Precious memories

We strolled along the water's edge listening to the gentle crunch of sea shells underneath our feet. Her little sandy fingers, wrapped around my index finger, tugged not only at my hand but also at the strings of my heart. I glanced down as the sunlight danced upon her hair and melted. This tiny little one, my youngest granddaughter, Heather, had absolute power over me. I gave in freely as she led the way down the beach. I would go to the ends of the earth for her.

A sandpiper fished in the surf and we stopped to watch. A sweet peal of laughter erupted and my granddaughter tugged at my arm. She'd seen another bird up ahead and wanted to go and chase him. Off we ran through the sand with a mission in mind. I loved feeling her tight little grip on my finger. She's pretty strong for a little tyke and if I hadn't kept up with her, I'd have probably had my finger pulled out of the socket.

We caught up to the bird just as he spread his wings and lifted off into the warm, salty air. It didn't matter to Heather. She was just happy to catch up to him. I watched her sweet, little face light up as another shore bird landed close by. Off we ran again, her sandy hand leading the way.

The day was more than half over as we continued to stroll up and down the beach. I could see the sun dropping steadily into the horizon. I tried several times to turn Heather back toward the rest of our group but without much luck. She is a determined little thing, and oh so cute!

Finally, after several attempts, I managed to corral Heather and herd her back toward her parents. I whispered gently, as we walked along, "Gigi is tired." I realized how, by this time of day, my energy had waned and I didn't like it. Heather was too young to understand the concept of being tired so I just kept on walking with her, a little less quickly than before. How could I ever give up spending time with her? Every single moment with her was priceless to me.

When we reached the beach chairs, Heather's attention shifted. I watched as she picked up her little plastic shovel and sand pail. She plopped down in the damp sand and began to dig. Oh, to be a child once again...

The warm sun caressed my shoulders as I stood looking out at the surf. There was such peace in the gentle ebb and flow of the tide. I stood quietly for several minutes just watching, listening, and being grateful to be alive. The beach has always held a special place in my heart and I've always felt closest to God here.

Last year, about this time, I was healing from surgery. It's hard to believe that's behind me now. I try not to think too much about all that's transpired in the past. I'd rather put cancer behind me and leave it there.

Suddenly, I felt the cold water lapping at my toes and I stepped back. I could hear Heather off to the side playing in the sand. Looking over at her, I thanked God for her good health and prayed she'd never experience cancer as long as she lived. I thought about all the girls in our family...my daughters, my nieces, my granddaughters, my sisters, my daughter in law....One in eight...those are the statistics. Who would be next to receive a breast cancer diagnosis? I prayed that none of them would fall prey to cancer's deadly grip.

A few minutes later, I felt something brush up against my leg. As I looked down, I saw Heather's outstretched fingers. They were all sandy from her recent play, but I didn't mind. She stood there, patiently waiting for me to take her hand, so I reached down slipped her little hand into mine. We turned into the sunset and began to walk, looking for shore birds to chase. Those little bits of sand ground deeply into my skin as she gripped my hand tighter and tugged on ahead. I had to speed up a bit to keep up with her but I was so thankful she'd chosen me...her Gigi...to be her walking buddy.

Life is so very short, and like sands through the hourglass, those moments pass quickly through our fingers if we're not careful. Taking time for making memories with Heather will always be top on my list of priorities. I want her to always remember me with fondness. Maybe she'll remember the feel of my hand in hers one day. I sure hope so because I'll always remember the feel of her little sandy fingers in mine.

©bonnie annis all rights reserved

Detox or die trying

Can I ask you a question? Why do you come to my blog? I mean, really? You must get so tired of my whining and complaining. I don't mean to...really, I don't. I try not to make too much noise but today is just one of those days. If you want to leave now, I'll understand.

I'm hurting today...a lot. Usually, I'm not very aware of my spine as I go about my day to day activities. Today, I've been very aware of it. It's been screaming at me, telling me that something isn't right. My mid back, C-5 through 7, are not happy. My sacral disks, L-1 through 5, aren't happy either. My spine is in bad shape and when you're back's not happy, you know it. Moving hurts. Sitting hurts. Standing helps. Thank goodness the oncologist prescribed pain pills for me. I don't like to take them, but some days it's necessary.

For the past few days it seems my pain has increased exponentially. I'm not sure why but I do know my extremely low Vitamin D level is partly to blame. The 4 bulging disks in my spine, along with severe osteoarthritis are another contributing factor, but other than that...I have no clue. I don't even want to entertain thoughts that the cancer might be back, but sadly, that thought has crossed my mind more than once over the past few days.

Thinking about the possibility of recurrence has led me to do a lot of research today. I've spent hours pouring over internet articles regarding detoxification and breast cancer. There's an awful lot of information out there. Some of the articles are from medical journals and some are from holistic healer wannabes. I have to be very careful with the information and glean the good from the bad.

I know my body isn't healthy. In fact, this is the worst I've felt in my entire life. I don't like feeling this way and I've decided to do something about it. It's my body and I'm the one who has to live with it, so I have to be proactive about doing any and everything I can to live as long as I can. God knows the number of days He's allotted to me, but I want to be a good steward of the time I have left on this earth.

This weekend we'll be heading off to the beach for some much needed rest and relaxation. While there, I intend to do a lot of reading about detoxification. Hopefully I'll get some good ideas on where to begin. I know there will be many changes I'll make to my diet and completely eliminating sugar will be the first of those changes.

Last year, on the weekend of July 4th, I spent my time at the beach reflecting on my life. While there, it was an extremely emotional time. I knew just a few days later I'd be going through major surgery to remove both breasts. The reality of cancer hit me very hard. This trip to the beach will also be difficult. It will be hard to be there again and remember all the changes I've been through since being diagnosed.

The beach is where I always feel closest to God. The beauty and majesty of the sea always reminds me of His magnificent power. When I'm there, my heart stills and I can hear His voice so clearly. It will be good to get away from all all the city noise. In the Bible, we're told that Jesus often went away to quiet places to pray.

It is my hope that making changes to my diet and lifestyle will help my body recover. Perhaps all those toxins and free radicals floating around in my system will be eliminated and I'll be rejuvenated. I need it desperately.

I'll be taking the next week or so to rest, relax, and recuperate from the physical pain. We have to listen to our bodies. When we learn to understand what they are saying to us, we can hear when it's time to make changes. We only get one body and it's so important to take good care of the one we have. Mine hasn't been well cared for in a long time. It's time to get back on track.

© bonnie annis all rights reserved

It's not so bad being a sheep!

Have you ever really thought about Psalm 23, you know, the Lord is my Shepherd? You've probably heard it a millions times but I bet you haven't thought about this part.

First of all, get the picture in your mind. The Bible says the Lord is your Shepherd...that means, you're a sheep. It says He leads you, He restores, you, He guides you...He's in charge and you are not. You follow. He leads. Got it?

Well, as you continue on, you'll read this in verse 6, "surely goodness and mercy will follow me all the days of my life, and I shall dwell in the house of the LORD forever." Did you see it? Goodness and mercy will FOLLOW you. That means, they come behind you. They follow.

You don't see the goodness and mercy until you look back on what God's done in your life. Yes, He's always working ahead of us preparing and protecting and providing but we don't usually realize what He's done until we look back and remember!

When we look back and recount all the wonderful blessings He's given us, how He's provided for our needs, how He's been with us every step of the way, we can surely say "surely goodness and mercy will follow me..."

Aren't you glad He's the Shepherd and you're the sheep? That's why it's so important that we learn to follow His leading. That's why we need to remember to look back and remember all He's done and we also need to understand that we are never to lean on our own understanding. Proverbs 3:5-6 tells us to "Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways acknowledge Him and He will direct your paths."

It's not so bad being a sheep! We have a great Shepherd who goes before us and makes sure the path is straight. He is such a good Shepherd and we should be very grateful sheep.

©bonnie annis all rights reserved

I need a do over

Have you ever wanted a do over? You know, another turn at something...just one more try? There have been many times in my life when I felt I was justified in receiving one. The first time I can remember wanting a do over was way back in my childhood when I was playing a board game with my best friend. She was older than I was and was clearly more adept at strategizing. I watched intently as she carefully planned her moves. Needless to say, she won the game. She was so proud of herself and immediately jumped up clapping her hands. I remained seated on the floor next to the game board wondering how I'd been bested. I looked up at her and said, "Can I have a do over?" Of course she wasn't about to give up her win. She said no and walked away. Rats! Today I felt that agony once again.

I made my familiar trek to the cancer institute. Today I was lucky and found a parking spot near the door. I walked into the building and headed toward the elevators. A gentleman was mopping the floors. I apologized profusely as I tiptoed over the wet floor to the elevator door. He just smiled and told me I wouldn't be the only one to do it. I still felt badly for him. He'd worked so hard to get the floor all clean and shiny. 

Arriving on the third floor, I made my routine pit stop at the bathroom. You never know how long you're going to have to wait in the oncology office. It's better to be safe than sorry. After emptying my bladder, I went on to my oncologist's office. The ladies at the desk were friendly as I signed in and took a seat. I noticed the books on the little give/take bookshelf in the waiting room. There was one I wanted to read so I got up and crossed the room to retrieve it. It's so nice they provide a tiny lending library. I made a mental note to bring in some of my books to share with others next time. 

I didn't have to wait long. The nurse came and got me in less than 5 minutes. That was a first! She took me to the scale, got my weight, and ushered me into a room. The CNA came in and took my vital signs. Everything looked good, she said. In a minute or two, the door opened and an elderly gentleman entered the room. At first I thought he'd entered the wrong room but as he continued his approach, I realized he had not. 

The elderly man stuck out his hand and said, "I'm Dr. Henderson. Dr. Feinstein is out today." Immediately I was on guard. I don't like surprises, especially with my medical team. (Dr. Henderson must have been pushing his mid 80's. When he'd entered the room, he was stooped over and as he said his name, his dentures moved forward as spittle ran down his chin.) The doctor asked how I was feeling and when I told him I wasn't feeling well, he quickly scooted to the far corner of the room on his little wheeled stool. I was shocked that he would be so blatant in his attempt to get away from me and I guess my face showed it. He then said, "Do you have a bug or something?" I immediately responded, "not that I know of." 

I wasn't in the mood to play 20 questions with this substitute doctor. I wanted my own! I told him I hadn't been sleeping well for many months and that I was experiencing severe back pain. He just sat there and I asked if there was something he could do to help. He said, "You could try a sleeping pill." I sat and waited for more information but he didn't offer any. "Okay," I said, "and what about my back pain?" His response dumbfounded me..."You could see a pain management specialist." Really???

Dr. Henderson walked over to the examination table and opened up a drawer. He pulled out a paper half gown with an opening up the front. I knew what was coming next. He was going to perform a physical exam. I wasn't looking forward to his bony, old hands touching me but I knew it had to be done. Oh how I wished my regular doctor was in the office today. 

I removed my blouse and slipped on the paper gown then hopped up onto the exam table. Dr. Henderson came back in and felt under my armpits. He pressed really hard for an old guy and it hurt. Then he mashed around on my incision. I could tell he hadn't dealt with patients on a regular basis because of his roughness. He had me lie down on the table and as I did, I winced in pain. It took me a few minutes to get completely prone and I apologized for taking a few minutes to get there. He poked on my abdomen and then had me sit up. He was done and exiting the room. A total of 4 minutes had passed. I couldn't believe it, I wanted a do over!!!

As I dressed, I was fuming. This substitute didn't know me. He didn't know my case and had obviously not reviewed my medical records. I'm sure he'd probably just come out of retirement recently to fill in for Dr. Feinstein on a regular basis to supplement his Social Security income. I could have done a better job than he had!

I walked out into the hall and caught a nearby nurse by the shoulder. I told her I needed to have lab work done, that Dr. Feinstein always did blood work to determine the levels of my Vitamin D (which was always extremely low) and to check on my platelet levels and tumor markers. She looked at me strangely and said, "Well, Dr. Henderson didn't order any lab work." I told her I knew that, but I wanted it to be done and would she please ask him to place the order. If I couldn't get a real do over, I was at least going to get another throw of the dice. 

The lab assistant was quick and managed to hit the vein in my hand with great precision. I was thankful for her. She has been doing her job for some time and is very good at it. Venipuncture is not an easy task especially when it has to be done on tiny little veins in the back of a patient's hand. 

Time to check out. Wow, this was the quickest doctor's visit I'd ever had! I tried to be nice. At the check out desk, I didn't say ugly things, like I wanted to, but I did question the whereabouts of my regular doctor. The receptionist told me that he'd left the practice and moved to a location in Fayetteville. Ah! Now it made sense. That's why Dr. Henderson was the man on call today. 

As I made my next three month appointment, I asked if I would see Dr. Feinstein. I was told I would not unless I drove to the other office in Fayetteville. I didn't want to do that. It was too far away, but I also didn't want to see Dr. Henderson again...EVER! The receptionist could sense my disappointment. When I asked if there was another doctor in the practice that I could see, she assured me there were two others. I chose the one I thought would be the best fit after having Googled him and reading his Curriculum Vitae. At least this new doctor was under the age of 80 and well educated. 

I left the office feeling very frustrated. I really felt like I had been duped. I'd thought I was going to see my regular doctor and I'd gotten a substitute instead. If I'd been brave enough to have done it, I would have walked out of the patient exam room as soon as Dr. H had introduced himself. His inability to keep his dentures in his mouth was surely no fault of his own (Polygrip would have fixed that) but the flying spit was a definite turn off. I guess I just don't like to rock the boat when it comes to things like that but I do realize I have my rights. Just like the board game with my best friend, back in the day, I really wanted a do over but I knew, just like I did then, that it wasn't going to happen. RATS! 

© bonnie annis all rights reserved 

Have you ever robbed someone of a blessing?

It was in the summer of 1991. I remember it so well. I'd just gotten out of the hospital. I'd been involved in a serious motor vehicle accident and I'd almost lost my right leg. The orthopedic surgeon told my family I was lucky he'd been on call. He was the best Orthopedist in Northeast Georgia. Instead of losing my leg to amputation, he'd been able to put it back together with 5 steel rods and an external fixator. Yes, he was very good at what he did, but I know God had orchestrated many events during that year and I'm going to tell you about a few of them.

I'm pretty stubborn and even though I was in a wheelchair, I tried to do everything myself. (At that time, I was divorced with 4 young children.) Life was really hard but I wasn't about to give up. Little did I know it, but God was about to teach me a valuable lesson in pride.

We lived in the country about an hour away from any close family and while I did the best I could, it was difficult not having a car and not being able to drive. Day in and day out, I'd roll around in my wheelchair trying to take care of the children and the housework. My oldest child, a son, was almost 16 at the time. He did what he could to help but he had highschool and friends. I didn't want to have to need him, but I did. He shouldered a lot more responsibility than he should have at that young age because he knew I was limited in my physical abilities. I relied on him a lot. He did the yard work, dishes by hand, helped with laundry, and helped with the younger children. But try as he might, he just couldn't do all I needed him to do.

The girls helped too. I had three daughters, the youngest at the time was almost 2 years old. Girls are a little more domestic and my oldest daughter was such a big help. She did the things I couldn't ask my son to do...like bathe her little sister. (Our house wasn't wheelchair accessible and I couldn't get through the doors.)

Preparing meals was difficult too. I barely could reach the kitchen counters from my seated position. Often times, I'd have to call on one of the children to reach things for me and through teamwork, we made things happen.

There were complications after surgery. I got a staph infection and was in a lot of pain. My leg wasn't healing and there was no bone growth. Monthly visits to the surgeon were stressful and he was honest in his concerns. If my leg didn't start to heal, I might indeed lose it. My circulation was so bad that my foot was a dark bluish black. I was worried.

It was a very difficult time for all of us and many nights I went to bed in tears. I was in a lot of physical pain although I tried my best to hide if from the children. I cried over the things I couldn't do. I wept for my children and for the responsibilities they were carrying. I prayed an awful lot, especially for our financial situation, which was non-existent. At first I felt like all of my prayers were just bouncing off the ceiling but then things started happening.

We were members of a tiny little country church called Harmony Hall Baptist Church. The people there were loving and kind. We'd been members there before the accident happened and had been regular attenders. After the accident, I was unable to drive us to the services so I called the church one afternoon. I knew we needed to be spiritually fed. I told the preacher about our predicament. We had a very long conversation. Before we hung up, he offered to have his wife come pick us up for services on Sunday morning. I was so thankful!

Before Sunday rolled around, I heard a knock at the door one morning. When I opened it, there was no one there but on the steps was a large box of food. I had no idea who had brought it to us, but we were desperately in need and very grateful!

The next day, I received a phone call. When I answered the call, a man's voice told me that he was going to pay our electric bill for the next year. I thought it was a prank call and as I was about to hang up, the gentleman said, "I'm not going to reveal my name, but I am telling you the truth. I will pay your electricity for one year. God has told me to do this." I could barely believe my ears and as I hung up, I wondered if it was really true...the following month, I found out he had been telling the truth. The day our power bill was due, I didn't have money to pay it. I called the power company to make arrangements and was told I didn't need to worry about it. There was a large credit placed on our account and it would cover our bill for the next 12 months!

God continued to bless us during my recovery period with material gifts like that. Members of our church blessed us with homemade meals and transportation to events for the children. Baseball uniforms were purchased and team dues were paid. Christmas gifts were provided. God did so much for us...more than we could have ever imagined, and then He sent Mrs. Inez.

Mrs. Inez was a widow in our church. She must have been in her late seventies or early eighties. She was a petite woman and very frail. She lived alone and enjoyed her independence. She drove a big 1969 Oldsmobile Delta 88. Everyone in the church knew her car because it was so big and long. I always wondered how she could see over the dashboard when she drove because she was so small.

One day, Mrs. Inez pulled up into my driveway. The children were at school and I was there alone. When she rang the doorbell, I rolled my wheelchair over to answer it. Mrs. Inez stood there in her little sweater and plaid skirt. She looked so prim and proper. In her soft but shaky voice, she said "Hello, I'm here to mop your floor." My mouth must have dropped open as I couldn't believe what I was hearing. After I'd processed it, I let her in and said, "Mrs. Inez, it's so nice to see you. I understand you want to mop my floor but I can't let you do that. Why don't we just sit in here and visit a little while?" She looked at me and didn't say anything for a few minutes, then she said, again, "I've come to mop your floor." I'm sure I looked surprised when I told her my floor was "just fine and didn't need mopping." She came in and I motioned for her to take a seat on the sofa. I kept talking and trying to think of interesting things to share with her and keep her mind off of the mopping. We visited and talked for about thirty minutes. Suddenly she stood up and began to walk toward the door. I noticed how tiny she was and how her back was bent from aging. She turned to look at me and when she did, I saw the tears in her eyes. I wondered what in the world was wrong. I thought we'd had a nice visit. She looked at me intensely and said in a determined tone, "Today God told me to come and mop your floor. You have robbed me of a blessing." Her hand opened the door and she went out. Before she shut the door, her words hit me like a ton of bricks. What was I thinking? I'd prayed and asked God to provide help for us. He'd heard and honored my prayers by sending groceries, meals, transportation, and even an old lady to mop my floor. I'd never heard of robbing someone of a blessing before...had I really robbed her?

I watched as Mrs. Inez pulled out of my driveway. Suddenly, I felt so ashamed. Mrs. Inez was a godly woman. I knew she devoted much time to prayer and studying the Word of God. If God had spoken to her heart and told her specifically to come and mop my floor, who was I to deny her that privilege? I realized in that instant that I had been very prideful. I hadn't wanted Mrs. Inez to mop my floor because I was afraid of her inability to do so. I hadn't been worried about this little old lady slipping and falling. I hadn't given one thought to how she would manage to pick up the heavy bucket filled with water or how she'd be able to wring the mop. My concerns were all about me. I didn't want Mrs. Inez to see my dirty floor, the one that hadn't been mopped in months since my accident. There was a lot of dirt on that floor with four children tracking in and out several times a day.

To this day, I'll never forget the sight of poor Mrs. Inez with her head hung low and tears in her eyes walking out my front door. I'll never forget the words she spoke, "...you've robbed me of a blessing." I was a thief. I'd taken away a blessing that God wanted to give her by honoring her obedience. Who did I think I was?

If only I'd met her at the door and agreed to let her mop my floor...we'd both have received a blessing. I would have had a shiny, clean floor and she would have received God's blessing, too, for doing as she'd been told.

It's been 24 years since Mrs. Inez came to visit me. I can hear her words echo in my heart like they were yesterday. What a valuable lesson God taught me that day and one I'll never forget. To this day, if someone offers to do something for me, I happily agree. I don't ever want to be accused of robbing someone of a blessing again.

The Bible says in James 2:16-17 "And one of you says to them, “Go in peace [with my blessing], [keep] warm and feed yourselves,” but he does not give them the necessities for the body, what good does that do? So too, faith, if it does not have works [to back it up], is by itself dead [inoperative and ineffective]." Mrs. Inez put her faith into action. How about you? Do you practice what you preach?

God works in mysterious ways and you never know when He's going to answer your prayers by sending someone to do something you'd never expect. Be on the lookout...His angels are everywhere, and sometimes they're driving 1969 Delta Olds 88s.

© bonnie annis all rights reserved

Perky or saggy?

Tomorrow I'll be taking engagement photos for a friend. I'm so excited that she's chosen me, an amateur photographer, to capture these special moments for her. I've already started getting my gear together. There's so much to do! I have to clean all my lenses, wipe my SD card, pack my reflector and tripod. I don't want to forget anything! I have to make a good impression but more importantly, I have to shoot good photos. I've already picked out the venue and I've written a list of shots I want to be sure to take. What more do I need to do? I can only think of one thing.

When I go out, for any reason at all, I always want to look my best. Looking my best means I'm well put together on the outside as well as on the inside. For me to look my best, I have to wear my boobs because my clothes don't fit properly without them. I hate wearing them and let me tell you why. 

One of the main reasons I hate wearing my boobs is because my skin is still very tender from my last surgery. The incision has healed up but it's still very sensitive to touch. I can't stand anything rubbing against it and wearing a bra is pure torture. But tomorrow, I'll be meeting my friend's fiance'. I don't want to have him stare at my sunken in chest...so I'll suffer the pain of wearing my prostheses. 

I don't know what's wrong with me. I've always been a planner. I want to make sure things are "just so" and so far, it's worked out well. I find security in knowing I've taken care of details and nothing has been forgotten...that's why I needed to decide which boobs I am going to wear for the photo shoot tomorrow. Should I wear the "nearly real" silicone boobs or should I opt for the lightweight polyester fiberfill ones? Decisions, decisions. 

The silicone boobs are very realistic but heavy. I usually wear those when I know someone is going to be hugging me because at least my boobs will feel real even though they're not. They're smaller and more natural. They remind me of my BBC days (before breast cancer). The polyester ones are super light but super big. When I put them on, I feel like Dolly Parton. I look at myself in the mirror and laugh, but those boobs are pretty firm. They don't squish when you're hugged...they stay put...they are so very fake and perky.

Not only do I have to decide which boobs to wear, but I have to decide what I'll wear them in. The best choice I could make would be to wear the post surgical camisole I received right after my first surgery. It's a form fitting camisole that offers nice support, but that camisole came with those big polyester fiberfill boobs. I could wear my mastectomy bra, the one the silicone boobs slip into so nicely, but it rides up so high on my chest I feel I need a turtleneck to keep folks from seeing my bra because it rides up. It's so unnatural. 

I tried on both this morning. First I put on the camisole with the poly boobs...too huge, too out there, too perky...not gonna work. Then I put on the bra with the silicone boobs...okay, but constricting. The bra rubs my incision and rides up just under my chin. That's not where boobs are supposed to be! Then I had an AHA moment. What if I took out the poly boobs from the camisole and slipped the silicone girls in? Hmmm. I tried it. And.Then.I.cracked.Up. The silicone boobs slipped way down into the front of the camisole. When I looked in the mirror I was reminded of my grandmother! As a child, I always used to laugh at her saggy boobs...they hung down almost to her navel! I couldn't dare go out like that! 

So I had two options...to go braless and boobless - totally flat chested, or to endure the pain of wearing the bra with the silicone boobs for a few hours. I opted for the later, after all, I can take them off in the car after I've completed the photo shoot. My husband is used to this. He knows when I start shifting around in my seat that something's about to happen. He knows when I dip my arm inside my shirt that I'm about to finagle a hasty bra removal. (I can't tell you how many times we've driven home with my bra and prostheses lying on the middle of the back seat!) 

You may think I'm being ridiculous with all this preparation but I wanted to give you a glimpse into my life. When I'm at home, it doesn't matter that I don't wear any prostheses. In fact, I rather prefer to be unencumbered by them. But, for some reason, I feel more secure wearing my boobs when I go out. I don't have to worry about people looking at my scooped out chest cavities. I know it's silly but it's the truth. And maybe they're not looking at all, but I'm self conscious. 

So I have my photo gear all packed up and ready. I also have my bra and prostheses laid out. I wish I didn't feel the need to wear them, but I don't like others to feel uncomfortable around me either. I think I can bear the weight of them for a few hours but after that, they're coming off! It's a good thing I'm not the one being photographed tomorrow. Wouldn't it be hilarious to have an action shot of me whipping off my boobs amidst the beautiful fall foliage while the adoring couple gaped in shock? Hahaha...sorry. 

© bonnie annis all rights reserved

It's time for it to come off

I made a decision last night that I feel good about. I've been thinking about it for some time now and truthfully, I know it's time. I've been struggling with it for years now and I've done everything I could possibly think of to prolong this decision...but I've finally accepted the fact that it's time for my hair to come off.

September 2014 longer hair

When I was a teenager, I first began experimenting with hair color. I don't remember why I wanted to do it. I must have seen a commercial on TV advertising Miss Clairol or something. I thought it would be a great idea to change the color of my hair. Back then, my hair was a beautiful shade of reddish brown with golden highlights. People would kill for that color. I wasn't disappointed with my hair, I just wanted a change, and you know teenagers, they're impulsive. 

I bought a bottle of hair color and told my mother that I was going to dye my hair. She wasn't too happy. She tried her best to discourage me, but I was determined. I read the back of the box and followed the instructions to a tee. After about 45 minutes, my hair was a totally different color. I no longer had the beautiful reddish brown hair with golden highlights that God had so graciously given me, now I had bright clown red hair. I wasn't happy. 

Back to the drugstore I went to find a way to correct this colossal mistake. The only thing I could think to do was dye my hair a darker shade, so I picked out a nice black thinking it would do the trick. When I got home, I went through the entire process again, and after another 45 minutes, my hair was no longer bright red, but midnight black. I stood looking in the mirror at my reflection. Who was this person? My complexion looked stark bwhite against my dark, dark hair. I wasn't thrilled but it was better than the bright red. 

March 2015 shorter hair

That began my love/hate relationship with hair color. From that first experience when I was a teen til now, almost 43 years later, I can't tell you how many boxes of hair color I've bought. I also can't tell you how many hair emergencies I've had during those years. Once, while recoloring my hair too soon after having just dyed it, my hair turned green! No, I'm not kidding. It was green! Thank heavens Clairol, or one of their competitors, invented a product to remove those horrid mistakes. I wish they'd had "Color Oops" back in the 70's when some of my worst hair nightmares occurred. 

Over the years, I've learned a thing or two about hair color and the proper way to apply it. I've learned which products would give the best results and which colors looked best on me. I would say, after 40 something years of coloring and highlighting my hair, I've become a pro. I'd also say, I'm really tired of coloring, especially now that I have Lymphedema in my arms. 

When I was younger, it was so easy to color my hair. My arms never got tired and I could have applied and removed hair dye all day long. Now, I struggle to lift my arms over my head. The swelling from Lymphedema is the culprit behind my difficulties and that very culprit has helped lead me to my decision...to shave my head. 

August 2015 at the salon

I told my youngest daughter about my decision last night. At 27, She was all for it! I asked her if she'd help me, you see, I can't manage the clippers myself because of arm pain. She was more than happy to help. I explained that I was tired of fighting the signs of aging. Every time I dyed my hair, I told her, within a few weeks, I'd have a band of white framing my face. No matter what color I chose, the white always came back and it just wasn't worth it any more for me to keep the battle going. 

She asked if I was going to shave my head bald. I hadn't really thought about it, but I guess that would get rid of the majority of the color. Then I got to thinking...it's going to be much cooler soon. I get cold easily. Could I deal with having no hair on my head? Wouldn't I freeze to death? I could always put on a hat, or a wig....hmmmm. 

I haven't decided how short I'll go. I know my goal is to get this fake hair color off of my head and allow my natural, God given, white hairs a chance to grow. It's going to be strange seeing myself with a head full of white locks, but it's time. I'm almost 58. I'm over the facade. I just want to be real. 

August 2015 highlights

It's amazing how losing your breasts can cause you to become fierce. Fifteen months of struggle and I've finally gotten to the point where I don't care about people's opinions any longer. The outside of me doesn't reflect the inside of me, so what's a few less hairs? I can always grow them back again. Think of all the money I'll save! And think of all the fun I can have playing with different wigs! I can go from short to long, blonde to black, in just a few minutes. Yes, it's definitely time...as soon as I get back from vacation, the clippers are coming out. I'm going to redefine what it means to be BOLD AND BEAUTIFUL. 

©bonnie annis all rights reserved

Pinktober

Well, today is the first of October once again and the pink ribbons are starting to pop up everywhere. Last year, I hated seeing them. They were a constant reminder that my life had become intertwined with breast cancer. I didn't like it one little bit and I said so. This year, I'm feeling a little different.

One year can make a lot of difference in the life of a breast cancer survivor. 365 days can bring many changes. It can also bring death. I am grateful the past year has been good to me. I'm still here. Many of my friends are not. Today, I focus on how I feel about breast cancer awareness month.

Conflicted would be the word that describes my feelings best. While I'm a proponent of early detection, I can understand the trepidation that comes with a first mammogram. Years ago, I remember my mother and my sister telling me I needed to go have one done. I was 42 at the time. I should have had my first mammogram at the age of 40. That was the recommendation most doctors issued back then, but I was rebel. I didn't feel like I needed to have a mammogram done. I didn't want to have one done. I was very modest. I was not willing to bare my breasts in front of anyone other than my husband or my physician. So I always came up with an excuse not to go. I was too busy. I had to work. I always found an excuse.

A few years passed and now, at the age of 45, things were different. I'd lost a couple of friends to breast cancer. As I thought about mammograms, I realized I was being silly. Why wouldn't I want to have a test done that could save my life? Surely those technicians were trained not to look at breasts as anything other than body parts guaranteeing their monthly income. So I called and made an appointment.

The day before my appointment, I wanted to cancel it. I almost did, in fact. I tried to call on my lunch break but was unable to get through. The line was constantly busy. Every chance I got, I tried to call the imaging center and cancel, but with no luck. I was stuck. I was going to have to go have my first mammogram.

The morning of my appointment, I got a shower. I was told, in the pre-test instructions, not to put on any deodorant. I wondered why. I figured it might have something to do with their equipment. Maybe they didn't want deodorant smeared all over it from each woman that came for testing that day. I'm sure it would have been extremely aggravating to have to clean the heavily scented cream off of the machinery in between each patient. I wouldn't have wanted to do it.

When I arrived at the imaging center, I was amazed at how many women were there early in the morning. I guess lots of us were wanting to get in and get the test over with before heading off to work. I waited about half an hour until my name was called. I was nervous. I didn't know what to expect.

The technician was a gruff looking sort, even the way she said my name scared me. She barked out orders to me telling me to put my clothing into a locker. She told me to take the key, attached to a stretch bracelet, around my wrist. She sounded like she was in a hurry and that she wanted me to be quick about undressing, so I complied. I was told to sit in a little waiting room after I'd donned my gown and I obeyed.

My turn came too soon. I wasn't ready. I needed time to mentally prepare myself. I'd heard, from friends, that mammograms hurt. I didn't want any pain, especially this early in the morning. The technician led me to a weird looking machine. She told me to slip my right arm out of the gown. I was really embarrassed. This meant she was going to see my breast. There was no way to hide it. I know I must have turned a bright shade of red as I did as instructed. I felt her cold hand on my back moving me toward the machine. She told me to put my breast in the part of the machine that would scan me. I didn't know how to do it since it was my first time. I tried to do what I thought she wanted done, but I must have messed up. She came over and grabbed my breast as she re-positioned it. I was mortified to have her touch me like that. Then she lowered down some clear plastic plates over my breast and adjusted them tighter and tighter. My boob looked like a pancake and it was very uncomfortable...no, it really hurt! She turned to walk away and as she did, she barked out, "stand still, do not move."

I stood there with my breast sandwiched in between the two clear plastic plates. I held on tightly to the little handle that helped me stay positioned right where the technician wanted me. I heard her remind me to be still again. Then I heard some noises as she ran the test. After several minutes, she came over and repeated the whole scenario on my left breast. When she was done, I was instructed to put my gown on and return to the locker area. As I got dressed, I began to cry. What a horrible experience! No wonder women didn't want to schedule mammograms. I wondered if all the technicians were as brusk as the one I'd encountered. I hoped not.

About a week later, the doctor called and said my baseline mammogram was all clear. He said I needed to come back in a year and have the test repeated. I told him I would, but I didn't. I didn't want to go through that humiliation and pain again.

I waited several years before going back for another mammogram. The next time I went, the technician was very friendly and kind. She made jokes during the entire time I was being tested. She made it a joy instead of a nightmare. I was so thankful for her and made sure to tell her about my first experience. She apologized and said no one should ever have to go through that. Once again, the doctor called and gave me a clear report and once again, he asked me to return a year later for another test. I assured him I would and this time I meant it.

Every October, women are reminded, with the pink ribbon campaign, to get their breasts checked. I'm sure a lot of people have become desensitized to the "pinknado." Many companies capitalize on breast cancer awareness month by putting pink ribbons on their merchandise. They say they'll donate X amount of dollars to breast cancer research, but I wonder if they really do.

This year, instead of wanting to retch when I see pink ribbons, I am thankful. Anything that can help bring awareness to the need for breast examinations is fine by me, especially since I've lost both of my breasts to cancer.

I had fun with a little nurse's aide on my last pre-op visit to the hospital. As she was asking me a zillion questions and writing furiously, she asked if I'd had my mammogram this year. I looked at her and said, "Seriously...are you joking?" She looked up from her clipboard and said, "No, why?" I motioned toward my chest and said, "how can I get a mammogram when I have no breasts?" She turned a bright shade of red and apologized profusely..."payback's a bitch," as they say. I couldn't help but laugh inside. I bet she won't ever ask that question again without first looking at her patient's chest.

"Pinktober" will soon be over and the sea of pink ribbons will disappear until the following year. Most people won't give breast cancer a second thought except those who have felt its grip personally through a family member or friend.

If you, or someone you know, needs a mammogram, please schedule one today. Yes, it's scary if you've never had one. Yes, it's humiliating to bare your breast in public...but if those few moments of shame can help save your life, aren't they worth it? Early detection can make a huge difference in the kind of care and treatment you receive if cancer is found. Don't be silly like I was in skipping a few years in between tests. If I'd been diligent to have those yearly mammograms, they might have found my cancer earlier and I might not have lost two valuable parts of my body.

Take it from someone who truly understands both sides of the picture. Every time you see a pink ribbon, ask yourself when you had your last mammogram. Those little ribbons are great reminders not to take our health for granted. Don't be the "one in eight" that will diagnosed with breast cancer this year.

©bonnie annis all rights reserved