It takes a village

You've heard that saying a million times before, I'm sure, you know...the one that says "it takes a village to raise a child?" That saying is an African Proverb and it is filled with truth. It takes so many people to help raise a child safely into adulthood, not only in Africa, but in America, too. It also takes a little village of loved ones to help a family member get over the hurdle of a major health issue like breast cancer or surgery or some other sort of debilitating issue, and this weekend, I witnessed it as some of my family members rallied around me.

My dependable, doting daughter, Laura, was right beside me as I made my way into the hospital for surgery on Friday. She's always there when I need her. She doesn't complain, doesn't make excuses, doesn't hide behind her fear...she's just there...at the ready...to do whatever it takes, whenever it happens, for as long as is necessary. And that's one reason I love her so. She's got the gift of service and she is wonderful in administration...she's a real take charge kind of person, the kind you need when you're unable to think clearly and make your own wise decisions.

I was thankful for her sweet spirit. As she worked hard to help calm my nerves by making jokes and acting silly to make me laugh and forget what lay ahead of me, she was really good at her job. She also listens well and paid careful attention to the medical team as they were giving her instructions on my aftercare. She heard things I didn't and I knew I didn't have to worry about remembering because she would remember for me. That's my girl. Laura. Dependable. Responsible.

And then there's another in my village, although he couldn't get off work to be with me, he prayed the entire day I was in surgery. As soon as the clock struck 3, he dashed home to be right beside me caring for me and loving on me. My husband. My rock. My gentle giant. He's so good to me and so tender. He's my protector and my guardian. Fluffing pillows and spreading blankets. He knows just what I need and when I need it. He gets to see the tears when everyone else is gone and he loves me through them. He sees the raw, unadulterated pain and allows me to feel it but doesn't allow me to stay in the midst of it so long that it overwhelms me. My husband. My love. I'm so thankful for him.

In my village, there's also my baby girl. The one who's no longer a child, but she's my last born, and will always be my little girl forever. She came to be with me too. She's so much like me it's scary. She's filled with mercy and love but knows how to step back and let others take over when necessary. Just her being here was a great gift. It's so good to know I am so loved. Jamie. My baby. She sees deeply and loves thoroughly.

And my village holds a few who couldn't be with me, but even though they couldn't be here in the flesh, they took time to voice concern. My son, David. He made time to call my daughter, Laura, as we were on our way home from the hospital. He was checking in to see if I was okay. Thoughtful. Diligent. Dave. My one and only son.

Then there's Erin, my oldest girl. She lives so far away but tries so hard to stay involved. She couldn't be here either but oh, she's always here in spirit. She calls many times a day to chat...to check in...to assess the situation. She's good at that. She would make a good spy. She knows what to "look" for and even though she's hundreds of miles away, she does what she can to help. She's a mother and knows how to mother her own mother well. Such a good caretaker. She is a sweet source of support. My oldest girl, Erin.

Without my village, I wouldn't be doing as well as I am today. I don't know how people without families survive. I remember thinking, as we planned my surgery a few weeks ago, it must be hard not having someone to rely on for help during a time of crisis. As the nurse explained I'd need someone to come and stay with me at the hospital, I was thankful to know I had someone. What about the people who didn't have anyone? What about the people who had to have a taxi cab drive them to the hospital for surgery and then they'd have to call again for the cab to pick them up and take them back home. I couldn't imagine. I don't think I could ever do that, but some people do have to make those choices. They don't have a village of people to come and sit with them while they recuperate. They don't have loved ones to stand by and help them and encourage them as they heal. It's so sad and so many of us take having our village for granted. I think that's why God gave us families...so we could have our own little village. Our own little unit of loved ones to be there in time of need...to share the good times and the bad times...to share in the happiness and the joy, but also to share in the sorrow amid the tears.

And for those who don't have families, there are villages of friends. The family members we get to choose are called friends. They come in all shapes,sizes, and colors, with different gifts and personalities. They are blessings of love. Some stay in our lives for long periods of time and others are just passing through but God uses them to minister to us...to help us...to teach us about love. Those villages are priceless. But I'm thankful for my very own village and for never being left alone to struggle through difficult situations and circumstances.

Today's been a rough day. Every move I've made has been painful. I hear a weird "sloshing" noise when I move and I know that's not normal. When the nurse called to check on me today, I mentioned it to her. She sounded concerned and said she needed to discuss this with the doctor. Dr. Sroka, head of my current tribe. She's the chieftan. The one in charge of my medical care and I trust her implicitly. She's very attentive and caring. I'm thankful for her.

I wasn't surprised at all when Michelle, Dr. Sroka's nurse called me back this afternoon. She said the doc was concerned about my sloshing. She wanted me to come into the office to have the fluid drained. If left untreated, she said it could cause a bad infection and since I haven't been given the all clear to drive yet, I had to sound the tribal drums (not really, I just got on my cell phone, but you get the picture!) and let my daughter, Laura, know I'll need a ride again. As I was explaining my situation to her, I began to cry. I didn't mean to the tears just slipped out. I apologized to her for having to call on her once again but she assured me it was okay...that she was available, any time, any place.

After I got off the phone with Laura, I had myself a good little cry. The tears were from pent up emotions but also were tears of thankfulness and joy. My tribe. What would I do without them? And just as I finish up this post, the Chieftan called. She wants to see me in her office tomorrow. I'm not looking forward to having a large, hollow needle inserted into my chest wall to draw off fluid but it's necessary. It's amazing to have so many people watching out for me. It truly does take a village.

©bonnie annis all rights reserved

Surgery again

Yesterday, I went into Piedmont Fayetteville Hospital to have my second surgery. This time I would be having a cyst removed along with some tissue that had died in the last surgery.

I arrived at the hospital shortly before 11 a.m. as instructed. My sweet daughter, Laura, was with me since my husband was unable to get off work. Around 11:30 a.m. a nurse came out to get me and take me back to the pre-surgical wing. I wasn't nervous at all and I know it was because of all the prayers going up for me.

She gave me a gown and told me to remove all of my clothes and then, she'd be back in to hook me up to an I.V. I was compliant for the most part but I didn't remove my underwear. I thought about it and decided there was no need for me to take off my panties. They weren't even going to be working remotely in that area, so I left them on. (The rebel in my strikes again!)

I got into the bed and waited. About fifteen minutes later, the nurse came back in to insert the I.V. needle. I was thankful she gave me a shot of Lidocaine first to numb the area. I didn't even feel the I.V. shunt go in. When she was done, the nurse told me she'd go get my daughter and bring her back to sit with me. I looked down at the I.V. needle she'd just placed into my hand. It didn't look like it was inserted all the way, but I figured she knew what she was doing.

Laura came back into the room with me and we talked for a while before the Anesthesiologist came in. When she came in, she asked all the routine questions : loose teeth? partials? dentures? trouble swallowing? etc. She explained they'd be inserting a breathing tube along with the anesthesia. I listened to her as she hurriedly explained each detail. She was so high strung that I commented about it to Laura after the doctor left the room. Laura assured me that the anesthesiologist must have many patients today and was just trying to move quickly so she could cover all the bases. More medical staff came in to visit - surgical nurses, a resident anesthesiologist, and Dr. Sroka's assistant. They were all very kind and reassuring.

Just before 2 p.m., Dr. Sroka came in to talk with me. She went over the procedure again and asked if I had any questions. While she was there, the nurse was at the head of my bed doing something. All of a sudden, I felt an intense burning pain in my left arm and looked down to see where it was coming from. My wrist, just about the I.V. needle began to immediately puff up and swell. As I screamed out in pain, Dr. Sroka sternly corrected the nurse and said, "You just blew her vein. What were you doing?" The nurse explained that all she'd done was grab hold of the bag of Prevacid (an antacid liquid) and force it through the I.V. Dr. Sroka told her when she did that, she ruptured my vein and she'd have to remove that I.V. and replace it with another. The nurse was not too happy about that and disagreed with the doc. I was surprised that she was defending her I.V. insertion so vehemently when it was clearly problematic.

Dr. Sroka went out and 2 nurses came in. The original nurse, the one who'd blown my vein, and another R.N. The second R.N. came over to me and said she'd be placing the new I.V. I was thankful! The first nurse might have been vindictive. The second I.V. was placed quickly and efficiently and the surgical team was ready to go. Something was inserted into my I.V. and that's all I remember until I woke up in the recovery room.

In the recovery room, the first thing I heard was an oriental nurse talking to me and telling me it was time to wake up. Her cute accent made me think one of my good friends was in the room with me (she's from China too.) As I forced my eyes to open, I saw a large clock on the wall at the foot of my bed. It was 5:05 p.m. I was surprised it was that late in the day. It seemed I'd only been there a short time. The nurse offered me some Sprite and it felt so good on my throat.

Laura came to help me get my clothes back on and I didn't realize how much pain I was in until I sat up on the bed. I felt like I'd been run over by a truck. My chest was on fire and I could feel something very tight around my chest area. I looked down and saw they'd placed a type of surgical corset on me to hold the incision tightly. I was told I'd have to wear that for the next week until Dr. Sroka had her followup visit with me.

We began the long ride home and I was so groggy. I could hardly keep my eyes open. Laura told me that it was from the leftover anesthesia in my body. Instead of going straight home, we stopped by the drugstore first to get my pain medication. I was so thankful Laura thought to do that because I needed it as soon as I got out of the car. I was also thankful they'd put a Scopalamine patch on me to keep nausea at bay during and after surgery because I began to feel a little woozy as I walked into the house.

I tried my best to stay awake long enough to have a small cup of chicken broth and some saltines. I knew I would need something on my stomach before taking my pain meds. Bedtime couldn't come soon enough for me. I was so thankful to have purchased a wedge pillow before my first surgery last year. It surely came in handy. After getting all my pillows propped up and the wedge pillow in place, I slipped into bed and slept soundly all night long.

This morning, I woke up at 6:05 a.m. I felt pretty good until I got out of bed to go to the restroom. As soon as I stood up, the pain shot through my chest and I remembered, I'd just surgery! Very slowly I walked across the room and got my pain pills. Everyone else in the house was asleep. I tiptoed into the living room to have my quiet time. As I lit a candle and pulled out my Bible, I said a prayer of thanks. I was still alive. Cancer hasn't won yet. I was overwhelmed with gratitude.

Sometime this week, I'll get the biopsy reports. I'm trusting God that everything will turn out just fine. My life is in His hands and there's no place I'd rather be.

©bonnie annis all rights reserved

Learning to live in the moment

"How did it get so late so soon? Its night before its afternoon. December is here before its June. My goodness how the time has flewn. How did it get so late so soon? ~Dr. Seuss

Dr. Seuss was a wise man and a wonderful children's author, but also a man filled with humorous thoughts and anecdotes. I love this quote by him on time and speaking of time, that brings me to the subject of today's post.

I used to wear a watch. I even slept in it. I was always looking at it and making sure I knew the exact time. I let my watch govern my life. I was always punctual. I was never, ever late. I never realized how much I depended on my watch until I was hospitalized for breast cancer surgery.

When you have surgery, you aren't allowed to wear any jewelry and that includes watches. You aren't supposed to wear makeup, deodorant, or perfume. You don't even get to wear your own clothes! You have to don the very ugly hospital gown with the opening in the back. Sometimes, if you're lucky,you get to keep your underwear but 9 times out of 10, they take those too.

Something happened to me after I had my surgery. When I woke up in the recovery room, I was so thankful to be alive and have a second chance at life. I decided from that moment on, I would not ever focus on time again. I determined that I was going to take each moment as it came and treasure it as a wonderful gift.

My watches are safely tucked away in my jewelry box. They tick so quietly I don't even hear them even though I know they're there. I feel so free without my watch to constantly remind me of obligations and expectations.

When did we become a society that is so time conscious? It seems everything in our lives revolves around the clock. I'm so thankful I can have the freedom not to be a clock watcher. It's amazing how time constraints vanish when there's no watch to catch your eye.

Since I've stopped wearing my watch, I know it's time to get up when I wake up and I know it's time to eat when I get hungry. I know it's time to sleep when I get tired. My internal clock doesn't tick out the time but gives me a soft, gentle nudge when I need to take care of my body.

When I'm visiting with friends, I'm not constantly glancing at my watch thinking I need to hurry on to my next appointment. I can focus on just being in the moment and those moments stretch on as long as possible. I love it and the days seem so much longer now!

If you find yourself relying on your watch or your clock to tell you when and where to come or go, try going a few days without it. It may take you some time to disassociate yourself from the constraints of time, especially if you're still a vital part of the workforce. (I'm retired, so I don't have to worry about the 9 to 5 any more.)

Time. We've all been given the same 24 hours in a day.  The same 1440 minutes. The same 86,4000 seconds. How will you use your time? Will you constantly check your watch or the clock? Will you follow a regimented schedule or will you break free from the bands of time? Learn to live in the moment. It will change your life. I know it's changed mine for the better.

Some beautiful thoughts on time:

"Time and tide wait for no man." ~ Geoffrey Chaucer

"Time flies over us, but leaves its shadow behind." ~Nathaniel Hawthorne

"Know the true value of time; snatch, seize, and enjoy every moment of it. No idleness, no laziness, no procrastination: never put off till tomorrow what you can do today." ~ Philip Stanhope, 4th Earl of Chesterfield

©bonnie annis all rights reserved

One more thing to complain about - Fibromyalgia

Forgive me for whining today but isn't that normal people do when they aren't feeling well? We don't usually go around commenting on how good we're feeling, but we sure do make sure to let others know if we aren't feeling well. Humans have a bent toward complaining. And when complaints are legitimate, they're easier to tolerate, right? Especially when the complaints are your own and not those of someone else...well, today, I hope you'll bear with me and let me whine just a little because I really am struggling and am in pain.

Aches and pains seem to be the norm as your body gets older but constant, daily pain shouldn't be normal. And, I don't really think they are normal. I've never dealt with constant pain like this before. I didn't wake up hurting before I had breast cancer, but now I do.

I've researched the symptoms and am almost certain I know the cause of my aches and pains - Fibromyalgia. Fibromyalgia is a chronic health problem that causes pain all over the body and other symptoms. Some of the other symptoms include:

• Tenderness to touch or pressure affecting muscles and sometimes joints or even the skin
• Severe fatigue
• Sleep problems (waking up unrefreshed)
• Problems with memory or thinking clearly
• And sometimes, these symptoms occur:
• Depression or anxiety
• Migraine or tension headaches
• Digestive problems: irritable bowel syndrome (commonly called IBS) or gastroesophageal reflux disease (often referred to as GERD)
• Irritable or overactive bladder
• Pelvic pain
• Temporomandibular disorder—often called TMJ (a set of symptoms including face or jaw pain, jaw clicking and ringing in the ears)

The symptoms can come and go and often times be worse than others. Stress seems to aggravate and worsen the symptoms.

So, what causes Fibromyalgia? The causes of Fibromyalgia are unclear. They may be different in different people. Fibromyalgia may run in families. There likely are certain genes that can make people more prone to getting Fibromyalgia and the other health problems that can occur with it. Genes alone, though, do not cause Fibromyalgia.

There is most often some triggering factor that sets off Fibromyalgia. It may be spine problems, arthritis, injury, or other type of physical stress. Emotional stress also may trigger this illness. The result is a change in the way the body “talks” with the spinal cord and brain. Levels of brain chemicals and proteins may change. For the person with Fibromyalgia, it is as though the “volume control” is turned up too high in the brain's pain processing centers.

There have been studies done on the link between Fibromyalgia and Breast Cancer. The most recent recorded in the International Journal of Clinical Oncology, Volume 18, Issue 2 (pages 285-292) which evaluated 150 women patients with breast cancer. During the clinical study, these women were in various stages of breast cancer. Some had just begun treatment and some had completed treatment (chemotherapy, radiation, a combination of the two and adjuvant therapies such as Tamoxifen or one of several Aromatase Inhibitors.) Of those women, 47.6% of the evaluated women suffered from Fibromyalgia pain. The study indicated that upper body trauma could have contributed to the Fibromyalgia pain but there has not been a conclusive link.  The study did find that the frequency of Fibromyalgia in patients who received breast cancer treatment was higher than the previously reported frequency of Fibromyalgia for the general population, and Fibromyalgia affects patients’ quality of life negatively. 

How is fibromyalgia diagnosed? A doctor will suspect Fibromyalgia based on your symptoms. Doctors may require that you have tenderness to pressure or tender points at a specific number of certain spots before saying you have Fibromyalgia, but they are not required to make the diagnosis. A physical exam can be helpful to detect tenderness and to exclude other causes of muscle pain. There are no diagnostic tests (such as X-rays or blood tests) for this problem. Yet, you may need tests to rule out another health problem that can be confused with Fibromyalgia.

Because widespread body pain is the main feature of Fibromyalgia, health care providers will ask you to describe your pain. This may help tell the difference between Fibromyalgia and other diseases with similar symptoms. Other conditions such as hypothyroidism (underactive thyroid gland) and polymyalgia rheumatica sometimes mimic Fibromyalgia. Blood tests can tell if you have either of these problems. Sometimes, Fibromyalgia is confused with rheumatoid arthritis or lupus. But, again, there is a difference in the symptoms, physical findings and blood tests that will help your health care provider detect these health problems. Unlike Fibromyalgia, these rheumatic diseases cause inflammation in the joints and tissues.

How is Fibromyalgia treated? There is no cure for Fibromyalgia. However, symptoms can be treated with both medication and non-drug treatments. Many times the best outcomes are achieved by using multiple types of treatments. The FDA has approved three drugs for the treatment of Fibromyalgia. They include two drugs that change some of the brain chemicals (serotonin and norepinephrine) that help control pain levels: duloxetine (Cymbalta) and milnacipran (Savella). 

For the past few weeks, I've found myself taking more and more NSAIDS (non steroidal anti-inflammatory drugs like Advil or Aleve) to help with the pain. I've also had to take something to help me sleep, like Melatonin and Diphenhydramine. On my next visit to the oncologist, in October, I'll be talking with him about a solution to this problem. I'm hoping he'll have good advice to help me. My quality of life has been greatly affected by this constant, generalized pain. No one wants to feel like they have the flu all the time and that's exactly the way I feel. 

Thank you for bearing with me through this gripe session. In my effort to open and honest and real about breast cancer and the aftermath of it, I have to share the good, the bad, and the ugly. Doctors don't talk about all the things that can happen before, during, or after treatment. It's up to the patient to do his/her homework and be prepared. 

What I'm thinking: 

I really, really wish I didn't have to deal with one more side effect of cancer. It's getting to be so frustrating to always feel crappy. I hate to always be complaining about not feeling well. I'm thankful for my family members who love me anyway, despite my whining. It would be so nice to feel normal again. Some days I wish I could turn back the hands of time to a period of time long before cancer entered my life, but I know that's not possible. I hate the term "new normal" and how everyone tells me I have to learn to live within the boundaries of it. Day by day I am reminded that cancer sucks. I'm doing my best to work through the pain and learn to live with it. I don't want to have to take any more medications but something has to give. I'm so tired of hurting all the time and I long for a good night's sleep. How wonderful it would be to be able to wake up in the morning feeling well rested and healthy. I sure hope Dr. F can help. 

©bonnie annis all rights reserved

I had a dream

Martin Luther King, Jr. made the statement "I have a dream," when he made his famous speech for the civil rights movement. He had a great dream. I had a dream, too, but my dream did not embody greatness. It did, however, shake me to my core.

It's amazing to me how real dreams can sometimes seem. Last night I had a really bad dream and when I woke up, I was in tears. I know my dream stemmed from something hidden deep in my subconscious but it took me a few days to get over.

I was on a long train and I was traveling to an unknown destination. I remember being somewhere on the back of the train, walking slowly up the aisle in a dim light. As I walked up the aisle, I was leaning over looking at the passengers in each set of seats. I was searching desperately for something or someone.

As I continued passing each set of seats, I finally neared the front of the train. Just to my right, as I peered over the tops of the seats, I see my sweet husband's face and directly next to him is a pretty woman with short, cropped blonde hair.

I remember speaking something to my husband and before he had a chance to reply, the blonde piped up and said, "he doesn't love you any more. He's with me now. He wanted a real woman, a woman with breasts." I cringed, in my dream, and looked quizzically at my husband as the woman beside him jutted out her ample bosom. I watched as she sidled up to him and snuggled into his shoulder. The devastation I felt was so overwhelming. He'd told me he'd love me forever, in sickness and in health, til death do us part and now, he was no longer mine...I tossed and turned in my sleep. I'm sure I moaned and groaned as I faced the gamut of emotions during this terrible, heart wrenching dream.

When I woke up, I was feeling a deep despair. I reached over to my husband's side of the bed. He was fast asleep. I sat up with tears streaming down my face. I knew this had only been a dream but it was so very real.

Within a few minutes, Phil woke up. He must have felt me stirring. He raised up on one arm and looked at me. He knew immediately that something was wrong. As he asked me what was the matter, I started to bawl. He reached over to take me in his arms and asked me to explain what was bothering me. I told him about the dream and when I'd finished, he squeezed me tight and said, "you know I'd never do anything like that. I love you. I always have and always will. I'm not going anywhere. I'll be with you forever." His words gave me such comfort and after a while, I was able to relax and let go of the feelings of inadequacy and fear.

Dreams are mysteries to me. How can they feel so real and how can I dream in color? I even knew the woman's name in my dream. Her name was Cody! The brain is an amazing machine that can conjure up all kinds of thoughts, images, and emotions.

When I was in high school, studying psychology, I remember doing a unit on dreams. We studied about the significance of various types of dreams and what the represented. Dreaming of falling represented a fear of losing control over a particular situation in one's life. Train dreams, like mine, indicated going somewhere unknown and having no control over the destination. That much of my dream was true! I have definitely felt I was traveling to an unknown destination since boarding the breast cancer train.

I guess my mind just had a field day with a combination of fears, conversations and events in my life and compiled them all into this crazy, outrageous dream. After I was able to get past the pain of the emotional turmoil I felt, I was able to dismantle the dream piece by piece.

The train ride represented my breast cancer journey. The searching out passengers was an attempt to find my husband for security. He's always by my side and helps me get through difficult challenges. The voluptuous blonde woman represented everything I'm not and her statement "he's with me now" was Satan's effort to tell me I'm no longer considered a woman now that I have no breasts. The feelings of hurt, disappointment, abandonment, and fear were all real feelings I've faced through this journey but once again, Satan twisted those to make my dream into one of a false reality.

I'm so thankful I was able to wake up from that wicked illusion realizing it was only a dream. I'm glad I know that my husband loves me with or without breasts and he's promised to be with me forever...and I believe him with all my heart. He truly loves me and would never do anything to hurt me. I am so blessed to have him in my life.

©bonnie annis all rights reserved

What a workout!

I was so excited as I pulled into the driveway and saw the huge box against my front door. My rebounder finally came. I could barely wait to get out of the car and open the front door! It is August, not December, but it felt like Christmas to me.

With a good amount of effort, I drug the box inside the house. It was more cumbersome than heavy. As I unboxed the rebounder, I was amazed at how quickly it went together. All I had to do was screw on the 6 stabilizing legs and put on some end caps. Voila'! My rebounder was ready.

I flipped it over and stood looking at it for a few minutes. It looked really nice. I'd gotten to choose the color of the bungees and the top. I chose hot pink, very significant of my breast cancer journey, don't you think? As I looked over the rebounder, I wondered if it would hold my weight. It looked sturdy enough even though I wasn't a little kid anymore and I was significantly heavier than I had been way back then!

I slipped the instructional DVD into my computer and pressed play. Timidly, I stepped up onto the rebounder watching the bungee cords as they gave way just a bit. So far, so good. I marched in place and got used to the way it felt to be on the top of the rebounder. I'd never been on one before and this was very new to me. I was surprised at how I struggled to keep my balance. I'm sure it will get better with time. I wished I'd bought the stabilizing bars that were optional, but hindsight is 20/20. Maybe I'll order then later.

The lady on the exercise video began to move on her rebounder. She was so thin and energetic! (Naturally, why would they choose an overweight instructor?!) I watched and mirrored her actions. She started out slowly and then increased the intensity. As I was working out with her, I thought this was going to be a pretty easy way to exercise. First we were just marching in place and then we progressed to jumping jacks.

Getting up a little courage, I began to bounce along with her. This was supposed to be an exercise that would help my lymphatic system. I sure hoped it worked. It was starting to be fun! I bounced a little higher and a little higher copying her movements. The higher I got, the more out of control I felt. I needed to slow it down a little. I realized as I was beginning to slow myself down, the light fixture in my office was right over my head and if I'd kept on bouncing higher and higher, I would have probably knocked myself out on the light. I got a mental image of myself trying to explain to the doctor how I got a brass finial embedded in my head! Heavens!

I'd worked up a sweat and as I was wiping my forehead, the instructor finished up the workout session. I stood on the floor and watched her. I glanced from the computer screen to the written instructions I'd received and noticed a warning. The warning said to keep exercise sessions between 2 and 5 minutes a day for the first week. I'd already worked out about 15 minutes. It also said the day after you began rebounding, you'd notice sore muscles in areas that had not been worked for some time. That tells me that tomorrow, I'm going to feel the burn. I have a lot of muscles that haven't been worked out in a really long time.

I'm so glad I was the only one home today when I began rebounding. I bet I looked really funny. I had on a black and white striped exercise top, black leggings, and some fuzzy pink polkadot slipper socks on to keep me from falling. Can you imagine me bouncing up and down hair flying all over the place while stifling unbridled laughter?

After a few days, I'm sure I'll get the hang of it. I'm excited to know it's low impact. My poor old knees are thankful too. Fifty seven years old and jumping on a mini  trampoline...who wouldn't thunk it?

©bonnie annis all rights reserved

Breast cancer is like gardening!

I'm not much of a gardener, I'll admit. Oh, I love a beautiful yard and spend hours a day wishing I had one, but, I don't. Yard work takes time and lots of energy. I haven't had much of either lately. But I do subscribe to Better Homes and Gardens. I do peruse the magazine and dream of what my yard could look like. I do enjoy seeing homes with thick green grass, shrubs, and flowers planted in perfect order.

As I sit at my desk, I can see our front yard from my window. Everything is lush and green at first glance, but as I look closer, I see not only the Bermuda grass but lots and lots of weeds! How did they get there? When we first bought our house, just a little over a year ago, the Bermuda grass was perfect, not one single weed dotted the lawn. Now, there are almost more weeds than Bermuda grass and I'll admit, I haven't felt like going out to weed. I did Google how to take care of Bermuda grass, because I had no idea what it required, and I found out it's important to biannually apply both fertilizer and a weed killer. The trouble with weeds is they're pretty invasive. If left unchecked, one little weed can take hold and ruin a perfectly good yard in just a small amount of time. And that's what happened to our yard.

The more I look at the weeds, the more they bother me. It would take a lot of time to get out there on my hands and knees and pull them up, but, on the other hand, an application of Weed and Feed wouldn't take more than an hour using a lawn spreader.

Those pesky weeds! The more I think about them, the more I want to rip them up. Have you ever tried pulling up weeds by hand? Some of them are pretty stubborn! Their roots are like little tentacles spreading far and wide. They seem to have a death grip on the soil and take a lot of muscle to dig out. Heaven forbid if you pull and don't get the roots! Those rotten little suckers will come right back again and with a vengeance.

When I was diagnosed with Invasive Ductal Carcinoma last year, I asked the doctor exactly what that meant. She explained that the cancer started inside a milk duct in my breast and then began to spread outside the milk duct into the breast tissue. It didn't stop there! It kept on going and spread to my lymph nodes. My cancer was like a pesky weed! It had taken root and spread out tentacles of destruction. The only way to eradicate it was through surgery. So, that's exactly what I did. I allowed the surgeon to lop off my boobs, just like you'd lop of broken tree limbs but not quite. And when she injected the radioactive blue dye into my breast tissue, it lit up my lymph nodes like a Christmas tree. The cancer had traveled and made a home there. Instead of forcibly pulling at the roots of the metastasis, the surgeon completely cut out and removed the lymph nodes. The problem was eliminated!

So if the problem was eliminated, why do I have a constant fear of recurrence? Just like the pesky weeds in my lawn keep coming back even after we pull them up, I have a constant dread that one day, the cancer is going to rear its ugly head again somewhere else in my body. It didn't help that my breast surgeon made me feel guilty about not taking the chemo meds but that was my choice. I didn't want to put poison into my body. I chose to go a more natural route. And when we get ready to take out those stinkin' weeds, I'll try to find a natural solution instead of pouring harmful chemicals onto the grass.

Cancer, they say, is the gift that keeps on giving and I believe that statement to be true. It continues to give daily challenges. Not all of the challenges are bad, but some of them are worse than others. Like a lawn full of weeds, if I give up and do nothing, the weeds win! They take over and kill out the grass. But if I choose to fight them, I can take them out one by one. Yes, a new one might pop up here and there but if I'm diligent, I can handle it. That's the attitude I have to take toward this "dumb, stupid, breast cancer" too.

If I ever face another metastasis in my body, I'll do a lot of research to find out the best way to deal with it. My doctors will advise me according to their expertise. I hope that day never comes, but I'm going to keep my eyes peeled and my self exams constant. If I find anything suspicious, I'll report it right away.

Breast cancer is like gardening. Our bodies require constant love and attention. They need to be cared for and treated well, just like a well manicured lawn. One day, maybe my lawn will be devoid of chickweed and sedge. I'd love for people to ride by oohing and ahhing over my bright, green grass and hopefully the weeds, just like the cancer in my body, will be non-existent.  That's my plan anyway.

©bonnie annis all rights reserved

..."we so often live our blessings without ever acknowledging them. Perhaps the gift of losing one’s health is the gratitude it can grow for the simple functions of life." ~ Kara Tippetts

My deep, dark secret

When I was 15, I wanted to get a tattoo. I begged my mother for one and she vehemently told me, "NO." When I asked her why I couldn't get one, she said something to the effect of "good girls don't get tattoos." I knew I was a good girl but secretly also knew I was a rebel at heart. Years went by and I forgot about my desire to get a tattoo. I think my mother was thankful. We never discussed it again until many, many years later.

When I was 51, I decided I was GOING to get that tattoo I'd always wanted. I was going to keep it a secret, just between my husband and I. I was determined to do it and he knew he'd better not say one word about it. So we drove to the closest tattoo shop and I went inside.

I had no idea what to expect but wasn't too shocked to see posters of all sorts of tattoos on the walls. There were many scary, evil, dark looking ones. They made me feel very creepy so I quickly flipped through the posters until I came to a section of butterflies and flowers...much better.

When I was called back, a young guy in his mid twenties introduced himself to me. He said his name was Ben. I checked him out. His ears were gauged, his eyebrow pierced and his body was randomly covered in tattoos. I assumed he was also a rebel. He'd do just fine.

He took me back to one of the rooms and motioned for me to have a seat on the massage table. We sat and talked a few minutes and he asked if I had any idea what I wanted. He also asked if I knew where I wanted to put a tattoo. At that point, I really didn't have a clue what tattoo I wanted or where I wanted to put it. I only knew I wanted to keep it hidden from the public eye for the majority of the time. After sharing that with Ben, I decided to have it placed on my left outer calf muscle. So far so good...a place was selected, now all I needed was to give him the idea for my tattoo. I still had no idea what I wanted. Ben started to ask me questions about things I liked. He was very good at what he did and he was very patient too. I liked that. As we went through a long list of things, we started talking about nature and that led to a brief discussion of my love of hummingbirds. He asked if I'd like him to draw up a hummingbird and I told him that would be fine. He left the room and went to draw. While he was gone, my husband and I talked about the tattoo parlor and how strange it felt for both of us to be in there. Here we were middle aged, middle class folks in the middle of a world we knew nothing about. I wondered what the tattoo artist thought about me...an older woman wanting her first tattoo. Surely he had to be laughing inside but then again, he may have only been seeing dollar signs.

After a short time, the artist reappeared with a beautifully sketched image of a hummingbird. I rolled up the leg of my jeans and he put the stencil on my calf. When he peeled it off, I loved it! I exclaimed how pleased I was and he said, "I haven't even started working on you yet. Just wait until I'm done."

He helped me get comfortable on the table and my husband stood in the doorway so he could see what was going on. I didn't know what it was going to feel like to get a tattoo and asked Ben to explain it to me. Instead of doing that, he said, as he took the tattoo machine in hand and pressed it against my leg, "this is what it feels like." He slowly began outlining the hummingbird. He asked if I was okay with that and I shook my head affirmatively.

The tattoo needle was very light, almost like a bee sting. It hurt, but also felt good at the same time. I know that sounds weird but it really did! (That's why tattoos are addictive to some people I guess). As he worked on the outline, I hardly paid attention to the pain. When it came time for him to begin shading the tattoo, I noticed he changed needles. I asked about it and he said he used 5 needles for outlining but 7 for shading. I watched intently as he dipped the needles into various colors and shaded the bird. It was amazing. It was like coloring with ink only instead of having a nice, smooth,flat surface to work on, Ben was dealing with real flesh and blood. Occasionally he'd stop and wipe my leg removing ink and droplets of blood. After about an hour and a half, Ben had completed my hummingbird.

The beautiful color on my leg was amazing! Ben had done a fantastic job of creating a very realistic tattoo. I was so pleased and told him. I watched as Ben carefully applied the petroleum jelly and plastic wrap which would protect the tattoo until I could get home and wash it with antibacterial soap. Ben gave me instructions on tattoo care as we paid him and got ready to go.

In the car, I told my husband thank you for going with me. I knew he wasn't keen on my getting a tattoo but he knew how much it meant to me. I felt an energy welling up inside me. It had only taken me 36 years to have my dream of having a tattoo come true.

I was able to keep my tattoo hidden from my family and coworkers for a long time by wearing slacks or calf length skirts. Working for a Southern Baptist Church, tattoos were not only frowned upon but unbiblical. ("You shall not make any cuts on your body for the dead or tattoo yourselves: I am the LORD." Leviticus 19:28) And yes, I am a Christian. And yes, I believe the entire Bible is God's Word. But I did it anyway. I didn't do it to defy God. I didn't do it to cause dissension in the family of God. I did it because I wanted it for myself. ( I won't go into a long discussion here because that would make my post extremely long...but I do want you to understand I am very serious about my faith and always have been.)

Little did I know that years later, and many tattoos later, I'd be getting 6 more tattoos...but these wouldn't be in a tattoo parlor. These would be at the radiation clinic. When the radiologist explained to me that I'd be receiving 6 tiny blue dots that would be tattooed on my skin to help line up the linear accelerator, I smiled. "Are you sure you don't mind now, these will be on you forever," the tech told me. I assured her it was okay and then promptly showed her my other tattoos.

Today, as I was looking in the mirror after my shower, I took my finger and traced the dots of the little tattoos. They began mid abdomen and traveled up and over the space where my right breast would have been. Tiny little dark blue dots. If you didn't know they were there, you'd miss them. The radiology staff knew they were there and they used them at each of my radiation treatments. They were tiny guidelines to make sure the radiation beams were aimed exactly where they needed to be.

Most of my family and friends don't know I have even one tattoo, let alone 11. I wonder what they'll think of me after they read this post. I can just imagine how they'll stereotype me along with the bikers and low life folks who usually sport tattoos and if they do that, I'll be sad. My tattoos are an expression of me (all except the 6 from the cancer...those I'd have never chosen to have in all my life). It would be so nice if people would look upon a person's heart and their character instead of merely focusing on their outer appearance but that doesn't usually happen. I'm still the same sweet, loving, caring person I always was before my first tattoo and I intend to be the same for the rest of my life.

I still cover my tattoos when I go out. It is not my intention to ever offend anyone. Some people like tattoos and some don't. I respect each person's right to choose. If I had it to do over again, I probably wouldn't have ever gotten that first tattoo. I'll admit, I never really gave a lot of thought to the fact that I'd have the ink on my body for the rest of my life, but that's typical of me. I've always been a "dive in feet first" kinda person and ask questions later.

In a magazine a few weeks ago, I saw a photo of an old woman with several tattoos. Her body was very frail and filled with wrinkles. The tattoos she had weren't as attractive as they once were and that got me to thinking. I wondered what my tattoos would look like in 10 years or 20 or 25. And then, I wondered how I'd explain them to my grandchildren without encouraging them to do the same thing. I had never thought of that before either...

Don't get me wrong. I don't regret getting my first tattoo or any of the ones that followed. I can't really explain my reasons for getting one other than to say I've always had little rebellious streak in me.

When I was a child, if someone told me I couldn't do something, I just had to prove them wrong and I'd do it. I guess that carried over into my teenage years and even into adulthood. I was always obedient and compliant as a child. I always, always did what I was told. I always pushed myself to live up to higher standards and excelled in everything but it never was quite good enough. This quote by Pink sums it up pretty well "My mom took all of my behavior personally. Everything I did, she thought it was an act of rebellion against her. But it was just me being me." I always felt like I had to prove something...whether to myself or someone else, I don't really know...I just had to do it.

So there you have it...my deep, dark secret. I'm sure some of you won't understand and probably won't be back to read my blog anymore, but that's okay. And there are some of you who'll just say, "Wow, I had no idea," and you'll still be my friend and love me. You know they'll always be haters and haters gonna hate! In either case, it's okay. I'll still have my tattoos because they aren't going anywhere and hopefully, 20 or 30 years down the road, my hummingbird will still look like a hummingbird and not a vulture or something terrible like that!

© bonnie annis all rights reserved

Once again...

In the morning, I'll be getting up with the chickens, as my grandmother used to say. My pre-op appointment is at 7:30 a.m. and it will take me about an hour to get to the hospital. I'm not looking forward to it. I know they'll be doing routine pre-operative tests like chest x-rays, blood work, etc. I never used to mind things like that but lately, it seems I'm having the same things done over and over again. You'd think all of my information would be in the hospital's computer, wouldn't you? I'll be compliant and go because I know it's necessary. 

I'm hoping there's a well trained phlebotomist on hand.  I don't have the nicest veins, mine tend to like to hide way down deep in my arm and they like to roll a little bit too. It's especially challenging when I have to tell them they need to draw blood from my hand. A lot of the young phlebotomists aren't comfortable doing that. The veins are so much smaller there. I always have to tell them to use a butterfly needle, a very thin, fine needle with plastic insertion tips shaped like butterfly wings. Getting blood drawn from your hand is painful. I used to have a very high pain tolerance but I'm not quite as brave now. I wince when I see the needle approaching and avert my eyes as the skin is pierced. 

Next week, I'll have surgery once again. This time the surgeon will be removing a cyst and some other tissue from my chest wall. I really dread it. I don't want to be in pain again and I know that's coming. Hopefully, this will be the last surgery I'll need for a very long time. 

And while I think about the upcoming procedure, I realize how very blessed I am. I'm still extremely thankful for my recent PET scan results. Instead of going in for outpatient surgery,  I could be going in for removal of metastatic tumors on my spine, but God is so good! The tumor that was seen on the MRI at the L-5 vertebrae of my spine completely disappeared. Some folks might think it was coincidence. They might think it was never there in the first place, but 3 radiologists saw it and agreed it was more than likely a metastasis. There's no other explanation for me than God healed it. 

I know so many women battling stage 4 metastatic breast cancer right now. Many of them are young and have been given very poor prognoses. My heart breaks for them and I can't help but think, there but for the grace of God go I. 

It's hard to understand why God allows some to suffer unto death and some He heals completely. We can't make sense of it and we're not supposed to because God is God and we are not. That's one reason I celebrate each moment of my life now. I used to take so much for granted but cancer has taught me to focus on "the here and now." 

I'm reminded every day, that things could be so much worse than they are. I am grateful that God, in His mercy, has allowed me a second chance at life and I don't want to screw that up. 

Lord, help me to always focus on what you've done in my life and what you are doing now. Help me to see your hand in everything. Remind me to be sensitive to the needs of others less fortunate than myself and help me to always be willing to share the wonderful gift of salvation with them. I know everything in my life happens according to Your divine plan. Nothing escapes your sight. Each person you put in my path is for a specific reason. Your timing is always perfect. Help me to concentrate more on You and less on the pain and discomfort that I experience on a daily basis. Let me remember the words of Philippians 4:13, "I can do all things through Christ who gives me strength." Amen

© bonnie annis all rights reserved

Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy!

Can you tell I'm excited? I can hardly wait! I ordered my Bellicon Rebounder yesterday and now, I'm just waiting for it's arrival so I can get started rebounding. Since reading about the benefits to the Lymphatic system, I've been looking forward to not only jumping around to help my body, but I'm thinking I'm going to have a lot of fun while doing it, too! I feel like a little kid!

I always wanted a trampoline when I was younger but we never had the money for such frivolities. Not many of my friends had trampolines either. They weren't really that popular in the late 50's and early 60's.

The first time I ever saw a real trampoline was at the Ringling Brothers Barnum and Bailey circus. We watched the trapeze artists walk the high wire above a huge trampoline. It was a time of gasps and nail biting as they performed their aerial antics. We were so afraid they'd fall and sometimes they did, but the trampoline was the safety net. It always looked so fun when they'd fall to the trampoline and bounce up high in the air a few times before slowing to a stop and landing.

Today I received an email from the rebounding company. They included a short video explaining the benefits of rebounding. I'm including it here for you to see (in case any of you might want to purchase your own rebounder in the future). The benefits of rebounding on a Bellicon rebounder .

I did a lot of research before deciding to purchase the Bellicon rebounder. There are many rebounders out there and I wanted to make sure to get a sturdy, well built one. After studying about all the various choices, I narrowed my selection down to two rebounders. The first was a Needak rebounder. Needak® rebounders are well made and they've been manufactured since 1990. The only thing that concerned me about their rebounders was the noise. They are made with stainless steel springs, like most other rebounders. The Bellicon uses a patented bungee system that provides an almost silent rebound and I liked that a lot. Both companies offer folding legs or stationary legs. I chose the stationary legs for mine because I won't be needing to fold it up and store it away often, but for people who'd like to slide it under a bed, the folding legs would be optimal. Both springs and bungee cords will eventually wear out and need to be replaced. With the Bellicon, the replacement bungee cords only need to be replaced every 3-4 years and are easily replaced by the owner in the comfort of his/her home. Bellicon rebounders are made in Germany and assembled here in the USA. That made a big difference to me too! I didn't want to buy a product that was made in China with substandard materials.

To use the rebounder for maximum health benefits, I googled rebounding exercise videos. I was surprised to find how many exercises can be done on the rebounder. I was also amazed to see how many body parts work in conjuction during rebounding. I really liked the low impact aspect of rebounding and thought it would be a great addition to my cardiovascular workout.

Hopefully my new Bellicon rebounder will be here this week! Stay tuned and I'll let you know when it arrives and how my first jumping session goes. I can't help thinking I need to find the song, "Stop in the name of love," on Pandora. It only seems fitting for a Southern Bell to have that playing during the first rebounding session...Kathy Bates, in the movie, Fried Green Tomatoes, did it and it was just perfect. I just can't get that image out of my mind as I think about rebounding!

©bonnie annis all rights reserved

Zorro strikes again!

If you ever saw my body naked, you'd probably think I'd had a sword fight with Zorro and lost. Seriously, my body is marked with scars from many different surgeries and those scars look very similar to gashes from steel blades. I don't think much about them because I see them every day and I've gotten used to them, but yesterday, when I heard the breast surgeon tell me I was going be going under the knife again, I got a mental image of a black masked man frantically wielding his blade. I know, you don't have to say it, I'm not quite right in the head.

If you're not familiar with Zorro, he's a fictional character. His story is that of a masked rider who battles the unjust rulers of the pueblo of Los Angeles during the days of Spanish rule. His real identity is that of Don Diego de la Vega, the son of a wealthy landowner. Upon his return from Spain and he discovers Los Angeles is under the command of a cruel man. Knowing that he cannot hope to single-handedly defeat Monastario and his troops, Diego resorts to subterfuge. He adopts the secret identity of Zorro, a sinister figure dressed in black, bearing his trusty sword. He is a righter of wrongs and heads out to fight injustice.
Now that you understand a little of who Zorro was, let me tell you about another of my heros, Dr. S, my breast surgeon. She's the greatest! Yesterday, she came into the room and took the large curtain that slides around a ceiling track in her hand. She swung it across the room dramatically and tucked the end of it into the handle of the cabinet on the wall making a makeshift isolation booth for me. She gets right in my face and says, in a long, slow drawl, "so whatcha been doin'?" like she's my best friend checking up on me. I smiled a huge smile and said, "nothin'." She grinned and began to go over my MRI and PET scan reports. After asking me how I've been feeling, she comes over to examine me. I untie my robe and listen.

As she slides her hand along my scars, feeling for abnormalities, Dr. S hovers over one area. She tells me she's going to check further and pulls out the ultrasound machine. The cold jelly slides across my chest easily as she squirts it on and then she takes the transducer and concentrates on the area where my right breast used to reside. "It looks like you've got a couple of issues here that we need to address," she says. Dr. S explains what she needs to do and why. She asks if I have any questions and I don't at the time. All I can think is here we go again, more scars...the Zorro in my head smiles.

My daughter, Laura, and I enter the office manager's office and sit waiting for her to check schedules and dates. We come up with a plan A and a plan B. Dr. S will confirm which one works best for her and they'll get back to me asap. We leave the office to the cheerful goodbyes of the office staff.

While we're on that side of town, we run by Renewal, a mastectomy/breast cancer supply store. It's time for me to pick out my annual allotment of 4 new mastectomy bras. Inside the store, we look around while waiting on the salesperson. There are breast cancer t shirts, wigs, bras, jewelry, and other items for new patients and survivors. Finally the sales lady comes and I order my new bras. While she's ringing me up, I think to myself that I'd better learn this lady's name because we're going to become close friends with our annual meetings.

We scoot out the door and into the hot summer sun. My daughter slides behind the driver's seat, I love having my own personal chauffeur! She's so sweet to want to be with me on these special appointments. I am truly blessed.

It's close to lunchtime so we stop and grab some fast food before heading home. We know it's not good for us but we do it anyway.

Finally home, we carry our packages inside. I slip into the bedroom to take off my boobs. As I stand in front of the bathroom mirror, I take a deep, long look at myself. Hideous...just hideous. Various scars in different shades mark my body. There's the horizontal scar at the base of my neck, it looks like I've had my throat slit...thyroid surgery for a precancerous condition back in 2005. It's almost faded now and is barely noticeable except in Summer when I get a tan. The scar stays pale and prominent. Moving on down, I come to my mastectomy scars, they are still deep red and jagged. The huge horizontal scars streak across my chest cavity, evidence of my recent breast cancer surgery. Just below those scars is a huge, wide diagonal scar from gallbladder surgery I had performed in 1973. I was just a teenager and my gallbladder burst so emergency surgery had to be performed. There was no laproscopy back then, thus, my long, wide scar. It extends from the center of my chest downward toward my right hip. A little lower down, I have another horizontal scar. This one is under my belly and above my pubic bone, a partial hysterectomy done in 1989, after the birth of my last child. As I review my surgeries and scars, Zorro appears again...waiting, blade drawn.

If you haven't figured it out by now, I'm a very visual person. Imagery is a vital part of my life and I use it often when describing things to my family or friends. The humorous side of imagining Zorro standing at the ready helps me get over thinking about the pain that's always associated with surgery. I don't want more scars but they're necessary to accomplish what needs to be done to preserve my health.

I'm so thankful God invented clothing! In the garden of Eden, after Adam and Eve sinned, God clothed them with animal skins because they were ashamed of their nakedness. I'll admit, I'm ashamed of my nakedness too. I'm glad I don't have to wear animal skins! It's too darn hot for that, but I'm thankful for modern day clothing that allows me to cover up the ugliness of my scars.

I'm also thankful for my scars. They are my battle wounds. They tell a story. They say I've been through a lot of trauma but I've lived to tell about it. My scars are only superficial. The inside of me is still pretty much in tact and best of all, my spirit remains untouched!

Another scar. Nope. Not looking forward to it at all. Being sliced across skin, nerves, blood vessels, tendons and muscles...definitely will bring pain, but it's necessary so I'll endure it. I'm thankful for anesthesia, a skilled surgeon and a wonderful medical facility where I'll obtain the best of care. And after my surgery is over and I've completely recovered, just think of the stories I can tell my grandchildren about my encounters with Zorro! I can hardly wait to see their faces but I hope I'll never have to show them my scars.

© bonnie annis all rights reserved

A little bit jealous

Today I had the joy of going to the hospital to visit some dear friends. They'd just had their first child, a beautiful baby boy. They were so excited to share the details of their labor and delivery. I quietly watched their animated expressions. They were so happy and so in love. It was wonderful!

My husband and I watched them as they tenderly held their little one. He was so tiny, so fragile. He was all wrapped up in a little flannel blanket the hospital had provided and had the tiniest little hat on his head. Peeking out from under that hat was a head full of coal black hair. The window blinds were open and casting the most beautiful light on his face. Every single feature was gorgeous.

And then, the baby began to get fussy. She was a new mother and didn't quite know what to do. She let him fuss and cry looking up at me with an expression of puzzlement in her eyes. I went over to the baby and picked him up. I told her it was probably time for him to eat and asked when she'd last fed him. She told me it had been earlier this morning and now, it was almost 11:30 a.m. I said it was more than likely that he was either in need of a diaper change or ready to eat. I suggested she feed him first and change him later.

All the men in the room decided to leave. It was evident they felt strange about being around a woman who was about to begin breastfeeding. I asked her husband if he'd like me to stay and help her since she didn't have any family or friends with her. He happily agreed as he left the room with the other men.

I went over to her and helped her unsnap her hospital gown revealing her lovely, voluptuous breast. I asked if she knew how to breast feed and she shook her head no. She had only tried what she thought was the right way to do it earlier in the day and didn't have much success. I explained to her it was so important that the baby latch on correctly so he could feed properly and so he wouldn't make her sore. Lifting the baby to her breast, I showed her how to position him properly so he could take hold of her breast. Immediately, the baby latched on and began sucking. My friend looked up at me and had the biggest grin on her face. She was so excited! When I felt she was secure in feeding, I walked back to my chair and sat with her. We didn't talk, I just watched this beautiful mother and son bonding.

I was ashamed of myself as I sat there watching. Tiny, tiny pangs of jealousy overcame me and I don't even know why they did. I'm well past childbearing years. I guess the reason I was feeling a little jealous was due to memories of feeding my own children. Those were such sweet times. Holding one of my children against my body and feeling that gentle pull as sustenance flowed from me into them. It was a time of sheer bliss. As I continued to watch her, I was reminded that my breasts are gone...permanently gone. Sitting in the chair, I said a silent prayer for her, that she would never experience the horrors of breast cancer.

The baby fed for about ten minutes and I went over to show her how to burp him. She was so funny trying to pat him on the back. She barely patted at all and I told her he wouldn't break. She had to pat just a little harder to expel the air from his stomach. He let out a hearty burp as I took him from her and showed her once again. Then I helped him latch onto the other side.

I'd taken my camera with me in hopes of getting some special photos. I knew my friends didn't have anyone to take photos of them and I wanted to do it as a special gift to them. While the feeding continued, I asked permission to take some photos during this special time. Behind my lens, I was amazed at the simplistic beauty that filled the frame. Tears welled in my eyes as I beheld this special moment. After capturing several shots, I put my camera down and went over to help again. I asked if she knew how to change the baby's diaper and she shook her no. I was so glad I was there to show her what to do.

The baby was fed and happy as he drifted off to sleep. Tenderly, I placed him in his bassinet and went over to help my sweet friend fasten her gown. She hadn't been one bit embarrassed to have me help her and I was grateful for the opportunity. As I snapped the last snap, I asked if she'd bought any breast pads for her bra. She looked at me like I was crazy until I explained what they were and then, she said she didn't have any. This poor first time mother! She had so much to learn. I wished I lived closer to her so I could help her when she went  home from the hospital.

It's amazing that God perfectly provides for mothers to feed their babies. It's the most natural thing and yet some consider it obscene if done in public. Artists have painted gorgeous paintings of women with a child at their breast, but I guess beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Some appreciate this side of femininity and some do not.

When I got home, I went through the photos I had taken at the hospital. The all turned out perfectly. When I got to the ones of my friend feeding her little one, all the feelings of jealousy I'd experienced earlier were gone. Here before me was just a sweet, young mother caring for her baby.

I do miss my breasts. I'd be lying if I said I didn't. It's taken a year and a half to get to a point where I can not wear my prostheses and be okay with it. When I go out in public, I wear them. Not because I want to feel feminine but because my clothes don't fit well without them.

Breasts are not merely sexual objects. They are functional. They were created for a purpose and feeding a baby is one of them.

I can't wait to show the photos I took to her husband. I'm hoping he'll like them. I think he will be pleasantly surprised.

Before I left the hospital room, my friend paid me a huge compliment. She told me I was "a wonderful mother" but also "a wonderful friend." She was so thankful to have had me to teach her how to breastfeed her child today. What better way to end a day? And how could anyone be jealous after that?

© bonnie annis all rights reserved

Jump for joy!

If you've been reading my blog for a while, you know I struggle daily with swelling in my upper arms. It drives me nuts! Within just a few minutes of waking, my arms are already getting fat, and I have a condition called Lymphedema to thank for it. It not only causes discomfort, it also causes me to have to buy shirts two sizes larger than I normally wear just so I can get my arms in the sleeves! So, you can imagine my frustration and my desire to find any and everything that will help decrease the effects of Lymphedema on my body.

Today, as I was researching, I found an interesting study by By Dave Scrivens, Certified Lymphologist, that was published in the Well Being Journal Vol. 17, No. 3. In his article, Mr. Scrivens says, "The body has a built-in need for activation. The lymph system, for example, bathes every cell, carrying nutrients to the cell and waste products away. Yet the lymph is totally dependent on physical exercise to move. Without adequate movement, the cells are left stewing in their own waste products and starving for nutrients, a situation that contributes to arthritis, cancer and other degenerative diseases. Vigorous exercise such as rebounding [jumping on a therapeutic mini-trampoline] is reported to increase lymph flow by 15 to 30 times. Also, bones become stronger with exercise. Vertical motion workouts such as rebounding are much different and much more beneficial and efficient than horizontal motion workouts, such as jogging or running. The lymph fluid moves through channels called “vessels” that are filled with one-way valves, so it always moves in the same direction. The main lymph vessels run up the legs, up the arms and up the torso. This is why the vertical up-and-down movement of rebounding is so effective to pump the lymph."

Dr. Scrivens also says: The lymphatic system is the metabolic garbage can of the body. It rids you of toxins such as dead and cancerous cells, nitrogenous wastes, infectious viruses, heavy metals, and other assorted junk cast off by the cells. The movement performed in rebounding provides the stimulus for a free-flowing system that drains away these potential poisons.

Unlike the arterial system, the lymphatic system does not have its own pump. It has no heart muscle to move the fluid around through its lymph vessels. There are just three ways to activate the flow of lymph away from the tissues it serves and back into the main pulmonary circulation. Lymphatic flow requires muscular contraction from exercise and movement, gravitational pressure, and internal massage to the valves of lymph ducts. Rebounding supplies all three methods of removing waste products from the cells and from the body."

So as I read about the beneficial effects on the body of rebounding, it just made sense! I thought weight lifting would be the best thing for displacing the fluid collecting around my upper arms but after the pain I suffered last night from using them, I've changed my mind and think this may be the best option. Now to find the perfect rebounder. 

Do you remember the scene from the movie, "Fried Green Tomatoes," where Evelyn Couch (Kathy Bates) is jumping on her rebounder? That's going to be me soon! I'll let you know how it works and maybe I'll enjoy it so much, I'll be jumping for joy every day!

©bonnie annis all rights reserved

Pump, pump, pump it up!

One of the possible after effects of bilateral mastectomy and lymph node removal is a condition called Lymphedema. It is considered chronic and incurable. When lymph nodes are removed, the normal course of the lymphatic fluid's flow is disrupted. This causes a painful swelling in one or both arms which can be quite debilitating. Other symptoms can include a change in skin color and texture, a feeling of heaviness, and difficulty using your fingers for daily tasks.

After I had my surgery, I was instructed not to have any needles, blood pressures, or any type of restrictive clothing on my right arm (because I'd had 6 nodes removed in that arm) and I was told if I must receive medical treatment of this type, I'd have to instruct the medical personal they must perform their duties on the lowest point possible on my left arm, which usually meant my hand. 

The swelling I experience has been far worse than the breast surgery itself. Usually, the swelling starts in the early morning and builds constantly throughout the day. Even though the physical therapist showed me how to perform manual lymphatic drainage on myself, the swelling is quite bothersome and impedes my arm movement. 

I was reading an article a few days ago about weight lifting and Lymphedema. It was first thought that lifting any amount of weight would be detrimental to a patient suffering Lymphedema and would exacerbate the condition. I remember shortly after my surgery, being instructed not to lift anything heavier than a gallon of milk, but was interested in this new study. Here is what it said:

In 2005, guidelines published by the National Lymphedema Network stated that strength training "poses the greatest risk to individuals with Lymphedema." But now those guidelines are being challenged. Clinical trials and studies are now delivering a blow to the old idea that exercise, and strength training in particular, worsens arm Lymphedema. Current research suggests that you pump a little iron in order to reduce or prevent arm swelling.

A study done at Lund University in Sweden found that when breast cancer patients did a regular program of light free weights they experienced relief from their symptoms. Routine lifting of one-pound weights helped with muscle tone, arm strength, and bone density.

At Flinders University in Australia, 38 women learned to combine deep breathing with arm exercise for 10 minutes every morning and evening. They did this program for one month, and found that their arm swelling went down. In addition, their Lymphedema symptoms were much milder than before starting regular exercise. These women said that their arms felt better for 24 hours, one week, and even one month after the end of the study.

Finally, a study published in the New England Journal of Medicine looked at 141 breast cancer patients with Lymphedema who had taken part in an exercise program. While half of the patients were careful not to overuse their arms, the other half was doing progressive weight lifting. All of the women in the study had lost one breast, had relatively healthy body weight, and had been out of breast cancer treatment for at least one year. Certified Lymphedema therapists monitored the women's arms, and fitness professionals working at the YMCA taught 90-minute classes that met twice a week. During classes, the women followed a routine of warm-ups, abdominal and back exercises, and weight-lifting exercises. They did weight lifting with all the major muscle groups, very slowly increasing the weights that were used. No upper limit was set for the weight to be lifted, and instructors worked to monitor safety and comfort of the participants, as well as keep an eye out for Lymphedema flare-ups.

Researchers were surprised to find that the group that lifted weights had significantly less Lymphedema symptoms than the women who protected their arms.

Researchers think that arm muscle contractions may help move lymph fluid back to veins in your armpit and neck, so it can rejoin your blood circulation. When the lymph fluid goes back into circulation, your arm Lymphedema should improve. 

After reading the study, I decided to try daily weight lifting using light 3 pound weights. I was hesitant to exercise for long periods of time until I tested out the effects of weight lifting on my own swollen arms and therefore, decided to begin a daily trial of 30 minutes or less.  

I searched the internet for a beginner's weight training program and found one with the "Beach body mom." I noted before beginning, my arms were pretty swollen but wanted to conduct this experiment on myself, so I began slowly. The weights didn't seem very heavy at all but as I progressed past the 10 minute mark, it became more and more difficult to raise my arms with the tiny weights. I don't know how much of that struggle was from Lymphedema and how much was just from being out of shape, but I kept going. I really pushed myself. My arms were really burning but I got to the 20 minute mark before calling it quits. 

After waiting 15 minutes (my cool down period), I rechecked my arms. It seemed they were actually a little less swollen and a little less tight. So far so good! I went about my daily household duties and checked again about 3 hours later. My arms were feeling pretty good and the swelling had stayed down. 

Around 5:00 p.m. I checked my arms again. There is still some swelling there but it is not as prevelant as it has been. I think the weights may have actually helped move some of the lymphatic fluid. 

Hans and Franz

I'm going to continue my experiment for at least a week and report my findings to the breast surgeon when I go in for my check up next week. Hopefully I'll continue to note a daily improvement. If I see an increase in swelling, I'll have to stop but until then, I'm going to pump, pump, pump it up! And, every time I say that, I can't help thinking about the Saturday Night Live skit by Hans and Frans (they're two guys making fun of Arnold Schwarzenegger). They just crack me up! Here's a short video (there's a commercial ad first, sorry about that, but if you have a few minutes, take time to watch it.)

© bonnie annis all rights reserved

You really can't afford to have cancer!

Another email notification... I've got a new EOB (that's insurance lingo for an explanation of benefits.) Oh joy, I think, as I open the email and click on the link. Instantly, I'm transported to my insurance portal. I open the EOB and gasp! $10,221.00 for a PET scan! Oh my! As my heart jumps into my throat, I realize two very important things:

1. Cancer is expensive!
2. Thank God we have insurance!

And while I'm so very thankful we have good insurance, we still have pay our 20% along with our annual deductible...which adds up to a really big chunk of change.

Out of curiosity, I pulled up all of the EOBs since I was diagnosed last June. The grand total (insert your own drumroll here) to date is $79,527.02! That's a whopping amount of medical charges and that's not all inclusive. That total doesn't include medications or incidental expenses. 20% of $79,527.02 is $15,905.40! And when you're living on one income (of well under $40,000 a year) things are pretty tight. So what do you do?

Catastrophic illnesses are never planned...they usually sneak up on you and rear their ugly heads when least expected. Many people lose their entire life savings over one devastating illness and others either go into huge amounts of debt or even face bankruptcy. And who needs the trauma of a mountain of medical debt on top of a debilitating illness...no one!

So what's a person to do? Many hospitals offer assistance for medical tests that cost exorbitant amounts but knowing who to contact for help is another story. The financial office doesn't readily make these programs known. It's up to the patient to ask about them. Some programs are based on income and others are solely based on need.

I'm sad to say my medical expenses, as they relate to cancer, are far from over. Every few months I have a visit scheduled with some sort of "-ologist" and many tests and scans are down the road. I can't spend all my time focusing on the financial end of things because if I did, I'm make myself a nervous wreck. All I can do is trust that God will provide. He always has and I know, He always will.

It could be worse! We could have no insurance whatsoever and be at risk of losing our home. I could be dead! I know that was a silly statement, but it's true! I'm thankful to be alive and doing well for the moment.

Yes, we have a mountain of medical bills and I don't know how we're going to pay our part but that's okay. I know God's got this! He cares about every single thing that affects our lives, even medical bills.

©bonnie annis all rights reserved