daughter), Erin, and the grandchildren. He said he'd be more than happy to drive up to Georgia to get me. At first I was shocked and couldn't believe what I was hearing...he was going to drive from Texas to Georgia to get me and then take me back home again...all in the span of one week...that's insane! But he wanted to do it. His heart was so filled with love that it was overflowing and he wanted to give of his time...to me. So in an instant, I accepted the invitation and immediately  began packing for the trip.

On the way to Texas, We planned to stop and visit our friend, Heather. I've written about her recently in several other blog posts. She is a young mother of 4 and is fighting for her life. She's dying of cancer. Originally, she was diagnosed with breast cancer about 4 1/2 years ago. The cancer has metastasized and moved into her brain, her liver, and other areas of her body. To put it bluntly, she's in really bad shape. She's been moved into the palliative care section of a large cancer hospital in Texas. She'd been moved there to receive the very best cancer treatment available.

When my son in law arrived late that night, he was so tired. My heart hurt for him. He'd driven all day to get here. It was 802 miles and I knew he was exhausted. I encouraged him to go to bed early and he did, but those few hours of sleep wouldn't be enough to rejuvenate him fully.

We started out on our journey to Texas in the wee hours of the next morning. It was dark, quiet, and chilly. We drove for several hours before the sun came up and were so thankful when it did. Traffic was light and we made good time, but the miles stretched on and on. Our plan was to stop at the hospital and visit Heather before going on my daughter's home.

When we arrived at the hospital, I was overwhelmed. This hospital was ginormous! I don't know how many floors or buildings it had but it seemed the hospital took up several city blocks. We walked and walked to find the elevators. Once inside the hospital, we traveled through a maze of hallways and floors to find Heather's room. When we finally reached it, we stood outside her door with trepidation in our hearts.

A sign on the door read "all visitors must wash their hands before entering." We turned to see a little sink and some hand soap just to the left. Both Caleb and I washed and dried our hands before gingerly knocking on the door.

An older woman greeted us and introduced herself as Heather's mother. A few seconds later, an elderly gentleman appeared and said he was Heather's grandfather. We said our hellos, shook hands, and watched as Heather's mom gently shook Heather's arm to wake her. The room was dimly lit but the curtains were open and sunlight streamed through illuminating Heather's face. Everything was silent except for the sound of the machine pumping pain medication into Heather's arm. Her relatives said they were going to leave for a little while and give us some privacy.

After they left, Caleb and I stood on either side of the bed just watching Heather for a few minutes. We didn't quite know what to say or do. Heather was still swollen and very jaundiced. She looked so sick and so weak.

Caleb was the first to speak and greeted her with fondness. Since Heather and I had never met in person, He introduced me to her. She thanked me for writing her over the past few months and for the knitted hats and shawl I'd made for her. We made small talk for a few minutes and then she asked me to hand her the remote control for the bed. She pressed the button to raise her head up so she could see better. I was surprised she felt well enough to do that.

We continued to talk and then, Heather cut to the chase. She asked us some really hard questions. She wanted to know why she'd been brought to M. D. Anderson. She said she felt like she'd just been brought there to die. She didn't want to be there. She wanted to be home. She was adamant about her feelings and very coherent in her thoughts. She told us the doctors had said if she went home, she'd have to have a hospital bed and she told us she didn't understand why...said she didn't want one and didn't think it would fit in the house anyway. We didn't know how to respond, so we just listened.

I chose my words carefully as I spoke to her. I knew she wanted answers to her questions but I didn't feel it was my place to give them. I could empathize with her because I too had been diagnosed with breast cancer. I tried to put myself in her place and thought about how I'd feel if I were going through the things she was going through right now. Yes, the doctors and medical staff knew she was entering the last stages of her illness and yes, more than likely, she'd been brought there to die but I couldn't tell her that. All I could tell her was that her family loved her and wanted her to get the best care possible. That's why they'd allowed her to be moved to the palliative care unit. (Palliative care focuses on symptoms such as pain, shortness of breath, fatigue, constipation, nausea, loss of appetite, difficulty sleeping and depression. It also helps you gain the strength to carry on with daily life. It improves your ability to tolerate medical treatments. And it helps you have more control over your care by improving your understanding of your choices for treatment. Palliative care helps to make the patient comfortable and that was just what Heather needed.)

While Heather was focused on negative things, we tried to turn them into positives but how do you do that when someone is expressing such anger over dying? There were no words to say. All we could do was just be there...just show up...just give our love and support. We couldn't fix it or make it better and that wasn't what we were supposed to do. We had just come as friends to show we cared.

We were shocked at her anger but were glad she felt she had the freedom to express it. We couldn't judge her for that, after all...who's to say we wouldn't feel the same way if we were in her shoes...if we knew our time was short, wouldn't we be angry?! As I listened to Heather speak, I noticed her words were slow and deliberate. She was weak and tired. Her body was wearing out but she was determined to share her heart. I felt so sorry for her and wanted to comfort her but she didn't want that...didn't need that, she just wanted to have her voice heard, so we continued to listen as she talked about what she did and did not want. The more I heard, the more I realized she was in the 2nd stage of grief - ANGER. I'd studied the five stages of grief many years ago and had witnessed various stages of it throughout my time as a lay counselor. My heart went out to Heather as she continued to talk.

Heather looked so uncomfortable as she lay there in the hospital bed. I asked if the doctors were being able to manage her pain and she told me they weren't. She was hurting A LOT. As soon as she said that, she asked me to hand her the call button and she rang for the nurse. When the nurse answered, Heather told her she need pain medication immediately.

The nurse came and administered Dilaudid and  Hydromorphone, two extremely strong opiates used for severe pain management. It took a few minutes for the meds to kick in and for Heather to slowly begin to doze off.

Other friends arrived and we felt it was time for us to leave. We hadn't done anything to really help Heather other than to listen to her as she talked. We realized as we walked down the corridor toward the elevator that sometimes, all we're supposed to do is show up and that's just what we did. We were there. Heather knew we cared and that we loved her.

What do you say to a dying person? With an ill person, you can say "I hope you feel better soon," or "Is there anything I do to make you more comfortable?" or things like that. With a terminally ill person, the only thing I could think of to say is "I'm praying for you." Offering words of love and encouragement seemed so trite but necessary.

On the ride through Houston toward my daughter's house, I was quiet. I was trying to make sense of everything. It was hard to understand why God would allow such a young woman to die when she'd barely experienced life. Why had she been given a death sentence and why had I been blessed to receive life? We both had breast cancer...I didn't have the answers. I'm not God and I don't know why He has allowed this hard into her life. I am thankful that Heather knows Him. She told me she did and that gives me hope that she will have faith to trust Him even in the very difficult days ahead.

I couldn't help but think of Heather that evening as I went to sleep. I prayed for her and asked God to comfort her and to ease her pain. I also prayed for her husband and her children asking God to give them the strength to face their uncertain future. I know He will, but it will be extremely challenging for all of them.

It's been a week since I was in Texas. I'm back home now and every day I expect to get the phone call that Heather's gone home to be with Jesus. Since my return, she's been moved to another hospital into hospice care. Her family is staying in a hotel nearby so they can be close to her.

Heather's story is just one of the millions of women with breast cancer and I'm sure hers is similar to many of them. I'd be lying if I didn't tell you how scared I was as I stood beside her bed last week. All I could think was will that be me one day? I felt deep sadness as I watched her resting. Her skin a dull yellow color from the effects of a liver barely working, her smooth, round head lacking the lovely locks that once lived there, her swollen body curled underneath the sheets just wasting away, and the IVs providing medication to help her...all signs that cancer was winning.

Maybe I didn't do a good job of ministering love to her that day, but I sure hope I did. I tried. I did the best I could, but I really just didn't know what to say. All I could do was show up and that's what I did. I hope she knows I cared and I hope she knows I'll never forget her. God bless her heart. I take comfort in knowing when she gets to glory she'll have a completely healed and restored body...a new body that won't ever suffer any pain ever again and she will forever be in the presence of Jesus. That's what will allow me to be okay and get through this. It's so hard to watch one more woman succumb to the devastation of cancer. Oh how I wish we could find a cure. Maybe one day....

© bonnie annis all rights reserved

Sometimes the hard is too hard

Today I had the honor and privilege of listening to my oldest daughter, Erin, share her heart with me. Yesterday, she'd had the opportunity to go and visit a very sick friend, Heather. Heather is dying from breast cancer that's metastasized into her brain and liver. I knew before Erin even began talking that this was going to be a difficult conversation to have with her. I know her heart, you see,...it's so tender and loving and kind.

"She was so yellow, Mama," she said. I knew what that meant...Heather was jaundiced. Her liver had completely shut down and her kidneys weren't functioning well. I've witnessed this phenomenon before in another dear friend as she was on her death bed. It's a shocking thing to see, especially when the entire body turns yellow and the whites of the eyes turn a deep, golden yellow too. It looks so unnatural and scary...alien-like. I felt so badly for my daughter. Sometimes the hard is too hard.

Isn't it only natural for mothers to want to shield their children from the hard, hurtful things in life? I wish she wasn't having to go through this, but I knew it was necessary. She'd wanted to go to the hospital to say goodbye to her sweet friend. She needed to be there. I didn't want her to witness the very ugly side of cancer, but she's strong, this daughter of mine. Underneath that tough exterior, though, that carries her through the hardest of challenges, she's got a heart of gold. She's loving and merciful, tender and caring. Her friends love her because she loves them so well and is always so giving of herself. She makes me proud.

And life isn't fair. We both wanted to scream this at the top of our lungs and we're wondering why...why would God allow such a terrible thing to happen to such a young woman...a woman with 4 little ones who love and depend on her...a husband who'll be lost without her, who hasn't even had time to think about grieving over the fact that soon she'll be gone because he's been so busy...busy trying to hold things together, trying to be the glue that makes the things that are important cohesive.

My heart broke for Heather, the young mother, who lay dying in a cold, sterile, hospital bed. This young woman all yellow and swollen and her body wracked with pain. This sweet friend that my daughter loved and wanted to spend more time with but the pain medication kept her doped up and groggy. So she mostly slept while Erin was there visiting. Numbed to the reality that soon she'll be no more...

Tears streamed down my face as Erin told me how she'd felt led to grab a bottle of lotion on the way out the door to see Heather that morning. She knows God speaks to us in a still, small voice. He was preparing her for something bigger and she obeyed. She knows how important the gift of touch is to someone who's in pain. I listened as she told me about massaging Heather's back for her and how, as she gently rubbed for hours, she silently prayed. That's my girl...a heart of gold. And then, when Heather's Mom came back into the room, she commented on how Heather looked so much better, not as yellow, and Erin was glad the massage had helped. She was glad she'd listened to the voice of God and had picked up that lotion. He had a plan and Erin had been His instrument.

Our conversation continued and I listened between the words to hear Erin's heart...a hurting heart. She knows what's coming and knows it's going to be devastating. And this reality of cancer hits too close to home, I knew what she was thinking...my Mom has cancer...this could be her one day...While in the hospital room keeping watch at her friend's bedside, Erin's thoughts are tangled. Her own little ones are home with their Daddy so she could come and be with her friend. She probably wonders if he's fixed them lunch yet and whether the smallest made it down for his nap on time and then she thinks about Heather's little ones who'll soon lose their Mommy and it's overwhelming...sometimes the hard is too hard.

But even in the midst of the hard, God gives His grace. He provides a way for us to be strong and hold on. He reminds us that we can do ALL things through Him because we don't have to rely on our own strength, we have Him to cling to and He provides. He knows the needs. He sees everything and even when it seems like life is so unfair and unjust and cruel, He always shows up...just in the nick of time. He's there with us. He never leaves us alone or forsaken.

Suffering is such a vital part of life. It teaches us things we can never learn without it. It teaches us to have compassion and patience. It teaches us to understand and let go of the things that don't matter. Suffering is a great teaching tool that God uses in our lives but most people don't see it that way.

"The doctors have said two weeks...two weeks is all the time she's got left," Erin said. But we both know they're only guessing, they aren't God. That time frame is just a reminder that Heather's time here is so very short, but then again, none of us are promised tomorrow.

The visit was over and it was time to say goodbye. Erin knew it was going to be a hard thing to say her final goodbye to her friend but she did it in the most beautiful way...she told Heather she loved her and was so thankful they'd become friends and then she prayed over her. Heather may or may not have heard all the words Erin said but I know she felt Erin's heart.

Yes, sometimes the hard is too hard, but God always sees us through it. He gives strength when we need it most and He orchestrates everything according to His plan. And when we look at life that way, we can accept and even welcome the hard that comes because we know He is all sufficient and He is the rock we can cling to when life seems too hard to bear.

Please, won't you say a prayer for Heather as she prepares to go home to heaven? Pray that God will allow her journey to be swift and free from pain. Pray for her husband as he prepares to face the reality that his wife will soon be gone. Pray for God to give him strength to face the difficult days ahead. Pray for grace as he walks through his own hard dealing with the overwhelming grief that will come. Pray for the little ones and for God to hold them close as they come to understand the finality of death. Pray for the community to surround all of them with love and kindness in the days ahead and for God's provision for all of their needs, financial, emotional and spiritual. And one last request, would you say a special prayer for my daughter, Erin, that God would continue to use her to minister His love to others who are hurting but that He'd also protect her heart as she walks through her own hard of learning to lose a friend graciously?

Thank you so much. I know you'll lift up these needs as God places them on your heart. Sometimes the hard is too hard but we must always have hope. May the God of all comfort be everything you need as you travel your own hard and may you never forget His promise to never leave us to face the hard alone.

© bonnie annis all rights reserved

Oh no...not, another one

"Her body is shutting down, the doctors said." I could hardly believe it as my daughter softly spoke  those words into the phone. We'd been expecting it, but the words weren't easy to hear. As they sunk in to my heart, everything inside me wanted to cry out....NOOOOOOOO! NOT ANOTHER ONE. How many more young mothers would cancer steal from their families? And then I thought about myself. I was old. My children were grown and yet, the sting didn't hurt any less. Cancer's inevitable reality was getting too close for comfort. It was sneaking up on me. I was just 16 months into my survivorship.

For months, my oldest daughter has been loving on and ministering to this young mother and her family. (I won't share her name to protect her privacy.) There have been good days and bad days. On the good days, there's been laughter and joy. On the bad days, there's been silence and suffering. It's been a challenging time. A time for friends to rally and show their love. Hard lessons have been learned and grace has been extended. It's been a community effort. It really does take a village...

Although everyone knew this day would come, no one expected it to come so suddenly, but God works in mysterious ways. His timing is not our timing. He had planned and orchestrated every event to work into His plan perfectly. Who are we to question?

The family has gathered at their loved one's bedside. What do you say at a time like this? How do you comfort them? What can you do? Words seem so meaningless and why waste energy saying things that will never be remembered? Isn't love more important? Just being there...that's what really matters. Love...just love.

My heart is broken knowing this young mother will soon slip out of this world into eternity, but I am so thankful she knows the Lord as her Savior. She's struggled so much and fought a good fight. At least when she gets to glory, she won't have any more pain and her body will be completely healed. It seems almost trite to say that, but it's the truth.

I am grieved for her mother. How do you sit beside the bed of the precious one you carried inside your body for 9 months...your beloved child, and watch silently as her organs begin to shut down? How do you stay there and watch those labored breaths? Oh the pain and agony that mother must feel as her daughter slowly wastes away. I can't begin to imagine...

And her husband...how does he say goodbye to the love of his life? He's been beside her through all the cancer treatments, the medical tests, the hair loss, the sickness and fatigue. Does he find comfort in knowing it's almost over or does he beg for more time with her?

Then there are the little ones...the four babes who'll lose their Mommy. How will life look for them in the future? Will they remember her when they're older? So many questions, so little time...and we don't have the answers, but there is One who does. And He's the One who holds our lives in the palm of His hand...Jesus.

Life is so short. We're only here for a few brief moments and then we're gone. May every moment of every day you have left on this earth be one you hold precious. Never take any of them for granted because in a twinkling...in the blink of an eye...they'll be gone.

“That though the hard might come and our hearts be broken, that brokenness isn’t bad. The tears are evidence of our love for one another. They did not stop that day, and they will not stop in the days to come. But tears are a gift, not something to withhold or bottle up—they are the essence of the best of life.” ~ Kara Tippetts from her book, The Hardest Peace

.© bonnie annis all rights reserved

Let your roots grow down deep

The mail had come and as I do every day, I walked down my steep driveway to retrieve it. As I was walking, I was praying I didn't slip and fall. It was drizzling rain and had been raining off and on all night. The driveway was covered in wet leaves and pinestraw, all of which were very slick and slimy. Last week, while going to get the mail, I slid on a wet leaf and did an amazing balancing act. Thankfully, I didn't fall on my bottom and hurt myself.

As I made my way down the drive, I heard some popping noises. At first, I thought someone was shooting a gun in my direction. (We live in a rural area and there are lots of hunters close by. In fact, we've numbed ourselves to the sounds of daily gunshots this time of year.) I turned my head in the direction of the sound and froze on the driveway. All of a sudden, the popping increased and then loud crashing sounds began as a large tree broke in half and fell. I was thankful the tree hadn't been closer to where I was standing. One minute the tree was standing and the next it was down on the ground. I guess all the heavy rain had caused it to give way.

Making my way back up the driveway, I noticed all the beautiful trees in my yard. There were oaks, pines, and maples. They were various sizes, some were over 100 feet tall and some only tiny saplings. Their leaves still clinging to the branches in a last ditch effort to evade the inevitable. I continued walking and couldn't help thinking more about the tree that fell. I wondered if it was diseased or if perhaps it had been infested with some kind of insects that had helped to weaken it. I came inside the house and pulled out my binoculars. As I zoomed in on the tree, I could see it was a large pine tree and it had broken midway down. Pine trees are notorious for having shallow roots but part of the trunk was still standing and that meant the roots had held.

A verse of Scripture immediately came to mind, "Let your roots grow down into Him, and let your lives be built on Him. Then your faith will grow strong in the truth you were taught, and you will overflow with thankfulness." Colossians 2:7. What a powerful verse!

Suddenly, I remembered a segment from Earth Science class. My high school teacher was talking about the root system of trees and he was explaining about the tap root. I thought it was very interesting. The tap root is the root that travels down the deepest and it seeks out water for the tree. It's a very important root. Smaller roots develop and branch off of the tap root but to kill the tree, the tap root has to be severed.

The more I thought about that verse, the more of a visual picture I got in my mind. I could see my roots growing down deep into Christ drawing sustenance up from Him. As long as my taproot was dipping into His goodness, my faith was growing and being strengthened. I could stand firm just like a good, healthy tree.

I lay my binoculars down on the desk. My neighbors were going to be surprised to find that big, broken tree lying in their yard when they came home from work later today. I'm sure they won't be too happy about having to hire someone to haul it off but I'm sure they'll be thankful it didn't damage their home.

It always amazes me how God uses little things like that tree breaking as I was walking down to the mailbox to speak to my heart. If we're attentive, He's always speaking. We just have to put ourselves in the mindset to always be listening for what He's saying to us.

© bonnie annis all rights reserved