Utterly frustrated!

 

Facebook. It can be such a marvelous place to connect with old friends and stay in touch with distant family members, but it can also be a place of frustration and heartbreak. Since being diagnosed with breast cancer, I've found a whole community of ladies through various Facebook sites. Some of the sites are very uplifting and filled with hope while others are filled with negativity and dread. When I first joined these groups, I was just looking for a little camaraderie and helpful advice. It's hard to figure things out when there's no manual for surviving cancer. I learned a lot and I met some nice people but I also learned very quickly how constant negativity can pull you down.

There's one woman I met recently on a Facebook breast cancer site. Her name is Jenny (I won't share her last name to protect her privacy.) She's in her mid 30's, the mother to 2 young boys, and the wife of a good looking man. She's got stage IV metastatic breast cancer I have stage 2B with metastasis to the lymph nodes. She's Triple Negative, which means none of the usual hormones (Estrogen, Progesterone or Her2Neu) feed her cancer. My cancer was fed by Estrogen and Progesterone. Triple Negative is nasty stuff. It is one of the most agressive, hard to treat breast cancers out there and it attacks many young women each year. I was really thankful I didn't have Triple Negative breast cancer.

When I first read Jenny's story, I was just comparing our lives. There were so many differences in our views on cancer and that didn't really surprise me because I don't think Jenny is a Christian. In every Facebook post and every Youtube video she puts up, Jenny is very matter of fact and very negative. I was so saddened by things she posted that I started to focus on reading between the lines. I wanted to hear what she wasn't saying. From what I could tell, Jenny was most certainly scared, as are most women diagnosed with breast cancer. The thing that really bothered me most was the fact that she didn't seem to have hope in anything. Every single post contained the words, "I know I'm not going to survive this," or "I know I'm going to die from this." Those words frustrated me so much. I believe there is a huge amount of power in the spoken word and I wanted to scream at Jenny and say, "Wake up! Speak life over yourself! You don't have to see things so negatively."

Let me make this clear. I don't know Jenny personally although we have had some exchanges via Facebook. I don't know her entire story, only what she's shared online and I'm certainly not judging her. I know each person comes from different backgrounds and upbringing. I know many people don't have a deep faith to sustain them. Maybe Jenny's just a realist or maybe she's truly come to accept the fact that she may not be around much longer...I don't really know. What I do know is your brain believes what you tell it and it acts on what it hears.

I want so badly to share my heart with Jenny and help her see how the negative words she speaks over herself affect her. I want to share Jesus with her and help her know there is a reason for hope even if she is in the last stage of her cancer journey, but I have to tread carefully here. She's posted on her Facebook wall that she doesn't want any unsolicited advice, so where does that leave me? It leaves me in a position to only pray for her and that is what I'm going to do.

I'm committing to pray for Jenny daily and I'm going to use every opportunity I get to post words of encouragement on her Facebook wall. I'd like to ask you to join with me in praying for this dear one...I know God allowed us to meet through the internet for a reason and I also know she's precious to Jesus even though she doesn't know and understand it yet.

It's hard to be a person of faith knowing there are so many lost souls in the world. It's even harder to be a breast cancer survivor and a woman of faith. It's a great responsibility to be a breast cancer survivor who is also a Christian. I want to walk out my faith in all aspects of my life and I want to help reach lost ones with the truth. It's important to me to let others know what God has done for me and how He's blessed me on this journey.

Poor Jenny...I can only imagine how challenging life must be for her without an anchor of hope. Please pray for me as I attempt to witness to her through loving words and deeds. At stage IV her cancer has metastasized into her liver, her lungs and her brain. It definitely doesn't sound good for her but God is a God of miracles and I believe with all my heart if He wants to heal her this side of heaven, He will. It may not be in His plan to heal her but I surely hope it is, even if it's not until she reaches glory. I just hope she makes it to glory and she won't if she doesn't hear and understand the truth. The Bible says, in Romans 10:17 "So faith comes from hearing, and hearing through the word of Christ." If Jenny doesn't hear Scripture, how can she know the truth and how can she be set free?

I think God's given me a responsibility here to bring truth into Jenny's life. I want to be very tender and compassionate in my sharing. Please pray for opportunities in the days ahead for me to speak the truth in love. Thank you in advance and I'll keep you posted on how things progress. 

© bonnie annis all rights reserved

What do you say to a dying person?

Heather and her husband, Joe

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

© bonnie annis all rights reserved

Oh no...not, another one

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

.© bonnie annis all rights reserved

Time to start living again

Every day I hear of another...sister, mother, wife, friend who's been diagnosed with breast cancer or one who's at the point of death. Will the number of breast cancer cases ever end? Will they ever find a cure? Will they ever find the cause? It's so frustrating because it seems it's more prevalent now than it ever has been before. And hearing of these new cases or these at the point of death continually reminds me that the fear of recurrence is lurking in the shadows. No matter how hard I try to keep those thoughts at bay, they're there...whispering to my subconscious mind.

Daily, I do battle. When I get up in the morning, I thank God that I was able to open my eyes and I thank Him for one more day...just one more day. I don't take my days for granted any longer, but oh boy...I surely used to. I never gave a thought to waking up, I just always assumed I would...but that was before cancer.

One of my daughters spoke some truth into my life yesterday. She told me it was time to start living again. Those words pounded hard into my heart. Time. to. start. living. again. They made me realize...when did I give up? When did I stop living? The more I thought about it, the more I realized I accepted the death sentence that was handed to me over a year ago. That fateful day in June, when I heard those three dreaded words over the phone - YOU HAVE CANCER....YOU. It was not someone else, it was me. I was the one who had cancer. ME. And that day, a little piece of my heart died.

I continued to let her words sink into my spirit. It's time to start living again. But how do I let go of the fear that continues to haunt me, to comfort me? Gosh, I can't believe I even said that...comfort me??? In some wickedly strange way, knowing I have, NO HAD, cancer has given me a reason to not do many of the things I used to do in the past. Was I using it as an excuse to not do things I used to enjoy? This was going to take some time to pour over. Surely, I wasn't doing this...NOT ME, NOT POLLYANA BONNIE...THE ONE WHO ALWAYS LOOKS AT THINGS WITH ROSE COLORED GLASSES... oh, but I was...

My social life has been non-existent since cancer. I've become AGORAPHOBIC. I've had a horrible fear of being out in public, away from the safety of my home...the familiar things, the comfortable things. It's been so much easier to stay holed up in my house like a modern day hermit. I haven't needed anyone but ME, MYSELF, AND I. I've found security in my routines...my daily routines and when those routines are disrupted, I find myself feeling scattered and fearful. Why am I letting CANCER have this power over me???

5 YEARS. 5.YEARS.  The standard life expectancy given to patients by oncologists when they're diagnosed with breast cancer. I'm 19 months into my 5 year period. I didn't even realize how that number has stuck in my mind...like a jail sentence. You have 5 years. 5. 5 years on death row...But it's time to start living again.

You know what they say...out of the mouth of babes. The daughter who spoke this truth into my life is my oldest daughter, Erin. She's a godly woman. I'm so proud of her. She's been such a wonderful source of support and encouragement to me since I was diagnosed. Daily, she calls to check up on me. She isn't afraid to speak truth to me even when I don't want to hear it and I'm thankful for that.

I've been thinking a lot about the words she shared with me...it's time to start living again. But where do I begin? How do I bring myself to the point of being able to step out and be brave? It's so hard to admit that I'm struggling. I don't want people to know that about me. It makes me vulnerable but see, that's another part of cancer. It demeans. It decimates. It destroys. It's the gift that keeps on giving.

I know I need to rise above. I know I need to walk in faith. I have a little sign in my office that reminds me I'm braver than I believe, stronger than I seem, and smarter than I think. It's a quote from Christopher Robin to Winnie the Pooh. It's so easy for people to give you those pat answers but this is something I've got to figure out myself. Don't judge me. You're probably thinking, just do it, but that's easier said than done. No one can truly understand the physical, emotional and spiritual effects cancer has on a person. Each one of us have to make our own way through it. Some people find that cancer support groups help, but I have to fight my own demons. I have to work my way through it and I know I will.

Yes, it's time to start living again and yes, I'm working on it. All I can do it take one day at a time and make little baby steps of progress. Realizing the words she spoke to me were true is the first of many steps to come. I don't want to stay in the land of the dead, the cursed, the sentenced to die. I want to rejoin the land of the living.

Another of my daughters watches a TV show called the "Walking Dead." It's a show about the Apocalypse and Zombies. I watched it with her once but wasn't impressed. You can only take so much of those gory looking creatures with skin hanging off their bones. How appropriate the title is for the show, the "Walking Dead." I don't want to be one of them and in order to keep from staying there, I have to figure out a way to climb out of this pit I'm in...It's time to start living again...

Next month I go see a new oncologist. I'm going to be open and honest with him. I'm going to admit I have a problem. I'm going to talk to him about my depression and agoraphobia. I'm going to ask him for help and hope he'll set me on the right track and help me find my way to the land of the living once again.

© 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

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

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

A Society of Boobless Women

Every single day I hear of another woman who's been diagnosed with breast cancer. It breaks my heart. It's in the newspapers, on the internet, on TV talk shows, etc. etc. Why does it seem that it's becoming an epidemic? Perhaps I am just more aware of it now that I've become part of the army of pink. Have you felt it too?

For every woman in the public eye that is diagnosed and makes her story known, there are hundreds even thousands of other women who find out they have breast cancer but never share their news openly with anyone other than friends or family. The public figures, like Patricia Nixon (from Sex and the City), Kathy Bates, Hota Kotb, Lynn Redgrave, Nancy Reagan, just to name a few, help viewers understand the tragedy of breast cancer and that's a good thing; but what about all those "unknown" women who gain no notoriety other than being someone's wife, mother, or friend? The more and more I see and hear of newly diagnosed women, the more I can't help but wonder if one day we're going to have a totally boobless society of women.

What is causing these massive amounts of breast cancer? It has to be something that all of us have in common...something we do every day, something we use every day, something we smell or taste or touch. Once there were concerns with deodorant - that the Aluminum contained in those products could increase the risk of breast cancer. The aluminum works by closing or blocking pores but where does the aluminum go once rolled or sprayed or rubbed on? There's also been concern over the use of hair dyes in women, sugar, food preservatives, genetics, smoking, and the list goes on and on.

To date, no one has found the real cause of breast cancer and therefore, women remain at risk. But, women aren't the only ones who can get breast cancer, surprisingly men can too! I was in the waiting room at my breast surgeon's office for a post surgical appointment several months ago when I noticed a rather large man come into the office. He was with his wife, a tiny slip of a thing, and I assumed she was the patient (you know what they say about assuming don't you...) until I noticed the JP drain tube sticking out of his shirt sleeve. (A JP drain, for those of you who haven't experienced breast surgery, is a type of drain bulb that allows fluid and blood to collect from the surgical wound site. The fluids travel down a clear plastic tubing and are deposited in a clear, grenade looking bulb.) I was so surprised to see the tube and the expression on my face reflected what the other women in the waiting room were hiding in their thoughts. A few minutes later, I heard the man explaining to someone in the waiting room that he'd just had a mastectomy. I had no idea that men got mastectomies too! With women, it's become pretty commonplace but men? Wow! I imagine that was a hard thing for his wife to grasp. I also imagine it was even harder for this big, burly man to have to call in to work and tell them that he had breast cancer and was going to have to have some time off for surgery. I'm sure he was the brunt of many tasteless jokes in the break room while he was gone.

I am very concerned. I am concerned not only about our society of beautiful women, but I'm concerned about my daughters and my granddaughters. I don't want any of them to ever experience the trauma of having to have a mastectomy done. So what are we to do, to keep our sweet girls from becoming statistics in a society of boobless women? The only thing I can recommend is for all of us to become proactive. We need to protect our boobs and the best way to protect them is to check them on a monthly basis.

It's so important for women of all ages to know the proper way to perform a breast self exam. I just recently sent out breast self exam door hangers to my daughters and closest friends. It was a laminated instruction card that provided very detailed and clear instructions on how to properly examine your breasts. It also had little monthly punch out circles along the bottom of the card so you could keep a record of which months you'd completed. I hope, when they received it, they understood my concern. Breast surgery is extremely painful and difficult. I don't ever want any of my family or friends to go through it.

So let's do everything we can to stop the madness! We don't want our girls to grow up in a society of boobless women. God made women with breasts to nourish and feed their children, along with many other reasons. We need to protect ourselves by becoming knowledgeable. I keep on praying that one day soon, one of the amazing scientists out there will discover the real cause behind these massive cases of breast cancer, but until they do, we need to start a campaign to SAVE THE TATAS.

Can you imagine how a society of boobless women would effect our world? While breast cancer is prevalent in many countries, it seems America has more than it's fair share of patients. There has to be a better way to deal with breast cancer - a better way than just loping them off. Sure, many women are able to get lumpectomies instead of having radical surgery but many of those women end up having more surgeries later down the road and often end up with a mastectomy anyway.

Please be informed. Please read articles on breast cancer research. Please do monthly self exams and if you do find something, PLEASE see a doctor immediately. You are your own best health advocate. You have to fight to make sure you get the care you deserve. If you find a lump and the doctor says, oh, let's watch it...it's nothing to worry about...don't settle for that! Demand more testing be done. Demand a biopsy even if the mammogram looks okay. If you feel in your gut that something is not quite right, it probably isn't. Stand up for yourself!

I'll step down off my soapbox now but hopefully you see my point. If we don't wake up and do something, we ARE going to have a society of BOOBLESS women. No one wants that, do they?

©bonnie annis all rights reserved

 How to do a breast self exam

Do antiperspirants cause breast cancer in women?


Here are some startling statistics for you from the BreastCancer.org website:
***these were recorded in September 2014***

• About 1 in 8 U.S. women (about 12%) will develop invasive breast cancer over the course of her lifetime.
• In 2014, an estimated 232,670 new cases of invasive breast cancer were expected to be diagnosed in women in the U.S., along with 62,570 new cases of non-invasive (in situ) breast cancer.
• About 2,360 new cases of invasive breast cancer were expected to be diagnosed in men in 2014. A man’s lifetime risk of breast cancer is about 1 in 1,000.
• About 40,000 women in the U.S. were expected to die in 2014 from breast cancer, though death rates have been decreasing since 1989 — with larger decreases in women under 50. These decreases are thought to be the result of treatment advances, earlier detection through screening, and increased awareness.
• For women in the U.S., breast cancer death rates are higher than those for any other cancer, besides lung cancer.
• Besides skin cancer, breast cancer is the most commonly diagnosed cancer among American women. Just under 30% of cancers in women are breast cancers.
• White women are slightly more likely to develop breast cancer than African-American women. However, in women under 45, breast cancer is more common in African-American women than white women. Overall, African-American women are more likely to die of breast cancer. Asian, Hispanic, and Native-American women have a lower risk of developing and dying from breast cancer.
• In 2014, there were more than 2.8 million women with a history of breast cancer in the U.S. This includes women currently being treated and women who have finished treatment.
• A woman’s risk of breast cancer approximately doubles if she has a first-degree relative (mother, sister, daughter) who has been diagnosed with breast cancer. About 15% of women who get breast cancer have a family member diagnosed with it.
• About 5-10% of breast cancers can be linked to gene mutations (abnormal changes) inherited from one’s mother or father. Mutations of the BRCA1 and BRCA2 genes are the most common. Women with a BRCA1 mutation have a 55-65% risk of developing breast cancer before age 70, and often at a younger age that it typically develops. For women with a BRCA2 mutation, this risk is 45%. An increased ovarian cancer risk is also associated with these genetic mutations. In men, BRCA2 mutations are associated with a lifetime breast cancer risk of about 6%; BRCA1 mutations are a less frequent cause of breast cancer in men.
• About 85% of breast cancers occur in women who have no family history of breast cancer. These occur due to genetic mutations that happen as a result of the aging process and life in general, rather than inherited mutations.
• The most significant risk factors for breast cancer are gender (being a woman) and age (growing older).

 

Another one prepares to go home

Kara and her husband, Jason

As you've read in an earlier post, I have been following the life stories of several other breast cancer survivors. There's a type of understanding between breast cancer patients and we share a unique type of sisterhood, even when most of us have never even met. Earlier this year, I lost an internet friend, Christina Newman, a young woman, not even 40, who lost her valiant fight with breast cancer. I had followed her online story for months and months. I felt like I knew her well and I was honored to have email exchanges with her. She was so gracious to provide answers to my questions and offer helpful advice. That's just something breast cancer survivors do...we support each other. Those who are a little further along in their journey freely offer help to "newbies."

Not long after I found Christina on the internet, I found Kara Tippetts. The main difference in their journeys was that Kara was a Christian while Christina was not. Both of their daily blogs offered me a wealth of information and I chose to follow them daily. Today, I was sad to learn that Kara, another young breast cancer survivor and mother of 4 young children, has begun the journey home. Today her husband made arrangements for hospice to come and care for Kara. It was so hard to believe. Again, my heart was broken knowing that another "pink sister" would be going home soon.

Kara during chemo treatments

Death is such an integral part of life and as a Christian, it is a wonderful reminder that this is not our home, but facing that reality is very difficult. Kara has braved the hard in her life so well. She wrote a book called "The Hardest Peace," which chronicled her journey and she has spoken over and over again at women's conferences and churches sharing her deep faith in hopes of helping others understand how to live life to the fullest even when things are difficult. In her book, Kara says, "This is not a book about trying to win the hardest story. This is a book about a broken woman on the journey to know the hardest peace. Peace in the midst of hard. I speak both generally and specifically of hard, because hard is often the vehicle Jesus uses to meet us, point us to that peace, and teach us grace."

Kara has been an inspiration to me because as a Christ follower, I have been able to travel the road she's on with her while facing my own breast cancer battle. Reading her blog posts and "watching" her take each day moment by moment has given me a wonderful hope that I can travel through my journey just as gracefully as she has even though our journeys are very different.

Kara has been transparent in her sharing. She's shared the good along with the bad and that's her way of helping others see that she is "real." As a breast cancer survivor, one of our main objectives in our journey is to help others know that we aren't vastly different from anyone else. We don't possess super human strength. We don't have an extra measure of courage...but as Christians, we do have a wonderful gift of never-ending hope. We know that no matter how difficult the path becomes, we are never alone.

I am thankful for the internet and the various cancer survivors who have chosen to share their stories through blogs. When I started my blog at the onset of my journey, my goal was to use it as a way to process everything that was happening to me. I wanted to use it as a catharsis. I needed a place to write down what I was feeling and as I did, I found an overwhelming desire to share what God was teaching me in my life too. Like Kara, I began to understand that even though God had allowed this hard to come into my life, He had a wonderful reason...a perfect plan...and although I didn't understand it, He was going to use it to forever change my life and hopefully the lives of others too.

Kara's children

I will be lifting up Kara and her husband, Jason, in the days ahead. As they begin to accept that Kara's time on earth is drawing to a close, I will ask God to bless them with an extra measure of His love. I will pray for His comfort to surround them and envelope them. I will pray He sends people to love on them and help them through each moment. I will also pray for their 4 sweet little ones. Oh how difficult it will be on them to lose their Mommy. Won't you please join me in praying for them? If you would like to know more about their story, you can read Kara's blog. I'll put the link at the end of this post but please know, she more than likely will become too weak to continue writing in the days ahead.

One day my story could end the way hers does. None of us expect to die so soon and when we least expect it... but as Christians, we know that only God knows the number of days He has planned for each of us to be on this earth. We have to trust that He will only call us home when He is ready for us. Cancer is a scary thing. Cancer is a very difficult thing. But I know that God is so much bigger and so much stronger than cancer could ever be and I am trusting in Him with everything I have inside of me. He is my hope and I know He is trustworthy and true.

Read Kara's blog

Read Kara's book, the Hardest Peace

©bonnie annis all rights reserved