Taking time to remember

The one year anniversary of my cancer diagnosis is just around the corner. Today, I was in a contemplative mood and thought it would be good to start focusing on all God's done in my life since that life altering day. Remembering is an important part of a faith journey and God's done so much over the past year, I didn't know where to begin.

I remembered that in the bottom of my coat closet lay a large fabric duffle bag. In that bag were all the greeting cards I've received since June 5, 2014. There are hundreds of them, all shapes and sizes. Some of them are from friends I've known for many years. Some of them are from people I've never met. I decided that would be a good place to start, so I pulled out the bag. It was heavy! I took the bag to the kitchen table and spread them out. There were so many!

As I looked at them, I couldn't get over the massive number of cards I'd received. The table top is covered in a bright array of color. I sift through them and choose one randomly. Reading the sweet sentiment brings me to tears. I pick up another and then another. Reading each one carefully, I ask God to bring to mind a visual image of each person. For the people I don't know, I ask Him to just remind me of their kindness to a complete stranger, and He does.

I'm quickly overwhelmed as I read through each and every card. I remember how I felt many of the days in the past year and how, when I heard the mail truck nearing my mailbox, I'd perk up just a little wondering if someone had sent me a card. Those little cards got me through some really dark days and every single one of them came in God's perfect timing.

Some days I'd receive a card that was funny...those seemed to come on days when I was really down in the dumps. Other days, I'd receive a card that contained a verse or two of Scripture. Those cards came when I was feeling very alone and in need of encouragement. God used so many people to minister His love to me throughout the past year.

There were a couple of friends who faithfully sent me cards every week or so... Margot and Sarah. One of these ladies, Margot, I've known for many years and she is a very dear friend to me. She knows me very well and knows her funny sense of humor always makes me smile. She never failed to infuse her faith with her silliness and for that, I am deeply grateful. Another friend, Sarah, I've never had the privilege of meeting. This woman is in her 90's and is an artist. She, like Margot, sent beautiful handmade creations. Their cards are the most special to me because of the time and effort they put into making their cards.

As I gently touched several of their cards, I thought about the processes they took to compile their cards. There were various textures and mediums used. I'm a card maker too, so I really enjoyed seeing their creativity. Each one of their cards was different and unique.

The cards displayed over my table reminded me that people, just like the cards, are all very different. Some of them are sweet and gentle. Others are bold and sassy. In every instance though, God knew which ones would bless me and on which day He'd prompt each specific one of them to contact me.

The cards have all but stopped coming now. Sometimes I feel a little discouraged that I'm not remembered as often as I was in the past, but I know people's lives get busy. I'm sure God will occasionally prompt one of them to send me another card, or text, or maybe even nudge them to make a phone call in the future on those days I could use a little hug.

Isn't God good? He knows our needs even before we ask. He knows when we need a little extra TLC and sometimes, He uses others to be His hands and feet. I'm so thankful for all the sweet friends who took the time to follow His leading during the toughest year of my life. They may have thought their quick scribble on a drugstore card was just a simple act of thoughtfulness but those cards...those precious cards are so much more than that to me! I've kept each and every one as a special momento. One of these days, I'm going to put them all into a scrapbook so I'll have a permanent record of those gestures of love.

It's almost been a year since my diagnosis. I'll never forget that horrible day, the day my life was forever changed, but God, in His mercy and grace, used this past year for my good. It's taken me almost an entire year to understand and see His hand guiding me through each part of my journey, but it was always there and I am so very grateful.

Whenever you feel a little prompting in your spirit to drop someone a note or make a phone call, don't hesitate! Be obedient and do it. Someone may be waiting for a word of encouragement and God may be planning on using you to meet their need. I've been on the receiving end and I've been on the giving end, too. What a blessing both can be!

If you are one of the people who took time to write me a note or send me a card during the past year, please know how very precious you are to me! Your card or letter is among those scattered across my table right now and among those I hold so dear to my heart. Thank you, thank you, thank you! And may God bless you for your kindness! With love, Bonnie

© bonnie annis all rights reserved

Social Security Disability

Over 7 months ago, at the advice of a friend, I applied for Social Security Disability. Surely they would consider Breast Cancer a disabling disease, right? Well, not so! Three months later, I received a letter stating that I had been denied benefits and was given the option to appeal. I thought long and hard about it. Should I appeal or should I not? I'd been working since the age of 15 and I'd been contributing to the Social Security program since then...why shouldn't I appeal now that I was unable to be gainfully employed? All those dollars I'd had deducted from my paychecks was mine, right? And I needed it now!

Well, after months of waiting, I received a letter requesting me to attend a psychological evaluation as part of Social Security's appeal process. I agreed to participate and had no idea what to expect. As a child, I was always taught that honesty was the best policy and that teaching has carried into my adult life. Each question asked by the psychologist was answered in that manner. The evaluation took about an hour and as I left, I felt good about the appointment. So I went home and waited some more. 

Today, I received a letter from the SSA (Social Security Administration) stating they didn't think I was disabled to the extent that I could no longer work. They advised that if I was unsatisfied with their decision, I could ask for a hearing. I talked to my friend, who has a friend that works for the SSA, and she said this is standard procedure. According to my friend, most people are denied twice and then must hire an attorney to finally get their benefits. She said that's what I should do. Well...I thought about it. 

I decided that I'd rather not have to jump through any more SSA hoops in order to try and receive disability benefits. Sure, those benefits would have helped greatly with medical bills and prescriptions but to me, it's just not worth it. 

Before submitting my appeal, I prayed about it and asked God for His will to be done. I took the answer of "no" today as His answer. Apparently, there's some reason I was not approved and though disappointing, I'm taking it as His best answer for me. I have to remind myself that His ways are not my ways. He always knows best! He knows what the future holds and I do not.

Just think...it I had gotten approved for the benefits, it would have changed my life in several different ways. It would have made our financial situation a whole lot better but it would have allowed me to put my trust in the extra monthly income instead of in God. That would not have been a good thing, therefore, I consider this a blessing in disguise. By God's "no," I can see things more clearly. My faith and trust need to always be in Him and Him alone. I'm thankful I didn't have to learn that lesson the hard way! And so, this is just another blip on the radar...life goes on.

© bonnie annis all rights reserved

Just do it!

Back in 1988, Dan Wieden came up with the Nike tagline "Just do it." Those 3 simple words have become inspirational to so many people with regard to a variety of different things. Mr. Wieden, in his video interview, stated he was looking for a slogan that would speak not only to beginning athletes, like the stay at home mom, but also to world class athletes. This morning, when I woke up, those 3 little words were running through my mind.

"Just do it!" Just make yourself get out of bed and get on that treadmill today...just do it. But I hate exercise. The only exercise I've ever really enjoyed is hiking. Since I don't have any mountain trails around here to hike on, the next best thing is my trusty treadmill. Oh it's been sitting in my office for the past year. It's gotten used a few times, too, but I know, I have to commit to do more.

On my last visit to the oncologist, he told me that I needed to work really hard on losing some weight. His reasoning was very clear..."fat cells produce Estrogen and Estrogen feeds your cancer. The leaner you can become, the less chance you'll have at recurrence." Okay, doc...I get it. I have to get my butt in gear and start moving.

But I haven't felt like moving. Since surgery and radiation, my body has been in constant pain. I mean, I HURT ALL THE TIME! There hasn't been one single day that I haven't felt aches and pains all over my body. When you're hurting, it makes it hard to want to move much. In fact, it feels pretty good to just sit. But the more I sit, the more I spread! And I don't want to become a big, fat, squishy blob, now do I?

So, I had a high protein breakfast this morning. I figured that's what runners do before they start their jog...they load up on protein to give them lots of energy, but I don't really know, because I'm not nor do I ever want to be a jogger! After eating breakfast, I slipped on my sneakers. (I'd found some Ryka training shoes online at Ryka.com I'd read many reviews about walking/running shoes and found these to have great reader comments and excellent rebounding qualities.) I was determined that today was going to be a new day. I was going to do what I had to do. I was going to fight to live, and if beating cancer meant I had to walk when I didn't feel like it, so be it. I was going to "JUST DO IT!"

Before I just "did" it, I needed to find out how to maximize my walk. There had to be more to walking than just walking. I knew I needed to learn what my Target Heart Rate should be, so I went to this site. After doing all that math, I was wiped out...NO, NOT REALLY LOL! Anyway, I got my numbers and then looked online for some walking playlists with songs that fell in the 128 to 150 BPM (beats per minute) range. After loading the music up to my ITunes, I cranked up the volume and jumped on the treadmill.

I started out fairly slow, just to give myself a little warm up...2 miles an hour for 5 minutes. At each 5 minute interval, I changed the incline and the speed of the treadmill. Periodically, I checked my pulse to make sure I was getting close to my target heart rate and as I continued walking, I noticed I was having to work at little harder and my breathing was increasing.

The music helped take my mind off what I was doing. I was actually getting into it after 15 minutes. I pushed the incline up to a 5% grade and increased the speed to 3.5. I was walking pretty fast now and almost in a slow jog. I was proud of myself!

I only got thirty minutes of fast walking in this morning, but it's a start. I did notice while I was on the treadmill, my body didn't seem to hurt as much as it did when I was sitting still. Maybe it was because I was moving everything all at once and I just didn't have time to focus on one individual portion of my body...maybe it was just that I was caught up in the music and didn't care...who knows?!

I don't really like walking on the treadmill, to be honest with you. I'd rather be outdoors but we don't have anywhere suitable to walk near my home. To compensate for this, I fake myself out. I have a huge canvas of one of my photos hanging smack dab in front of my treadmill. It's a photo I took while in Alaska of the snow covered Mt. Denali (formerly known as Mt. McKinley.) As I'm walking, I imagine myself climbing slowly and surely up that mountain. When I look at those snow covered peaks, I can't help but think about the sheer determination of mountain climbers. They know their sport is dangerous. They know one mistake could take them to their death and yet, they do it anyway...the conquest of the mountain takes precedence. They move forward one icy step at a time. They just do it.

I'd like to think I have the determination and dedication to do what I have to do now to stay alive. I know it won't be easy but I'm not giving up without a fight. Before cancer, I never thought I'd have to fight to stay alive and now, it's all I think about. I want to live so I have to fight, and if fighting means I have to exercise every day of my life to keep my body from producing excess Estrogen, then I'll just have to come to terms with that. Hey, if I do it long enough, I might even begin to enjoy it, but until then, I'm going to JUST DO IT! Thanks, Nike.

 "I discipline my body like an athlete training it to do what it must do." 1 Corinthians 9:27

© bonnie annis all rights reserved

Learning to accept my physical limitations

Boy, cancer has taught me many things over the last year and it continues to teach me even today. The lessons aren't always pleasant or easy, but they are valuable. My current lesson is learning how to face and accept my physical limitations.

Yesterday, I decided to reupholster my dining room chairs. Although I'd only had them a year, the original fabric was showing some signs of wear. Since I'm always looking for a new project to do,
voilà! So, I headed to the fabric store in search of the perfect material.

Perusing the aisles, I found a beautiful olive green upholstery fabric that would match the green in my Persian wool rug. I was thankful the material was on sale, because the original price tag indicated it was $49.99 a yard! The current sale listed the fabric at 50% off! Since  the upholstery fabric was almost 5 feet wide, I only needed 2 yards to cover 6 chairs. At the counter, when I went to check out, the store manager saw me frantically searching my cell phone for a coupon. She told me if I visited their website, I'd find an additional "20% off your entire purchase" coupon available. I snatched that coupon in a hurry and saved a whopping 70% off my fabric...WOOHOO! 

When I got home, I couldn't wait to get started on my project. I asked my husband if he'd help by taking the seats out of the chairs for me. I knew I wasn't going to be able to twist and turn the screwdriver to remove all the screws in 6 chairs. He was so sweet to help and had the chair bottoms removed in a flash. 

Taking the huge bolt of fabric, my husband helped me lay the fabric out on the living room floor. It was the only place I could think of to maneuver, measure, and cut. I took the first seat and lay it on the upholstery fabric measuring the length and width carefully. Next, I began cutting 6 pieces of fabric. After I had all the fabric pieces completed, I began to work on the first chair. 

Reupholstering chair seats is fairly easy. I've done it many times before and planned to complete all 6 chairs in just an hour or so. A staple gun helped make the work quick but as I began pulling and tugging on the fabric to stretch it into place, I realized it wasn't going to be as easy as I thought. It was challenging to press down hard on the end of the staple gun while holding the thick upholstery fabric in place. The first several shots were misfires...the staples either didn't go in all the way or were bent. It was going to take a lot more pressure to get them in properly, so I kneeled over and put as much weight as I could on the end of the gun. Pressing more firmly allowed the staples to penetrate the fabric more easily. 

I worked for about 30 minutes on the first seat. I found myself struggling to get through it. My arms were swelling quickly and I just didn't have the strength to continue. I took a break and rested. It was so frustrating to realize I just didn't have the ability to do the things I used to do. I felt like a weakling...a failure. I shouldn't have to be resting after only working on one seat cushion. 

Talking with my husband, I shared my disappointment. He reassured me that I would get the project done eventually. I might not get all the chair cushions covered in one day, like I had planned, but I could do one or two. 

I'm a type A personality so I like to finish things I start and finish them quickly. I have a hard time admitting defeat. I didn't like having to take a break and prop my arms up to reduce the swelling. I felt like a spoiled rotten little kid who didn't get her way. I wanted to stamp my feet and shout, "no fair!" Instead, I sat in my recliner, with pillows under each arm, until the swelling went down. As soon as it did, I got back down on the floor to complete another chair. 

It wasn't easy to accept the defeat of not completing the entire set of chairs in one day, but at least I got two covered. My husband screwed the seats back into place and we both sat back to marvel at how nice they looked. I was pleased with my work and although I would have preferred to have been looking at 6 completed chairs, 2 was okay for today. I knew I had done all I could do. I couldn't have done more even if I'd pushed myself. My body was worn out. 

I'm making progress! Slowly, but surely, I'm realizing I have to make concessions and listen to my body. I'll admit, sometimes I don't like it. I know it isn't wise to press beyond my limitations. I've learned what happens when I do that and I always suffer afterwards. I'd rather take things a little slower and make steady progress than cause myself undue pain. I guess that's a sign of maturity and it's high time I grow up a little, even if I don't really want to!

© bonnie annis all rights reserved

Throwing inhibition to the wind

I used to be ultra modest. I was probably so modest that most would have even called me a prude. I used to get undressed in my closet when I was growing up because I shared a room with my sister and I didn't want anyone, not even my sister, to see me without clothes on.

I have no idea when I became so concerned with my body image. Perhaps it was when I began to go through puberty. I do remember feeling really strange as my mother talked to me about the physical changes I'd begin to go through, and I think I remember fourth grade being the point of no return...

Through my teenage years and even into my married life, I've remained very self conscious about my body. When I was in Girl Scouts, I always made sure to undress in the bathroom or in the darkness of my tent. I'd wiggle way down into my sleeping bag and somehow manage to remove my clothes and slip into my pajamas. When I was invited to sleepovers with my friends, I never removed my clothing in front of them. I always made some excuse to slip into another room where I could have privacy. You'd think by the time I was married, I would have lost my modesty, wouldn't you? But, no...I continued my routine of dressing and undressing in the bathroom or under cover of darkness. My modesty grew into inhibition and while I knew it was odd behavior, I continued to do it.

So when did I throw inhibition to the wind? I'd have to say about 3 months after my double mastectomy. Right after surgery, I still tried to cover myself and keep people from seeing my hideous scars, but as I found myself in the midst of treatment and constantly having to remove my top, I had my AHA moment! It was as if a lightening bolt struck me smack dab on the head..."why are you so concerned? You don't have any boobs any longer! There's nothing to see!" At that point, I realized there was freedom in being able to remove my blouse without fear or dread.

I'm no longer embarrassed when medical staff ask me to undress in front of them. In all actuality, I just whip off my shirt and sit there topless, without a care in the world, while they talk to me. It feels a little strange to be so comfortable in my own skin, but without breasts, I have nothing to hide. My scars are my battle wounds. They are evidence that I've been through a horrible war and they are my badges of honor. I'm proud of them! Yes, if you were to see them, you'd probably cringe. They aren't pretty by any means. They're very ugly...about 12 inches long, angry reddish purple, about a half inch or more in width...can you get a good visual of the surgeon's scalpel slicing across my chest? I'm sure you get the idea by now. So how have I been able to become so bold in revealing my skin when I used to be so insecure and inhibited? I can think of no other way than God.

God has given me the freedom to accept myself just as I am. When I first went through surgery, I was horrified. I had to make myself look at my body about a week after my scars had begun to heal. I was terrified to look down at my chest and see that I'd been robbed of my femininity. But over the months, as my scars and my emotions have healed, God has done a wonderful thing! He's even given me a sense of humor about it all. Take today, for instance.

I had an appointment with the dentist. I'd had one earlier in the year and had cancelled it because I just didn't quite feel up to going to yet another medical appointment. My teeth needed to be cleaned and I knew I was going to have to keep this appointment, so I began to get ready. I took a shower and put on my makeup. Before I got dressed, I stood looking at myself in the mirror...should I, or shouldn't I? I stood there wondering whether or not to wear my FOOBS (my fake boobs, my silicone girls). I was feeling pretty good and I hadn't taken them out in a while, so I opted to wear them. I went into my bedroom and carefully lifted them out of their boxes (the little pink, round, hatboxes they'd given me at the prosthetic store). "Come on girls, we're goin' for a spin," I said as I slid them into my mastectomy bra. I slipped first one strap, then the other over my shoulders and carefully reached around to fasten the clasp. I slipped on my blouse, pants, and shoes. I grabbed my purse, cell phone and keys and headed out the door.

As I was driving to the dentist's office, I listened to the radio. It was a beautiful day. I was happy that I felt good. Good days are few and far between lately, but I've been getting some good sleep thanks to the Ambien my doctor just prescribed, and it's making a difference. I pulled into the parking lot and got out of the car. As I reached for the door to his office, I remembered that his staff hadn't seen me in almost a year.

When I walked up to the receptionist's counter, the front office staff greeted me happily. "Hi, Mrs. Annis! How are you? It's good to see you!" (I'd become sort of a celebrity since they'd last seen me. One of the local reporters had done a piece on breast cancer awareness in October and had done a full page spread on me and my story. There were photos and interviews with my family members. Almost everyone in our town had seen it.) I smiled back at them and returned their greetings. When they asked how I was doing, I grinned and said, "fantastic, and I even wore my boobs for you today!" Yes, I'd say I've thrown inhibition to the wind...no more modesty for me! I guess that could be a good thing or maybe even a bad thing, at times...."

The receptionist was taken aback by my statement and then she laughed and said, "you didn't have to wear your boobs just for us...in fact, next time, feel free not to wear them." "I just might do that," I told her...freedom...AHHHH!

© bonnie annis all rights reserved

The healing power of touch

Have you ever received a hug during a time where you felt stressed? Perhaps you received a handshake after an important meeting or just cuddled with your spouse at the end of the day. How did you feel? Were you able to let go of some stress? Did you find yourself starting to unwind and relax a little? Could you feel the negativity and worry in your day start to slip away? If you did, you experienced the healing power of touch. 

Did you know that researchers are investigating whether this feel-good energy, the kind we experience during gentle touch, has an impact on our well-being. They have discovered when we experience friendly, affectionate touch, our bodies release Oxytocin. Oxytocin is sometimes called the love hormone. This hormone can help lower blood pressure, decrease the stress-related hormone Cortisol and increasing pain tolerance. 

One of my favorite ways to show love to my family was through the power of physical touch. In my office, I set up a massage table. Beside it, I placed a portable CD player and some massage oils. Whenever my husband or children were feeling stressed, I'd offer to give them a massage. Quietly I would set up my room by dimming the light or closing the blinds. I'd put some soft instrumental music into the CD player and warm the massage oils. I wanted their experience to be as pleasant as possible. 

When I began to massage my first "client," I could feel the tension and stress in the muscles. I always began with a soft, gentle touch and then used more firm pressure as I went along. I could see the muscles begin to lengthen and stretch as they were gently massaged. Talking in low, soothing tones, I would ask for guidance in problem areas. After about an hour, I had completed the massage and my "client" was either sound asleep or so relaxed he/she could hardly move off the table. I enjoyed giving the gift of my touch to them but I never received a massage in return. 

After my surgery, I was unable to give massages any longer due to the Lymphedema in my arms so I gave my massage table away. The kids were disappointed and I was too. No longer would I be able to give them free stress relieving massages. They'd have to go elsewhere. And as I was healing from surgery, I began to realize how much my body ached...and then, it dawned on me! I had never even had a massage myself!

While I was healing, my family members knew to be very gentle with me. Hugs, when  given, were extremely light - barely even felt. My body longed for physical touch but while my surgical scars were mending, I didn't receive any. 

The first time I felt like having a back rub was about 6 months after surgery. The muscles in my back were screaming out in agony and I begged my husband for a mini massage. He was so afraid he was going to hurt me. Gently, he applied lotion between my shoulder blades. As he began smoothing the lotion into my skin, I began to cry. Immediately, he asked, "am I hurting you?" I shook my head, no, as he continued to work. I explained to him that I was crying because the physical touch felt so soothing and it had been so long since I'd had anyone touch me at all. It was at that point that I realized how very powerful touch can be. 

Studies have been done on infants who were deprived of physical touch. Those infants became lonely, isolated and troublesome children. This lack of physical affection often led to emotional disturbances, hyperactivity, aggressive behavior and conduct disorder problems while infants who received daily touch thrived. There have also been studies performed on the elderly and infirm. The same types of behaviors were noted in the elderly as in the deprived infants. Hospitals and nursing homes where the older patients did not receive regular physical touch withdrew, isolated themselves, or became aggressive. 

The skin is the biggest, most important organ of our bodies. It contains millions of sensory nerve endings and those nerve endings help protect us as they indicate sensations like heat, cold, and touch. It seems that as we experience touch, we focus on the feeling, warmth and relaxation it provides instead of focusing on any worries, anxieties or pain. Any time we can refocus our mind to a relaxing place it has a positive effect on the body. 

AT&T used to have a slogan, "reach out and touch someone." While their catchy slogan seems to indicate physical touch, instead, it was referring to communication via telephone. Their slogan, is an important one with regard to physical touch too! Our bodies desire physical touch. Have you ever been standing face to face with someone, while having a nice conversation, and the person lightly reached out and touched your arm? What did you do? Did you recoil in disgust? Did you do nothing and continue talking? The way you responded speaks volumes about your reaction to touch. 

There are both good and bad touches in our world today. Physical and sexual abuse are forms of bad touches. But the touches our bodies crave are those touches that are filled with love and concern....caring touches. Are you a touch-y feel-y kind of person? Do you find yourself placing your hand on someone's shoulder as you console them? Do you extend your hand in greeting? Explore adding more touch to your day. You can do this by reaching out to friends and family members as you talk or greet each other. If you feel comfortable, add a little touch to the arm or a short hug as you first see them. Hold your grandchildren in your lap or snuggle close while you read together. Hold hands or walk arm in arm with the one you love — it all makes such a difference. 

There is healing power in touch...it's a kind of magical power. God has given us the desire to touch and be touched. To those experiencing physical pain, a light, gentle touch can often convey so much without the addition of words. I know for myself, physical touch is one of my love languages. It's one of the ways I receive and express love to others. 

When extending the gift of touch to someone with cancer, be aware that many times their bodies are hypersensitive. This hypersensitivity can come from cancer treatments like chemotherapy or radiation. Be attentive to what they say as well as to what you observe. It is best to ask before touching. The patient may have fresh scars or burns from radiation. Being sensitive to their physical and emotional needs, you can discern whether physical touch would be welcomed or best left to a family member's attentive hands. Many cancer wellness centers offer healing touch therapy. A licensed massage therapist has been specifically trained in dealing with cancer patients and their physical limitations. Specific treatments for manual lymphatic drainage and other specialized massage techniques are best left to the professionals. 

Remember, physical touch can be a blessing when shared at the proper time. Light, gentle touches are best. Don't be afraid to touch, but if in doubt, as permission first! 

© bonnie annis all rights reserved

The fight continues

If you've been following my blog since its inception, you'll remember that I was diagnosed with Stage 2B Invasive Ductal Carcinoma on June 5, 2014. On July 9, 2014, I had both breasts removed as well as 6 lymph nodes (because the cancer had traveled from my breast into my lymphatic system through one sentinel node) - 4 in the right arm and 2 in the left. The type cancer I had was fed by both Estrogen and Progesterone and was not fed by the Her2Neu hormone. (If you are familiar with medical staging, my diagnosis is listed as pT2, pN1a, MX, ER/PR+/Her2Neu-  (That, in a nutshell, means exactly what I told you from the first sentence to the last.)

After my surgery, I went through therapy which consisted of 28 rounds of radiation. My Oncotype DX, the test used to determined the probability of recurrence, was a 7 out of 100 which indicated a very low recurrence rate although my cancer was very agressive. I took that specific number, the number 7, as a sign from God that my dealings with cancer were complete (because 7 is the Biblical number of completion) and I was sure that my medical treatments were over and God had completely healed my body.

My Oncologist wanted me to start on the routine post surgical chemo treatment and prescribed Arimidex to be taken daily. Although I believed my cancer to be already completely gone, in order to be proactive, I followed doctor's orders and started taking the medication. I took it for 2 weeks and became extremely ill. Every bone and joint in my body felt like they were on fire and I could barely walk across the room. I instantly knew that medication was not going to work for me and told the doctor. He promptly prescribed the old tried and true breast cancer drug, Tamoxifen, and asked me to take it for a while. (I was told I'd be on chemo meds for the next 10 years. In the past, treatment was only given for 5 years but recent research, it was found that 10 years offered more protection from recurrence.) Once again, I followed doctor's orders and took the Tamoxifen. After two weeks and countless side effects, I decided to stop taking the Tamoxifen and take a more natural route to proactive treatment for healing. I told my oncologist about my decision and cringed awaiting his response. Instead of berating me and telling me to find a new physician, he smiled and said he'd support me in whatever I decided to do. Thus my quest for natural ways to combat cancer began.

I began pouring over internet articles, medical journals, and holistic healing manuals. I read countless blogs and real life accounts of other breast cancer survivors. I took every bit of information I could and recorded those various tidbits in a journal. One by one, I researched them. I discarded the "off the wall, way out in left field" treatment suggestions, and I've kept the documented, "proven" options.

In March, after completing the trials of chemo drugs, I began my journey to better health by also making drastic changes to my diet. After reading "Beating Cancer with Nutrition" by Dr. Patrick Quillen, I discovered many documented nutritional supplements that not only promoted good health, but possessed cancer fighting properties. I'd like to share those with you in hopes that they will bless someone else as they begin their own cancer journey.

One of the main things I learned from reading Dr. Quillen's book is that SUGAR FEEDS CANCER CELLS. Oh how I hated to learn that fact. My oncologist agreed with Dr. Quillen's research and said since the cancer I was diagnosed with was fed by Estrogen, I would have to be diligent in losing as much weight as possible. When I asked him why, he told me that fat cells produced Estrogen and Estrogen fed the cancer. And where do you think fat cells come from??? Fat cells are formed when we ingest TOO MUCH SUGAR! The body stores that extra sugar or glucose in our cells and those expanded cells show up on our bodies as, you guessed it, FAT. So, as much as I love ice cream and brownies, they were going to have to disappear from my diet.

When I returned to see my oncologist the following month, he sat down with me and we discussed what I was doing to stay healthy. I watched his face as I rattled off each supplement, each nutrient, and each weapon I was using in my fight. I think he was impressed that I'd done extensive research. Many of the tools I'd chosen were ones he was very familiar with but then, there were a few he was unfamiliar with and wanted more information on.

Some of my family members were concerned that I'd chosen to "go natural" in my approach to fighting cancer and others were behind me 100%. For me, it only made sense to follow a holistic approach. I'm a firm believer that God has given us everything we need for healing of any disease or malady through His gifts in nature.

Below, you'll find a list of things currently in my arsenal. While these things are currently working for me, I want to add a disclaimer here and encourage you to discuss any natural healing therapies with your physician should you wish to include any of these in your own health regimen.

My daily cancer fighting regimen:

• Organic Matcha green tea (green tea has been used for centuries in China and Japan for fighting cancer)
• Supplements - Vitamin C (tricks the cancer cells into thinking they're getting glucose but helps destroy the cells instead of feeding them), Vitamin B 12 (for energy), Vitamin D and Calcium, Fish oil (helps line the cell membranes and lower blood glucose by making insulin more effective) Probiotics and Greek Yogurt (helps create and maintain healthy bacteria in the stomach and intestines), Chlorophyll capsules, Ashwaghanda capsules
• Water and lots of it! (filtered of course) Lemon added helps flush toxins from the body
• Protein (60-100 grams of lean protein a day)
• Deep colored fruits and vegetables (if not organic, I wash them well in a vinegar/water solution and try to eat all with outer skin intact instead of removed because this is where the nutrients and vitamins are located.)
• Cinnamon added to foods helps stabilize blood sugar levels 
• Exercise (walking is my exercise of choice but anything that allows your body to take in more oxygen the better. Cancer cells are anaerobic so the more oxygen you can pump into your system, the more the cancer cells don't like it!)
• Tomatoes (they contain Lycopene which helps suppress cancer growth.)
• Berries like blueberries, raspberries, and blackberries (they contain Ellagic acid which helps kill cancer cells)
• No sugar! Instead, I use Stevia which comes from a natural plant. Honey and even Raw Cane Sugar turn into glucose in your body.
• Fiber (I try to eat as much fiber as I can naturally but when I can't, I take a daily supplement like Citrucel or Metamucil.)
• Garlic (it contains natural antibiotic properties so I use it in most of my cooking and even eat it raw)
• Spices that help fight cancer: Curry, Ginger, Mustard
• Good oils: Olive Oil, Coconut Oil, Evening Primrose Oil
• Eliminate stress (if you can't remove the stress from your life, remove yourself from the stressful situation! Stress is a cancer instigator!)
• Detox (I try to Detox my body by fasting at least one day a week or if not for a full day, for at least 2 meals of the day.)
• And last, but by no means least, prayer. Praying and focusing on God are my number one weapon against cancer, but I listed them last so you'd be sure to remember them. 

I have to give you a little science/history lesson before I end my blog post today. Hippocrates was a Greek physician of the Age of Pericles, and is considered one of the most outstanding figures in the history of medicine. He is referred to as the "Father of Western Medicine," and is famous for the "Hippocratic Oath." He learned medicine from both his father and his grandfather. He believed doctors should analyze symptoms on a case-by-case basis, instead of having blanket causes and/or cures for each disease. Hippocrates is known for many famous quotations. Among them are these two: "It is necessary for a physician to know about nature, and be very eager to know, if he is going to perform any of his duties... what man is in relation to what he eats and drinks, and in relation to his habits generally, and what will be the effect of each upon each individual" and “Let food be thy medicine and medicine be thy food.”

My great Aunt was a Naturopath so I guess the study of natural healing is just in my blood. Doesn't it just make sense to use food to heal our bodies? After all, God made our bodies complex, with all of the wonderful, marvelous systems in place, so we would be able to process and digest food while taking in all of the valuable nutrients from what we ingested. If we lived back in Biblical times, when people lived as hunter/gatherers, we'd have the most natural form of fruits, vegetables, and the most organic forms of meats and fish. But today, with all the chemicals and pesticides that smother our produce and poison our water sources, it's no wonder we face a myriad of diseases and illnesses. We must be responsible for our own health, to the extent we can be.

For the breast cancer survivor, it seems scary to step out of the regimented routine of medical advice and trek out into the world of natural healing. For some, it may seem impossible but for others, like me, it makes the most sense of all. As Cicero once said, "Suum Cuique." (Which means: to each his own.) Each patient/survivor must carefully consider his/her diagnosis and discuss options with his/her physician to make the most informed, best choice that can be made. I'd like to encourage those traveling the breast cancer journey to consider taking the natural route if it's at all possible for you. I am so thankful I realized I had a right to make the choice I made. You have a right, too. Do your research. Ask questions. Don't just feel like you have to accept the standard, routine method of treatment. It's your body. Once again, in the famous words of Hippocrates, "Let food be thy medicine and medicine be they food."

May you live long and prosper (thanks, Spock!)

©bonnie annis all rights reserved

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