Practical love

Standing in the bathroom, I pulled out the hair dryer and began to dry my sopping wet hair. We had company coming and I was hurrying to get ready. For me, it's a chore to dry my hair. I don't have a lot of hair, and it isn't long...that's not the problem at all. My problem lies in my swollen arms. Even at this early hour, the Lymphedema makes little things challenging.

"Let me do it, " my husband said as he walked up behind me and took the hair dryer from me. He had seen me struggling. As his big, manly hands took control of the hot pink hair dryer, I looked up at him and smiled. Here was my 6 foot 4 husband playing hair stylist. He'd never done this before in over 22 years of marriage, but he knew there was a need and his love prompted him to act. 

I love it when God shows up during acts of practical love! As my husband was blowing my hair around, I didn't have the heart to tell him I usually styled my hair with a round brush while drying it. I was just so overwhelmed that he actually wanted to help me that I didn't care one tiny bit how he was doing it. I watched him in the mirror as he continued to shake my hair with one hand, moving the strands around gently, as he blew with the other. The determination on his face was priceless. I could almost see the love pouring out of him.

When he was through, he looked at my hair and asked if it was okay. I looked up at him and grinned. He'd done a perfect job! No, my hair wasn't styled like I usually style it, but that's okay. What mattered more was the love that gone into that styling job! If I'd gone to a salon for a blow out, they would have charged $20! No amount of money on earth could have bought the tender love and affection my husband had put into this fifteen minute time slot. 

He walked back into the living room to watch his television show and left me standing there in front of the mirror. As I looked at my reflection, tears welled up in my eyes. How many men would have taken time to notice their wife was having difficulty doing such a simple task as drying their hair? I bet not many, but since my surgery and my problems with Lymphedema, my sweet husband has become my knight in shining armor. There's no task too small in his eyes. Whatever he can do to help, he does. And the things he does...he does purely out of love. A real practical, everyday love for me. 

I am so blessed! My hot pink hair dryer sits in the caddy on the bathroom counter now. It's quiet and cool just waiting for the next blow dry opportunity to come along. I know it won't always happen, but whenever my adoring husband offers to dry my hair again, I'm going to let him. It felt pretty good to be pampered today and it felt even better to feel so very loved. 

My arms thanked him because they were so swollen and made movement difficult. Sure, I could have pushed through the pain and gone ahead and dried my hair like I always do, but today, I let love take over. Practical love. 

We all have opportunities to show our love to each other in practical ways. Have you looked for a way to step in and bless someone you love? You never know when the opportunity will present itself and when it does, you have to be ready...listen for that little God whisper that says "why don't you _________ and show _______ your love for him/her right now? That little nudge may be all it takes to present love in a practical way and it will affect the recipient as much or more than it affects you, I promise!

©bonnie annis all rights reserved

Prayers for healing answered!

Me inside the PET scan machine

This morning I was on the phone with one of my daughters and noticed another call coming in. The caller I.D. told me it was Dr. S, my radiation oncologist. Hurriedly, I got off the phone with my daughter and switched over to take the other call. Robin, the nurse at the oncology clinic, told me she had the results of the PET scan I had done yesterday. It was really funny, I didn't feel myself automatically brace for bad news like I would have done in the past. I listened intently as she told me the PET scan showed ABSOLUTELY NOTHING! I made her repeat herself to make sure I'd heard her clearly. I questioned her, "Nothing...what about the mass on the L-5 vertebrae that the MRI picked up. Dr. S told me she'd had 2 other radiologists read the report too and they'd all concurred that it was suspicious." "Nothing," said Robin, "absolutely nothing!" I was ecstatic!!!! God had given me a MIRACLE!

If you tell someone you've received a miracle, instantly they look at you like you're crazy! It's hard for some people to understand and accept the fact that God is still a God of miracles. There are those who believe that yes, God performed miracles back in Bible times, but surely not today...why not? Why can't they believe it? God says in His Word that He is the same yesterday, today, and forever. He says He doesn't change. So, that tells me, if He performed miracles in Biblical times, He performs them today. 

Now the Bible says, Faith is the evidence of things not seen and I have chosen to live my life walking by faith. God has proved to me over and over again that He is trustworthy. He understands and knows every single aspect of my life and He really cares. It's not hard to walk by faith when you have clear evidence that you can trust God. Those who haven't experienced that kind of track record aren't so easy to teach the concept of faith.

When my family and friends began praying for me yesterday, why would I not expect to receive good results? The Bible says, the prayers of a righteous man availeth much. And it didn't even matter how many people were praying (although I think I had a small army lined up). It wouldn't have mattered if only one was praying and if that one person had been me. The Bible tells me that God hears our prayers and He answers them according to His will. 

I can only imagine the stunned look on the doctor's face as she read the radiology report from the PET scan. She had seen, with her own two eyes, the mass on the L-5 vertebrae last week. She'd even been so concerned over it, that she'd called in 2 other doctors to review the film. 3 doctors had seen the mass and called it suspicious...NOW IT WAS COMPLETELY GONE!!!  That was God. It couldn't have been anything else. Some folks might say, oh, there must have been some logical reason behind it. Maybe it was a smudge on the viewing box or maybe it was something that dissolved on its own. I don't think so. I believe in miracles.

It's been hard getting some of my family members to understand the reasoning behind my choosing not to take the prescribed anti-hormone therapy medication. But, as I've said in the past, I prayed about it and I felt a complete peace and assurance at my decision. I chose to go the natural route and enjoy a good quality of life that includes being free from cancer. Some of them just don't understand and want me to immediately start taking the medication now. They say I've just been lucky so far, that I've just "dodged a bullet" this time around but I don't believe in luck. Why should I take chemicals that will poison my body and make me feel terrible?

As I was praising and thanking God this morning for this wonderful news, He pointed me to Psalm 66:10 which says "For You, O God, have proved us; You have tried us as silver is tried, refined,and purified." I firmly believe God has used this cancer ordeal, over the last year, to refine me and make me more Christlike. I have learned so much from going through the fiery ordeal of cancer. If you've read my blog since it's inception, you're familiar with my feelings on this, but if you haven't...all I can say is cancer has been a blessing. I don't say that flippantly! Last year was the hardest year of my life but, I can say it has been a blessing because of all the things it's taught me. Even if I could, I would not have changed one thing because, the lessons I learned from going through all the pain and suffering I experienced were worth it. And it's still not over. I still experience daily pain as a result from the surgery, but I fight through it in His strength. 

God used the fire of cancer to heat up my life and cause the ugly impurities to rise to the surface where He could scoop them off and away from my life. What many thought was a broken and bruised incomplete woman has turned into a more deliberate, more intentional, woman of God. Not many get to experience such loving tenderness from God but I am so very thankful He chose me to refine and purify. 

Oh yes, the process hurt...more than you'll ever know but oh, how loving and kind God was to me during this time. He drew me closer and closer to Him. He taught me to lean into Him and to rest assuredly on Him in all things. He taught me that He can use ugliness and make it beautiful. He can take brokenness and make it whole again. He uses all things for His purposes. 

If you know me, you know I'm very visual, so right now, I'd like to take you through a portion of one of my earlier blog posts. In that post, I wrote about the art of Kintsugi. It's a Japanese art form but I think it's relevant for my post today, too. Here's an excerpt: (You can read it in its entirety here if you'd like to do so.)

There's an ancient Japanese story that tells about a Sakai tea man who found a brilliant Chinese tea jar. He was so pleased with his find that he invited the famed tea man Sen no Rikyu to a gathering of friends to show off the beautiful piece. But to the Sakai man’s amazement, when he served tea in the lovely piece, Sen no Rikyu paid no mind to the jar. Once Sen no Rikyu left, the Sakai man threw the tea jar against a wall, shattering it into pieces. His friends gathered the fragments and took them home where they mended the jar back together with gold lacquer. The same friends then invited Sen no Rikyu to a gathering of their own where they offered him tea in the mended jar. When Rikyu saw the mended tea jar he exclaimed, “Now the piece is magnificent!” 

Some link this story to the birth of “kintsugi”, an ancient Japanese art which translates, “patch with gold.” Kintsugi artists mend broken pieces of ceramics and pottery using gold lacquer, making the pieces more striking and unique than when they were pulled from the wheel or kiln. In a modern culture that often grades wholeness through the lens of perfection, Kintsugi offers a different perspective.

The art of Kintsugi rests in the truth that vessels are stronger and more magnificent because they have been made whole from brokenness, not because they are without imperfection. Each vessel—and every one of our lives—can tell a unique story if we no longer feel we must hide the scarred parts of our lives. “We want to be restored to health, but we don’t simply want what we once were. We want to be better, stronger, wiser for the pain, struggle, and sacrifice.”

Isn’t this the wholeness that we truly seek? We want to be restored to health, but we don’t simply want what we once were. We want to be better, stronger, wiser for the pain, struggle, and sacrifice. We want our scars to shimmer like gold and tell a beautiful story: namely, that what is broken can be whole again, and more beautiful than before. 

That broken vase, the art of Kintsugi, my scars from surgery...all of those tie in together. Breaking isn't something we ever intend to have happen but sometimes, it just does. We can let the brokenness make us bitter or make us better. We can throw away the chipped pieces or gently try to repair them. It's our choice. If we choose to fit the pieces back together again, the scars become part of the beautiful story of a damaged but restored life. This is where I am now. My body has been broken and while I can't fit the pieces back together again, I can allow the scars to be a precious reminder of everything I've been through. They can be a constant reminder that I am still living....that I am still fighting...that I am so blessed. 

So you see, God used the ugly, brokenness of breast cancer to show me His love for me. He used it to refine me and remove things in my life that didn't need to be there. He used it to teach me more about loving others. And that is why I am so grateful He chose to give me complete healing! What a wonderful picture of His love for me! He loved me so much that He cleansed me from the damaged cancer cells that had invaded my body and made it whole again!

Yes, I still have scars from the painful surgery I went through but they are battle scars! The victory has been won! Christ won it for me at Calvary when He took my sins and bore them on the cross. My small suffering, my pain, pale in comparison to what He did for me there. 

Oh, dear reader! Can you see it? Can you feel it? Can you understand the overwhelming joy He's given me? I hope you've been able to feel just a tiny bit of what I've tried to convey. Remember those few paragraphs above that talked about the art of Kintsugi? The brokenness of my life has been woven back together by the beautiful golden thread of God's love. I am whole again. If you look closely, you can see the broken places, but focus more intently and your eyes drift immediately to the brilliant gold of His grace. 

Won't you celebrate with me today? I'm so overjoyed that I'm dancing! In Ecclesiastes, the Bible tells us there is a time to dance! Believe me, that day, for me, is today!

© bonnie annis all rights reserved 

PET SCAN

Today, I had my very first P.E.T. scan. I was nervous about it because I didn't know what to expect. As always, when I don't have all the information I need, I GOOGLE.

Google says: A positron emission tomography (PET) scan is an imaging test that allows doctors to check for disease in your body. The scan uses radioactive tracers in a special dye. These tracers are injected into a vein in your arm and are then absorbed by your organs and tissues. When highlighted under a PET scanner, the tracers allow doctors to see how well your organs and tissues are working. The PET scan is able to measure blood flow, oxygen use, glucose metabolism (how your body uses sugar), and much more.

My sweet Laura had come over last night with Heather. Since my appointment was for 10:00 a.m. she figured it would be wise to come spend the night so we could get up early and make the appointment on time. I know it's a huge sacrifice for Laura to pack up all of Heather's things and come over here. It disrupts their schedule and their family time, but never once has Laura complained. She's a real trooper.

We got up early this morning, showered, and they had breakfast. I was instructed not to eat anything before the test. I hadn't had anything since last night at 6 p.m. when I drank a protein shake and I was famished, but I knew if I broke even one of the rules that had been given to me in preparation for the test, I'd be back at square one.

About 9:15 a.m. Laura began loading up the car. She had to transfer Heather's car seat into my car and make sure it was in securely. Finally we got on the road and headed toward Sharpsburg. When we arrived at the Piedmont Medical building, I checked in and began filling out paperwork.

Soon a nurse called me back and Laura took Heather to do a little shopping while they waited on me. I had to have my finger pricked so they could check my blood glucose level. If it was too high, they wouldn't be able to administer the test. Mine was fine and I was told I'd get the radioactive glucose formula in a few minutes.

Another nurse came down the hall wearing a lead shield. She was pushing a small table with a lead cylinder on it. When she stopped in front of the lab, she careful opened the lead cylinder and removed the radioactive infusion. It was so strange...like something out of a Sci-Fi movie, an antidote for some deadly disease.

The lab nurse found a vein in my arm and inserted a saline flush. After the saline had flushed freely through the vein, she inserted the radioactive material. While she was doing it, she said, "now don't you worry. This won't make you feel differently at all." So I took her at her word and just relaxed. When she was done, the nurse led me to a "quiet room."

The quiet room was a very small room with a recliner, a small lamp, and a call button in it. The nurse helped me into the recliner and adjusted my feet and head the way I wanted them then brought in a heated blanket. She told me I'd have to sit there for 45 minutes and while I was sitting, I wasn't supposed to do a thing. Well...I cheated. I couldn't help but slip out my cell phone and take my very first radioactive selfie shot!

I sat there for what seemed to be hours and counting holes in the ceiling tiles, noted the paint color, the number of receptacles on the wall...I did any and everything to be still and quiet. I was so thankful when a knock came at the door and I was told they were ready for me.

A young nurse named Jennifer took me down the hall to the imaging room. She helped me get positioned on the table and put a wedge under my knees. She explained the PET scan would last about 30 minutes and I would need to stay as still as possible. It was freezing in the room and I told the nurse I didn't think I could stay still because when I'm cold, my teeth chatter and my legs shake.  She went to the warmer and pulled out 2 heated blankets and put them on me. Ahhhhh! It felt so good.

Lying on the table, I was thankful Dr. S had prescribed those anti-anxiety pills for me. Even though the opening on the PET scan wasn't as small as the one on the MRI, I felt anxious about being put inside it. As the table began to move forward, the nurse slipped into a glass booth just off the side of the room. She told me to call out if I needed anything.

I could barely hear a slight whirring sound as the table moved slowly into the machine for scanning. I noticed it paused on one area for a little while and then the table would  move forward again about another foot or so and the same process would be repeated. This was done down the entire length of my body.

Scan's all done!

When the test was over, the table slid out of the machine and a nurse was there to help me up. I asked her if she'd mind taking a photo of me because I was trying to document my entire journey. She laughed and said she'd be glad to do it. I asked her when she thought I'd hear back from the doctor and she said it would probably be tomorrow. I'm anxious to know the results of the test. I've had all my friends praying for me so I'm really hoping for some good news.

On the way home from the medical center. I had to stay away from Heather. She's only 2 and she doesn't need to be exposed to radiation. When we got inside the house and were ready to each lunch, I went into the formal dining room and let them eat in the kitchen. The nurse had warned me to stay away from small children for the next 24 hours because I'll still be radioactive. I hated that because I usually hug my little Heatherbug goodbye. This time, all I got to do was wave to her.

I'm so thankful for Laura's sweet spirit and her willingness to help in any way she can. She has such a huge servant's heart. I'm also thankful for all my friends who have committed to pray for me. I really could feel their prayers today. It was as if there was a sweet peace surrounding me all day long and I know that was from all the prayers going up for me.

I know God has something in store for me. The Bible tells me He does:

"For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future." Jeremiah 29:11

Now all I can do is wait and see what it is!

©bonnie annis all rights reserved

Talley Ho! Onward we go!

Anyone who's known me long enough knows I love profound quotations. I'm always looking for good ones to store in my memory bank. I find them from well loved and well known people. I gather them from books and movies and sometimes, even from conversations I hear. This one was perfect for today:

“Go back?" he thought. "No good at all!
Go sideways? Impossible!
Go forward? Only thing to do! On we go!"
So up he got, and trotted along with his little sword held in front of him and
one hand feeling the wall, and his heart all of a patter and a pitter.”
- J.R.R. Tolkien, The Hobbit

Oh I wish I could just shut my brain off sometimes! It never seems to want to stop processing things even when I lie down to go to sleep...there's a steady stream of thought that continually flows. I've tried for years to turn off my brain so I could get a good night's sleep but most night's it just doesn't happen. Like a leaky faucet, the thoughts slip out one by one. Just the other day I was thinking about all I've been through over the past year and as I was thinking, I really wanted to go back to the way my life was before I was diagnosed with cancer...I mean really! Who wouldn't want that? Before cancer, I had a great life! Oh sure, I had my little aches and pains now and then, but nothing major. Things were rolling along just fine and I was happy. I took a lot for granted back then and didn't even realize it. But today, well, that's a whole other story.

Pain is a great teacher and you can learn a lot from suffering. I'll be honest, I've suffered a great deal over this past year. But in that suffering, I have learned so much and for that I am grateful. God has used the suffering to teach me trust and patience. It hasn't been easy. In fact, there have been some days when I just didn't want to go on at all. This quotation by Charles Dickens says it so well:

“Suffering has been stronger than all other teaching,
and has taught me to understand what your heart used to be.
I have been bent and broken, but - I hope - into a better shape.”
- Charles Dickens, Great Expectations

Even though my body has been broken, I am a much stronger person than I was before. I have a greater resolve and minor things that used to affect me profoundly, don't bother me at all. I would have to say cancer has taught me well.

I thought my journey was winding down and I was coming to a stopping point, but that was before I received the MRI results. I didn't expect anything to show up but it did. It scared me when the doctor told me she'd had 2 other radiologists look at it with her to confirm their suspicions. And now, a PET scan looms over me. Tomorrow is the day. 

As I contemplate what lies before me, I can't help but think of all the possibilities. Today, I am preparing for the scan  and tomorrow morning, I'll be there bright to become radioactive once again. When the nurse called from Piedmont to confirm my appointment, she gave instructions for me to eat a low carb diet today and told me not to do any strenuous activity. That was all she said and I didn't think to ask why before hanging up with her, so today, I got on the internet...you can find answers to just about any question you have on the internet, and I looked up how to prepare for a PET scan. 

It seems before the scan a radioactive tracer is fed into the vein by way of a glucose based serum. As I was reading, it made a little more sense as to why I'd need to be on a low carb diet the day before the test. Carbohydrates turn into sugar in the body and in order to process them, the body has to release insulin. If you're being fed a glucose based serum, having too many carbs in your body could send your blood sugar sky high and that would cause a big problem. I never could find a reason for the low activity level but I assume it has something to do with the glucose/insulin release in the body too. 

While I'm glad my doctor has ordered the PET scan, I'm hesitant to find out the results. I was told last week, after an MRI on my spine, that a new mass had been discovered at the L5 vertebrae. The PET scan is supposed to illuminate any other potential problems in my body. I'm hoping there are no other areas of cancer. I don't want to borrow trouble, but I'm a practical person. I like to prepare for things ahead of time. 

What will I do if the mass on my spine turns out to be cancer? Will they want to do surgery to remove it? Will they suggest chemo or radiation to obliterate it? What will I do if there are more cancerous lesions in my body? Will I be able to handle the news? 

There are so many unknowns and those are the things my mind keeps trying to process, but I know I'm not supposed to worry. Here's a wonderful quotation that I've committed to memory. This quotation is not only a quote, it's also a command from God.

"Have not I commanded you? Be strong and of good courage; be not afraid, neither be dismayed: for the LORD your God is with you wherever you go." Joshua 1:9 The Holy Bible

So  I guess I just need to press on! Talley ho, as they say!  I love that saying. Did you know it dates from around 1772, and is probably derived from the French word "taïaut," a cry used to excite hounds when hunting deer. From sources from the second half of the 13th century, it is from the concatenation of two words forming a war cry : taille haut. "Taille" being the edge of the sword et "haut" translating to high, the original meaning of this interjection is something close to "High the edges of your blades." How appropriate as I prepare for battle again. 

Onward I go, once more into battle. This cancer battle never seems to end. I'll face whatever tomorrow brings in the strength of the Lord. 

Yes, sometimes I wish I could go back in time to my life before I was diagnosed but then again, so much has changed. This quote by Lewis Carroll explains it well:

"But it's no use going back to yesterday, because I was a different person then." - Alice from Lewis Carroll's Alice in Wonderland

© bonnie annis all rights reserved

Detours, Dead Ends, and Dry Holes

In the wee hours of the morning, I find the house completely quiet. In the darkness, I fumble for my cell phone. I keep it in the drawer of my bedside table. I slip it underneath the covers while I turn it on, I know the illumination from the phone would blind my eyes at this hour. As I wait for the phone to power up, I whisper a silent prayer..."God, what do you want to speak to my heart today?"

My phone is ready, so I move the sliders to decrease the brightness and sound. On my home screen, I have the Daily Bible App. I click on it and click on the Devotions tab, then I scroll through the various devotions until I find "Love Worth Finding" by Adrian Rogers. Although he passed away in 2005, this wonderful Southern Baptist pastor has always been one of my favorites.

I search through a list of his devotions and stop on the one I feel God leading me to choose. The devotion is titled "Detours, Dead Ends, and Dry Holes." The focal passages for this devotion are found in Exodus 13, 14, and 15. Pulling the comforter up just a little, I snuggle in to listen.

The past few days have been difficult. I can't help but think of them as the sermon plays on. Though I try to listen intently, I find my mind wandering to the results of my MRI. I wasn't expecting anything to be found and yet, it was. Dr. Rogers is talking about Moses leading the Israelites through the Wilderness. In my mind, I get a visual of them wandering. God didn't take them on the short route. He took them the looooong way around. They wandered for 40 years! I listen as he tells about God providing the pillar of cloud to guide them by day and the pillar of fire to guide them by night, a very familiar passage to me. A tiny thought pops into my mind...my life seems to parallel this sermon. I've felt like I've been wandering lately, wondering what God's up to in my life.

As the sermon continues, Dr. Rogers points out that God's purpose for taking the Israelites on this huge detour is to allow them to go through a kind of holy boot camp. God uses the long period of time they spend not knowing where they are going to teach them to trust. In my spirit, I get a check...yes, God. I heard that.

Breast cancer doesn't really compare to the type of trials the Israelites faced, but for me, it's been a huge test of faith. Last year, I was deep into the wandering stage as I went from one doctor to the next, test after test, surgery, and then recovery. I thought I was coming down the home stretch. The past couple of months have been a little easier and then, BAM! The unexpected happens...another suspicious mass spotted on my spine...

I realized the more I listen to Dr. Rogers speak that God hand selected this message for me. Now I am visualizing the Israelites with the Egyptians hot on their heels as they come closer and closer to the Red Sea. I can just imagine their fear, they see the angry soldiers behind them and the raging sea ahead of them...it seems to be a dead end, but is it? When I was diagnosed with breast cancer last year, immediately I thought I'd been given a death sentence...a dead end...the point of no return. I was sure I was going to die. I'm sure the Israelites felt the same way - the spears behind them and the sea ahead...a painful death either way! But wait! What did God say? He told the Israelites to:
1. Fear not
2. Be Still
3. Know that I am God
4. See the salvation of the Lord
Okay...so, even though it seemed like a hopeless dead end, God let them know He was still in charge. He wasn't freaked out...everything was going according to His plan. Bonnie, did you hear that? Yes, Lord...I heard. Even though my MRI looks scary and sounds even scarier, I still believe You want me to trust You and not be afraid. You want me to remember that YOU ARE GOD and YOU have a plan.

So why did God put the Israelites through the wanderings? Why did he let them experience fear? He needed to humble them and test them...He needed to prove what was in their hearts. He wanted them to understand who He was and how little their faith was. Again, God pricked my heart...I'm allowing you to go through these medical issues to test your faith too, Bonnie, I felt Him quietly speak to my spirit.

Well, the clock on my dresser showed an hour had passed. I knew the sermon would be ending soon. Adrian was winding it up when he finished the story...the Israelites crossed the Red Sea by God's providential hand and then they came to the land of Mara and found a dry hole...no water to drink because the water was bitter. They began to murmur among themselves and complain to Moses. Moses in turn began to pray and seek God. And do you know what, even while Moses was praying, God's provision was there...God showed Moses a tree that, when cast into the water, would make the water sweet and drinkable. Another prick...even though the MRI shows something suspicious, don't give up hope! I've already made provision, I heard God whisper.

When the sermon stopped, I turned off my cell phone. Lying in bed, I began to drink in all that I'd heard. It was as if I'd tasted my first handful of sweet water. I could feel it, cool upon my tongue. Why had they doubted? The Israelites had just been set free from the Egyptians. God had brought them out of bondage and was leading them to a beautiful oasis but they couldn't see it because it was just over the hill....

Whether the PET scan shows cancer or not, I know God has a purpose and a plan for me. Either way, I'm going to remember not to be afraid. I'm going to hear God tell me to be still and know that He is God and as I put all of my faith in Him, I know He's going to do something amazing!

Yep. Breast cancer was definitely a big detour in my life. It's taken me down roads I never wanted to travel. I've come to some big obstructions that seemed like insurmountable dead ends, but God has been faithful. He's never left me beside a dry place. He's been right by my side guiding me.

Thank you, Lord, that a sermon recorded years ago was fresh and new and just what I needed to hear today. I still don't know where You're taking me or how You're going to take me there, but that's okay. I trust You enough for the next step.

©bonnie annis all rights reserved

The Unexpected

The pain in my spine prompted the Radiation Oncologist to order a complete spinal MRI which revealed a mass at L5. Next week, I'm scheduled for a PET scan. Now, I could choose to look at this from the perspective that most folks would, the practical, in your face, way...oh no, there's a mass at L5! Has the cancer metastasized? Or...I could choose to look at it the way a person of faith would, hmmm...the pain I was having in my back got so uncomfortable that I mentioned it to my doctor, who in turn, decided to be proactive and ordered an MRI of my full spine. The results of that test, while not what I expected, revealed several things...degenerative disk disease, a couple of bulging disks and something suspicious at L5. The L5 problem might never have been discovered had I not had pain in my upper back so I have to be thankful God allowed me to have the pain. No, I don't understand it and I certainly didn't expect to hear that anything showed up on the MRI report, but I'm thankful it did.

Two Radiologists read the MRI report and both of them concurred. One of them wanted to biopsy it but felt it was too dangerous to attempt. I've prayed about all of this and I've asked God to take complete control...so even if I find out the cancer has spread, I have to continue to trust that He knows what He's doing in allowing it to progress.

I have a large vinyl wall graphic up in one of my guest bedrooms. It says, "When you can't see God's hand, Trust His heart." It's so hard to trust what you can't see, isn't it? It's really hard for a visual person like me, but...God has an excellent track record and I've learned through my life that He is trustworthy. It takes great effort to trust what you can't see but it's doable and the results are in His hands.

The human side of me admits that I'm scared. I watched as my aunt died from breast cancer that metastasized into her bones. She was in a tremendous amount of constant pain. I remember visiting her in hospice, during her last days, and she told me to be sure and love others. Even in her terrible pain, she wanted to impart that knowledge. I prayed that day and asked God to never let me experience her type of pain, that deep, down, in the bone, pain. I didn't think I could ever bear it but could I?

The Bible tells me that by His stripes, we are healed. Jesus bore more pain than we could ever imagine when he took all of our sins, past, present, and future upon Himself at the cross. If He chooses this road for me, I have to trust He'll equip me to walk it, even though I don't want to...

© bonnie annis all rights reserved

Fear in tight places

Rainbow over the Cancer Treatment Center

Last night I was scheduled to have a complete spinal MRI. I thought it odd that the hospital would schedule me for an evening appointment, usually diagnostic tests are done during regular business hours. Dr. "S" had ordered the test to find the reason behind my constant back pain. I didn't want another diagnostic test, not because I felt I didn't need one, but because of the financial obligations that came along with it. It seems we've just barely gotten all of last year's medical bills paid off and now we're racking up a whole new set.

When the nurse called me earlier in the week to give me instructions to prepare for the MRI, she asked if I "was uncomfortable in tight places,  in other words," she said, "do you have claustrophobia?" Just the mere mention of that word freaked me out! I'd never suffered with claustrophobia until I was trapped in an elevator for over an hour several years ago. It's funny when you watch movie portrayals of this type scenario. The person inside the elevator starts to get agitated and fearful, then clothes begin to be loosened and beads of sweat dot along the person's forehead. Soon, the trapped victim, is gasping for air, clutching their throat, and then slides down along the inside elevator wall as they collapse on the cold elevator floor. That scenario was mine in 2006, but it definitely wasn't funny! I was thankful to be the only person on the elevator at the time of my entrapment. I didn't think it would affect me so severely but it has indeed! Now I can't stand to be in confined places and do my best to avoid them at all costs.

When I explained to the nurse that I did suffer from claustrophobia, she told me not to worry. She'd have the doctor prescribe some anti-anxiety medications and that should take care of it. I asked if there was a possibility that I could have the test done in an open MRI and she replied, "Unfortunately, Newnan doesn't have any of those. If you want to have an open MRI, we'll have to send you to Atlanta." I didn't want to drive up to Atlanta, so I decided to suck it up and just take the pills.

I watched the clock all day. I had been instructed not to eat anything within 2 hours of the test and to take the pills at least an hour before the test. I set a couple of reminder alarms in my cell phone and went about the day.

At 4:30 p.m. the first cell phone alert went off. I wasn't really hungry but knew I had to eat now in order not to jeopardize the test. Quickly, I prepared supper and my husband and I ate. It was a quiet meal.

At 6:00 p.m. the second cell phone alert sounded. I grabbed the bottle of Lorazepam and popped 2 pills into my mouth. "I sure hope these work, " I told my husband. "I don't know how they're going to affect me. Maybe I'll get really sleepy or maybe I'll be really goofy, I just don't know. I hope I'm not like a Zombie!" He looked at me and said, "if you fall asleep, I'll pick you up and carry you in to the test." I laughed and told him I didn't think he was that strong.

Just as the carport door was lifted, the bottom fell out of the sky and heavy drops of rain began pelting the ground. The sky was an ominous shade of black and I wondered if it was going to be safe to be inside a small tube having the test done....what if, heaven forbid, the power went out and I got stuck in there for an undetermined amount of time??? I couldn't think that way. I had to stop myself or I was going to be sick.

We headed down the driveway and on toward town. The rain was coming down hard and our wipers were flying. Traffic was heavy and it was difficult to see as the water ponded on the road. At a large intersection, the rain slacked up and my husband shouted for me to look into the sky as he pointed toward something in front of us. As I looked up, I saw a huge, beautiful rainbow spanning the sky! What a beautiful sight! God's timing was perfect, once again. (The last rainbow He'd given me was back in September 2014. You can read about that experience here.) Immediately, we were both elated and filled with hope. (In the Bible, God placed a rainbow in the sky as a sign to promise His people that He would never again flood the earth.) To this day, a rainbow in the sky symbolizes God's promises to me. I took the sign of the rainbow to mean I had nothing to worry about.

We arrived at the hospital and filled out all of the pre-registration papers then sat down to wait. The waiting room was empty. At this late hour, there was only a skeleton crew on staff. Instead of the usual loud banter and chaos of hospital routine, there was a wonderful, peaceful silence.

When my name was called, I stood up and walked over to meet the lab tech. He explained to my husband that I'd be gone for a good while and asked if he wanted to come sit in the waiting room near the MRI area. Phil decided he'd stay in the general waiting room and enjoy the television show that was playing. I followed the tech through several large double doors and into the MRI room.

My technician's name was Lloyd. He was a tall, lanky black man with round glasses. His hands were large and soft as he took me by the arm to help me down onto the table that protruded out from the MRI machinery. He asked if I had on a bra. I looked up at him and smiled a big cheesy grin. I said, "nope! No boobs, no bra!" He looked startled and then asked if I had another other metal on me and I assured him I did not. He placed a paper hairnet over my head and then slipped some headphones over my ears. He placed a large bulb in my hands telling me it was the "panic" button and to press it if I started to be frightened. After asking me if I was ready to get started, I gave him a thumbs up and closed my eyes. I figured if I kept my eyes closed, I could pretend I was somewhere other than in a metallic tube that encased my body tightly.

Slowly the table moved and I slid deep into the belly of the beast. I kept my eyes tightly closed and began to pray asking God to protect me and to keep me calm. Lloyd's voice came through the headphones and softly, he said, "We're ready to begin." The next sounds I heard were from a Christian radio station, J93.3, The Joy FM. Strong Tower by Kutless was blasting through my ears but I could still hear the sound of the machine's metal bouncing marbles slightly underneath the sounds of the music.

The table shook slightly underneath me as the machine sounds continued. I tried to focus on the words to the songs playing in my ears. I noticed I hadn't swallowed in several minutes so I took a deep breath and swallowed. Licking my lips, I pressed my eyelids closed even tighter. I had no idea how long I'd already been in the tube but it seemed like a long time. I made myself remember there was an opening about a foot above my head and below my knees. Those thoughts comforted me a little. I felt a small rush of air flow over my face and was so thankful to be able to feel the breeze. It reminded me that even though I was enclosed in this metal tube, I wasn't going to die...there was air around me and I could breathe it in.

I continued to listen to the songs playing through the headphones. I was so thankful to have Christian music playing. Francesca Battistelli's song, "He knows my name" came on and the words rushed over me like a soothing balm. Each and every word of that song spoke volumes to my heart. The words were words I needed to hear: "True to who You are, You saw my heart. And made something out of nothing. He calls me chosen. Free, forgiven, wanted, child of the King, His forever, held and treasured, I am loved." I listened and listened and listened. I became more and more relaxed, partly from the pills and partly from God's peace washing over me.

As Lloyd moved the table slowly forward, I felt myself being ejected from the tube. As my body slid along the walls of the MRI machine, without opening my eyes, I felt what a tight squeeze it had been. I pressed my arms a little tighter into myself hoping to gain a little more room and prevent myself from getting stuck as the table continued to move outward.

I was so thankful to be out of the tube! Hallelujah! Fresh air! I opened my eyes and looked up. Lloyd was standing there and as he took my hand, he called my name. "Ms. Annis, now it's time for the cervical thoracic part of your MRI. I have to fit this plate over your face and it's going to be a little uncomfortable." I asked how much longer I'd have to be in the tube and he said for this next part it would only take 10 minutes. I figured I could handle 10 more minutes and closed my eyes as I was slid back into the MRI machine.

Having the face plate on made me very uncomfortable. I was unable to move my head at all and my neck was already feeling very stiff. I tried hard to focus on the music and not on the contraption on my face, but it was difficult. The sound from the machine continued and got progressively louder. Oh, I was so ready for this test to be over!

When the table started to move forward, I knew Lloyd was moving me out of the machine once again. I was thankful to be unconfined and able to breathe freely. As he gently removed the face plate I told him I bet I looked like the guy from the movie "Silence of the Lambs." He laughed and took my hand again. This time, he began slapping it as he told me he was about to begin the contrast part of the test. His slapping on my wrist was to stimulate a vein to stand up enough that he could palpate it and insert a needle filled with contrast dye.

It quickly became evident that Lloyd was not a phlebotomist.  I know I scared the bejesus out of him when I told him I had Lymphedema in both arms and he would only be allowed to used my left lower arm to insert the needle. He did the best he could, tightening the rubber tourniquet and having me squeeze a rubber ball, but my poor little old veins didn't cooperate. After a stick and a miss, Lloyd said, "Ms. Annis, I can save this study and we'll have you come back another day to do the contrast, then we can get the results to your doctor." I looked up into Lloyd's big dark eyes and said, "Ummm, no. I'm not coming back again. Can you get someone else to stick me?" So Lloyd goes to call the ER department and asks for help, but they won't come. They tell him to do it himself. I can tell Lloyd is scared so I show him where they've been able to draw blood in the past. As I point to the crook of my arm and circle the exact location, I tell him to use a butterfly needle, which he does and BINGO...the needle is in and the contrast is flowing. Lloyd is happy!

Back into the tube I go. It's been over an hour now and the medication is starting to wear away. I have to think really hard to keep my eyes tightly shut and to just listen to the music. After about 30 minutes, Lloyd slides me out and says we're all done. Praise Jesus! I am so happy not to have to go into that tube again! Lying on the hard metal table, I start to rise and feel myself going faint. Lloyd tells me to take it slow as he extends his hand to help me up. I sit for a few minutes on the table before rising.

Lloyd leads me out the big metal doors and I find myself a little unsteady on my feet. I'm kind of wobbling through the halls. I guess it's the medication. I ask Lloyd where the restroom is and he points as I quickly head that way. Rounding the corner into the restroom, my shirt gets hung on the door handle. I stick my head out and laugh in Lloyd's direction. "Bet you never had a patient that did that did you?" He smiles and I feel like a klutz. Hurrying into the restroom, I pull out a paper liner and sit...the contrast dye is flowing through my bladder.

Hubby is quiet in the waiting room. He's reading his book. He looks up as I enter the room. I ask if he's ready to go and he starts to walk toward me. "How was it?" he says. I look at him and say, "I don't ever want to do that again."

We walk hand in hand through the silent hospital lobby. I can't believe how still and quiet it is! We step outside into the cool night air and head to our car. Now we wait. The results will come tomorrow or Friday.

As we pull out of the parking lots, the words to Kerrie Roberts' song, "No Matter What," fill my head. (You can listen to it in its entirety here.)

"I'm running back to your promises one more time
Lord that's all I can hold on to
I gotta say this has taken me by surprise
But nothing surprises You
Before a heartache can ever touch my life
It has to go through Your hands
And even though I keep asking why
I keep asking why
No matter what, I'm gonna love You
No matter what I'm gonna need You
I know You can find a way to keep me from the pain..."

No matter, no matter what"Whatever the test reveals, I'm okay with it. If there's more evidence of cancer cells, God knows the next step He'll have me take. If I get the all clear, I'll celebrate good news...but really and truly, no matter what, I know I can trust God. He holds my life in His hands. Good and bad pass through His hands into my life as He wills. I know He uses everything for my good and to mold me and shape me into the person He wants me to be.

We pull into the driveway and it's dark now. Inside we go through our normal "getting ready for bed routines." I grab my book and begin reading as hubby turns over and drifts off into the land of Slumber. I can't help but think about how blessed we are!

I read a page or two before turning out the light. I close my eyes and am so thankful I'm not inside a metal tube.


©bonnie annis all rights reserved

Better late than never

I didn't really write much of a blog post about my "cancerversary" and I apologize to you, dear readers, for that faux pas. I feel I owe you such a deep debt of gratitude and since I've allowed you into all aspects of my life since the inception of this blog, today should be no different. 

On the actual day of the anniversary of my surgery, July 9, I did nothing but reflect on the past year and all I'd been through. At first, I felt a little disappointed that I didn't receive stacks of cards in the mail, or flowers, or phone calls, or something...anything to let me know that someone actually remembered that this day was the one year mark of my life after cancer. But as the day progressed, I was thankful for no intrusions into my privacy. I needed a day of solitude more than I realized. It took a lot out of me to comprehend everything that had transpired in the last 365 days of my life. The more I thought about each event and how it was handled, the more mentally exhausted I became. I'd been through a heck of a lot and I hadn't even been able to absorb all of it until I took time to just be still and reflect.

When I first began to think about the events of last year, I had to pull up my blog. My memory isn't as sharp as it used to be and being able to re-read my entries helped jog my memory. As I read the very first entry in my blog, it all became vivid in my mind. 

I continued reading blog entries until I came to the entry about surgery being set up. Remembering how I felt back then can be described in two words, "sheer panic." I really had no idea what I was in for when I wrote that blog post. Even though the breast surgeon had explained what I should expect, I wish I'd been able to talk to a breast cancer survivor who'd experienced everything I was going to experience. I think I would have been better prepared if I'd been able to ask the questions I needed to ask and know that I was going to get real answers from someone who'd experienced this type of surgery first hand. I would have been better equipped to understand the level of pain and the emotional turmoil the surgery would bring...but maybe it was better that I hadn't had that opportunity. If I'd known exactly how things were going to go, would I have continued on with the surgery? I think I probably would not have!

My entry on July 10th, the day after surgery, while I was home recovering, reminded me of how funny I looked. I had two of the ugliest clear plastic bomb looking contraptions hanging from my chest and those nasty things were to collect the fluid and blood that drained from my surgical sites. Oh how they hurt and pulled and tugged! Those drains were more painful than even the huge scars across my chest and I remembered why...Dr. Sroka had told me that when she removed my breasts, they'd have to slice into my chest wall and sever all of the nerve endings there. She reminded me it would take months and even years before the feeling there ever returned. To this day, one year and a few days later, my chest wall is still numb.

As I kept reading and traveling back into the past year, the entry that was the hardest to write, is now the hardest to read. When I wrote that entry, I was in the depths of despair and I was really struggling. My emotions were so raw and the wounds from surgery were so fresh and so deep. A year of healing has made huge changes in the way I view myself both physically and emotionally but intimacy continues to be a challenge. I am so thankful I have a husband who loves and respects me and never demands a thing from me. He is always patient and kind. He is loving and respectful and treasures me as his wife. I don't know if other men would have reacted the way he has to me. I imagine many marriages were not able to survive the after effects of breast cancer surgery. It takes a very different sort of man to be constantly patient and loving even when his needs are not being met and many men just can't process that. 

When I re-read the entry about the day I got my new boobs, I remembered going to the store in Fayetteville to be fitted for my new prostheses. It was a humiliating experience but since that day last year, I've exchanged those first heavy boobs for a much smaller, lighter pair. The new ones are so much closer to my natural state and they aren't nearly as heavy as the first pair I received. I can actually laugh at the thought of those first boobs. They were humongous! The fitter thought they were a size A but when I went back to have a different fitter help me choose some smaller boobs, she looked at them and said, "honey, there is no way these are an A! They are a D!" I'll never forget the day she told me that. No wonder those suckers were so heavy!

I struggled with many things that first year and intimacy was just one of them. I also struggled with Agoraphobia - the fear of being out in public away from the safety of my home. As I read this entry again, I was reminded how those first days, weeks, and months challenged me. I was struggling with my new body image and was afraid to be seen the way I was. I felt safer at home and that's where I chose to stay the majority of the time. Now, after a year of healing, I'm becoming more comfortable going out. Sometimes I put on my boobs and sometimes I don't. If I'm going to be in a public setting, where I'll encounter others, I usually put on my prostheses because I find I feel more self confident with my boobs on. If I'm just going for a ride in the car or visiting family, I don't need the "security" of having my boobs on and often choose to go without them...especially in the hot Summer time! I've also found that if I sprinkle "Shower to Shower" body powder all over my chest, the prostheses don't feel so hot and sticky. The powder keeps the silicone in the breast forms from sweating and sliding around in my mastectomy bra. 

Radiation was a big challenge. When treatments first began, it was a piece of cake. I did get more and more tired as treatments went along, but they were fairly easy to deal with...that is, until I started to get burned. When my skin suffered severe burns, radiation became almost unbearable. I even had to stop treatments several times for a week or two at a time because the burns were so severe. This entry tells a little about that time. 

In October of last year, I took time to write a letter to my cancerous tumor. I know that seems really weird but I just felt like I needed to do it. It was cathartic as I wrote down my feelings. You can read about it here. 

One of my November posts told about my difficulties being on oral chemotherapy. I was prescribed Arimidex and took it for a couple of weeks before deciding it wasn't worth all the side effects I was going through at the time to continue taking it. I talked to my Oncologist and told him about the terrible way it was making me feel and I also told him in no uncertain terms that I was NOT going to continue taking that drug. I was amazed at how bold and brazen I'd become. In the past, I would have never spoken to a doctor in this way. I guess I realized I had the right to speak up for myself and I did. 

After coming off of the Arimidex, the doctor wanted me to try Tamoxifen. That drug has been around a long time and was a proven estrogen blocker. My mother in law had been on it while she was going through breast cancer treatment. This blog post tells a little about what was going on at that time. 

In December of last year, I had my 6 month check up with my breast surgeon. As I re-read that entry, I had to smile. My breast surgeon is really awesome. She's smart and funny and caring. I am so thankful I found her because I don't think I would have had such good results with another surgeon. Dr. Sroka was very aggressive in my treatment and she found cancer in one of my lymph nodes as she performed my surgery too. I still suffer ill effects from having lymphatic glands removed (6 in total) but, I'm still here and that's amazing!

In January, I wrote about the new plan the oncologist had for me after I returned from my trip to Texas. I was supposed to start on a new estrogen blocking drug, Aromasin, but after a lot of prayer, I decided against it. I'm so glad I did. I have felt better without being on any kinds of chemotherapy and have shifted my focus to natural methods of cancer treatment. You can read about reactions to my decision here. 

In March, I lost a dear friend to breast cancer. Although we'd never met in person, we'd corresponded via emails and texts. Kara was a woman of faith and ministered greatly to me during my journey. That day, I realized that breast cancer is serious business. It is no respecter of persons. It comes to steal, kill, and destroy. Kara's death made me decide to fight even harder to live and to be here for my family. Since her death, I've had an opportunity to share my experience with others who are just recently diagnosed. That's one thing about breast cancer that others might not understand...it means so much more to get information from someone who's walked through the valley than from a spectator standing on the hill looking down into the valley. That's what Kara did for me and that's what I hope to do for others. You can read about the day I learned of Kara's death here.

Traveling on through last year, I came across this post I'd written toward the end of April. It tells about the constant fear I dealt with about always wondering if the cancer might return. That's something I struggle with today. Every new ache, every new pain makes me wonder...could it be???? It's hard to get past that feeling because recurrence is a very real fact and the odds are great that a secondary cancer will occur. That 5 year survival rate that the doctors give when you're first diagnosed doesn't help much either. I know God is in control but sometimes, the little voice of fear gets really loud and it's hard to squelch it.

As I continued to remember all I'd been through and all the blessings I'd received since my diagnosis, this post reminded me how important it was to revisit the past. So many people reached out to me through cards and letters. I've saved every single one of them! My plan is to put them all into a scrapbook so I can have them to look through whenever I'm feeling down. God brought so many sweet people into my life and I am so grateful for all of them. While most of the cards and letters have stopped, occasionally, I'll still get one in the mail and it usually comes at the perfect time...on a day when I've felt extremely lonely or sad, or on a day when I'm just struggling with feeling cared about or loved. God always knows when I need a little pick me up and He sends it through friends like you.

Last month, I lost my very best friend. In this post, you can read about our last day together. That was one of the hardest days I've faced in a while. To this day, I still haven't heard what caused Gerri's death and it really bothers me. It's so hard when someone you love dies unexpectedly but it also helps you realize how very short our lives are and how we need to really focus on living one day at a time, one moment at a time. 

If you've read my blog from day one, you've read a huge portion of my life. In one year, I've written almost every single day and sometimes, more than once a day. I'm a writer. I love to write. It's what I do. Capturing those thoughts on paper had helped me process what I was thinking or feeling at a specific moment in time. I've become my own therapist by focusing not only on my own thoughts and feelings, but by listening to what God's shared into my heart. As I've read the Bible and poured out my heart to Him, He's given me great peace and comfort. He's been my best friend and my constant companion. I don't know how I would have ever gotten through all the challenges I've faced this past year without my faith. 

So today, one year and 3 days since the date of my breast cancer surgery, I give thanks. I am so blessed to be alive today. I am so blessed to have a husband who loves me dearly and family who support me. I'm so blessed to have good doctors who care about me and want to see me succeed. I am so blessed to have friends who pray for me, fight for me, and encourage me when I need it most. I am proud to claim the title of breast cancer survivor. I know there are many of us out there and many more to come in the future. My hope and my prayer is that neither you, nor anyone you know or love will ever face hearing the words "you have cancer." Those three words can turn a life upside down in a split second. Maybe one day, we'll find a cure but until then, all we can do is continue to hope and continue to love. God bless you all and thank you for continuing to care enough about me to continue following and reading my blog. I am very honored and grateful.

© bonnie annis all rights reserved

One year has come and gone

Yesterday was the one year mark from the date of my surgery. It was a day filled with mixed emotions and retrospection. The entire day turned out completely different than I expected.

I had looked forward to this day for months thinking it would be a day of grand celebration, but it hasn't been that at all. Don't get me wrong, I am extremely happy to be here and I am very excited to be alive! But the day was just another ordinary day...no fanfare, no balloons, nothing.

I was a little disappointed that not a single friend or family member took time to call or send a card congratulating me but I guess they just forgot, after all, this celebratory day wasn't something that really affected all of their lives, only mine.

At the end of the day, I did have a big bowl of Moose tracks ice cream, and you know, ice cream always makes everything better!

One year of survival down and hopefully, many more to go...

© bonnie annis all rights reserved

A little melancholy...

The dictionary describes melancholy as a sober, pensive mood bordering on mild depression. That word seems to be perfect for describing my current state of mind as I think back over the past year. I know my melancholy state is partially due to the fact that in just a few days I'll celebrate the one year mark of my surgery. And while I know Thursday will be an emotional day, a day filled with both happiness at having survived and sadness at having my life totally changed by breast cancer, I find myself wondering once again, why God allowed this into my life.

I still remember the day I found that mass in my right breast. I was terrified. Before I even had a single test, I just knew that it was cancer. I was instantly a statistic. Pink would become my new signature color, whether I wanted it to be or not. Doctors would become my new best friends. There was absolutely nothing I could do about it...nothing. Not one single part of my cancer journey was in my control.

It was surreal to face my options. The breast surgeon gave me option one: lumpectomy with chemo and radiation and mammograms every 3 months or mastectomy with possible chemo and radiation without mammograms. I chose to be proactive and went with bilateral mastectomies. I had no idea what my future held but I knew I had to make sure the cancer was removed asap.

When I was in the 9th grade, I wanted to go into the medical field. I assumed I'd be a nurse since I loved helping others more than anything in the world and I had the gift of mercy. At that time, our high school had implemented a "Para-Med" class, sort of a pre-med/paramedic training course. I signed up for it immediately and instantly fell in love with both my teacher and my class. We didn't only focus on book work but enjoyed hands on experience through dissection and other practical applications of our teaching. Some of the girls in our class were squeamish when we were told we would dissect a pregnant pig but I couldn't wait to get started.

Each member of the class was assigned a partner. We were instructed on how to wield our scalpels effectively and safely. I'll never forget being given the honor of making the first incision. As my scalpel slid across the thick pig skin, the smell of Formaldehyde filled the air. Coach Waltz instructed me to only cut through the epidermis. Carefully, I learned the proper amount of pressure to exert on my instrument. As I was working, I watched the skin slowly peel back exposing the dermis. As I completed my incision, Coach Waltz applauded me for a job well done.

The next student stepped up and was given instructions on cutting into the dermis without penetrating the subcutaneous layer. We all stood around with starry eyes waiting to see the pig's placenta which contained about a dozen baby pigs.

The pinkness of the pig and the smell of Formaldehyde became overwhelming. Our teacher could see that many of us were struggling. Oh how thankful we were when the bell rang and class was dismissed. "Next class, we'll resume extraction," Coach Waltz said.

The first time I looked at my scars from surgery, I wondered if the surgeon enjoyed her job as much as I enjoyed my Para-Med class. How many breasts had she removed in her career? What did they do with the diseased body parts? Did they dissect them and study them further with biopsies and tissue resections?

As I finally came to terms with my new fate, I've watched the change in my body. My scars, once angry, swollen, and red are now calm, pink, and fading. It's amazing how time changes things and helps to change our perspective.

I've chosen not to travel down the road of "what ifs." I know it would be too complicated so why waste energy going there. God has revealed the reason for my suffering is to bring Him glory and that's exactly what I intend to do.

Yes, today I'm a little melancholy. The trauma of having both breasts removed has not been easy. I don't understand why society places such value on a women's breasts as a symbol of femininity anyway. Even my radiation oncologists questioned me about my decision not to have breast reconstruction surgery. She looked dumbfounded when I said I'd chosen not to go through that unnecessary pain and turmoil.

Does having breasts make me more of a woman? I don't think so. I'm still the same person I was before surgery, only my physical appearance has changed and I've developed a stronger resolve. Does Bruce Jenner instantly become a woman just because he decided to have breast implants? No! He was born a male and he'll die a male. It doesn't matter what he does to enhance his body to make himself look like a female.

Of course I get a little down in the dumps when I put on clothes and they don't fit quite right any longer. Instead of my breasts filling out the areas the designer created them to fill, now there are indented, draping spaces revealing my booblessness. Yes, I can put on my prostheses and instantly change things, but I don't like the deception. I've been through a hell of a war and I've suffered great battle wounds.

So please pardon my melancholy mood today. As I think back over the past year, I am amazed at how quickly the time has passed. On Thursday, I'll remember the day my life changed forever and hopefully, I'll be able to look back and see all the great things God did during that year. It's still a journey and one I'll continue for the rest of my life. I just have to keep reminding myself to take one day at a time.

©bonnie annis all rights reserved