Grief when you least expect it

There have been a few days when I've found myself grieving. Who grieves over the loss of their breasts, you might ask? Well, women who've had them taken through no fault of their own...women who've gone through the agony of breast cancer. It might seem strange to hear me say I've grieved over my breasts, but it's the truth. I didn't realize that was what I was doing at the time, I just felt really sad. It didn't hit me that I was grieving until I spent a day in my closet going through clothes I no longer wore.

I had a huge walk in closet and it was full of clothes. I stood before the massive amount of material and realized it was a sin to hold onto things I didn't wear any longer and never would wear again. I purposed in my heart to discard every single item of clothing that I would not wear over the next year. I had several large garbage bags and was ready to get busy. "Goodwill was going to love me," I thought to myself.

Each article of clothing had some memory attached to it. There was the long dark blue evening gown I'd worn to my daughter's wedding. I'd only worn it that one time and knew I'd never wear it again, so I tossed it into the bag. There were all the suits and dresses I'd worn when I was working full time. No need to keep those any longer either, so in they went. Piece by piece, I looked over each item and made a decision whether to keep, donate, or give it away.

As I continued with the process, I realized I was now not only trying to be practical in my selections; I was also considering the fit. No longer would I wear anything with darts in it. Since I didn't have a bustline, there was no need to keep those things in my wardrobe. Sure, I could have strapped on my prostheses and worn them anyway, but I felt much more comfortable without them. I was learning to embrace being flat and fabulous.

Three large Hefty cinchsacks later, I had completed my project. There weren't many clothes left hanging on my side of the walk in closet. As I looked at the items I'd saved, I realized most Americans have too much anyway. It felt good to purge.

When my husband came home from work, I showed him the closet. He was impressed. I helped drag the bags we were donating across the carpet and out to the carport. They were heavy! As he loaded them into the car, I hoped someone would appreciate getting these gently worn items. I was so glad to be able to share our good fortune with those less fortunate.

That evening, I went into my room to get something and all of a sudden, I burst into tears. I didn't know why I was crying. I was just so full of emotion and felt the need to let it out. I cried and cried feeling the emotional release of pent up frustration. As I cried, I asked God to reveal to me why I was so upset. I felt Him speak to my spirit that I was going through the grief process. It was hard to accept. Shouldn't I have grieved over a year ago when I first lost my breasts? Thinking back, I had grieved some but not in the way I was grieving now. Today, I grieved like I had lost a dear friend.

The tears continued to flow and flow and flow. I don't know how long I cried but when my husband came into the room to see what was taking me so long, he knew something was wrong. He held me in his big, strong arms and asked me if I was okay. I nodded my head and cried a little longer on his shoulder. When I was done, I told him what had happened. "I guess God knew the perfect timing for me to release all of this pent up emotion," I said.

I would never have dreamed I'd still be grieving a year and a half after having lost my breasts. I guess it's just the knowing a vital part of me is gone...the part of me that fed my babies, the part of me that kept me from playing tackle football with the guys next door after I'd reached puberty, the part of me that attracted attention from the opposite sex, the part of me that made me feel like a woman...that part of me was gone. No wonder I was grieving! My identity was tied up in my femininity.

I looked in the mirror and stared at my face. I still had my hair. I still "looked like a girl" from the shoulders up and from the waist down. That was something. I'd just enhance my best features. I'd make sure my hair was always clean and fixed in a becoming style. I'd don makeup and make sure I emphasized my girly-ness" without going overboard. And when it came time for my bi-annual trip to the prosthesis shop, I'd pick out a new pair of girls in a cup size bigger than last year, but still hold on to the AA cups I kept in little pink hat boxes in my bedroom. It never hurts to dream, does it?

Yes, I was sad over the loss of those parts of my anatomy but I was thankful to be alive. My husband still loves me and for that, I'm very grateful. Neither of us ever expected cancer to devastate our lives but it did. I could either continue to mourn or move forward in gratitude. I chose the latter.

Spring will be here soon and it seems my closet doesn't contain any warm weather attire. It might be time to do a little shopping! Or course, I'll look for things without darts and focus on items that provide a little camouflage in the chest region. I promise I'll be frugal and thrifty. I'll take time and choose items I'll keep for a long time.  Since I didn't have reconstruction, I know I'll be flat-chested forever...unless I decide to put on my fake boobs and go out on the town.

Grieving over the loss of a body part is normal. It might have been easier to understand the grief a little better if the body part I'd lost was an arm or a leg...something vital to my day to day functionality. But breast cancer survivors do grieve over the loss of their breasts. Some survivors opt for reconstructions and some do not. Each woman has to decide what is best for her. It's not easy to talk about this side of breast cancer but I have tried to be open and honest and real from day one. There are no manuals that tell you what to expect and how you are going to feel. It amazes me, after 18 months, the effects of my breast cancer diagnosis and treatment still affect me. I keep thinking one day I'll forget all about it and get back to normal. Many breast cancer survivors talk about their "new normal." I don't like that term. I'd rather talk about life B.C. (before cancer) and A.C. (after cancer) and what I'm finding is, my life after cancer is so much richer than my life was before cancer. The reasons are because of things God has taught me and shown me throughout my time of suffering and trial. If you read back through my blog, I hope you'll see that He has always been faithful to me. I think God was okay with all the questions I asked throughout the whole process. I know He understood all my WHYS and HOWS and WHENS and IFS. He's such a compassionate God and without Him, I wouldn't be where I am today.

© bonnie annis all rights reserved

Sometimes the hard is too hard

Today I had the honor and privilege of listening to my oldest daughter, Erin, share her heart with me. Yesterday, she'd had the opportunity to go and visit a very sick friend, Heather. Heather is dying from breast cancer that's metastasized into her brain and liver. I knew before Erin even began talking that this was going to be a difficult conversation to have with her. I know her heart, you see,...it's so tender and loving and kind.

"She was so yellow, Mama," she said. I knew what that meant...Heather was jaundiced. Her liver had completely shut down and her kidneys weren't functioning well. I've witnessed this phenomenon before in another dear friend as she was on her death bed. It's a shocking thing to see, especially when the entire body turns yellow and the whites of the eyes turn a deep, golden yellow too. It looks so unnatural and scary...alien-like. I felt so badly for my daughter. Sometimes the hard is too hard.

Isn't it only natural for mothers to want to shield their children from the hard, hurtful things in life? I wish she wasn't having to go through this, but I knew it was necessary. She'd wanted to go to the hospital to say goodbye to her sweet friend. She needed to be there. I didn't want her to witness the very ugly side of cancer, but she's strong, this daughter of mine. Underneath that tough exterior, though, that carries her through the hardest of challenges, she's got a heart of gold. She's loving and merciful, tender and caring. Her friends love her because she loves them so well and is always so giving of herself. She makes me proud.

And life isn't fair. We both wanted to scream this at the top of our lungs and we're wondering why...why would God allow such a terrible thing to happen to such a young woman...a woman with 4 little ones who love and depend on her...a husband who'll be lost without her, who hasn't even had time to think about grieving over the fact that soon she'll be gone because he's been so busy...busy trying to hold things together, trying to be the glue that makes the things that are important cohesive.

My heart broke for Heather, the young mother, who lay dying in a cold, sterile, hospital bed. This young woman all yellow and swollen and her body wracked with pain. This sweet friend that my daughter loved and wanted to spend more time with but the pain medication kept her doped up and groggy. So she mostly slept while Erin was there visiting. Numbed to the reality that soon she'll be no more...

Tears streamed down my face as Erin told me how she'd felt led to grab a bottle of lotion on the way out the door to see Heather that morning. She knows God speaks to us in a still, small voice. He was preparing her for something bigger and she obeyed. She knows how important the gift of touch is to someone who's in pain. I listened as she told me about massaging Heather's back for her and how, as she gently rubbed for hours, she silently prayed. That's my girl...a heart of gold. And then, when Heather's Mom came back into the room, she commented on how Heather looked so much better, not as yellow, and Erin was glad the massage had helped. She was glad she'd listened to the voice of God and had picked up that lotion. He had a plan and Erin had been His instrument.

Our conversation continued and I listened between the words to hear Erin's heart...a hurting heart. She knows what's coming and knows it's going to be devastating. And this reality of cancer hits too close to home, I knew what she was thinking...my Mom has cancer...this could be her one day...While in the hospital room keeping watch at her friend's bedside, Erin's thoughts are tangled. Her own little ones are home with their Daddy so she could come and be with her friend. She probably wonders if he's fixed them lunch yet and whether the smallest made it down for his nap on time and then she thinks about Heather's little ones who'll soon lose their Mommy and it's overwhelming...sometimes the hard is too hard.

But even in the midst of the hard, God gives His grace. He provides a way for us to be strong and hold on. He reminds us that we can do ALL things through Him because we don't have to rely on our own strength, we have Him to cling to and He provides. He knows the needs. He sees everything and even when it seems like life is so unfair and unjust and cruel, He always shows up...just in the nick of time. He's there with us. He never leaves us alone or forsaken.

Suffering is such a vital part of life. It teaches us things we can never learn without it. It teaches us to have compassion and patience. It teaches us to understand and let go of the things that don't matter. Suffering is a great teaching tool that God uses in our lives but most people don't see it that way.

"The doctors have said two weeks...two weeks is all the time she's got left," Erin said. But we both know they're only guessing, they aren't God. That time frame is just a reminder that Heather's time here is so very short, but then again, none of us are promised tomorrow.

The visit was over and it was time to say goodbye. Erin knew it was going to be a hard thing to say her final goodbye to her friend but she did it in the most beautiful way...she told Heather she loved her and was so thankful they'd become friends and then she prayed over her. Heather may or may not have heard all the words Erin said but I know she felt Erin's heart.

Yes, sometimes the hard is too hard, but God always sees us through it. He gives strength when we need it most and He orchestrates everything according to His plan. And when we look at life that way, we can accept and even welcome the hard that comes because we know He is all sufficient and He is the rock we can cling to when life seems too hard to bear.

Please, won't you say a prayer for Heather as she prepares to go home to heaven? Pray that God will allow her journey to be swift and free from pain. Pray for her husband as he prepares to face the reality that his wife will soon be gone. Pray for God to give him strength to face the difficult days ahead. Pray for grace as he walks through his own hard dealing with the overwhelming grief that will come. Pray for the little ones and for God to hold them close as they come to understand the finality of death. Pray for the community to surround all of them with love and kindness in the days ahead and for God's provision for all of their needs, financial, emotional and spiritual. And one last request, would you say a special prayer for my daughter, Erin, that God would continue to use her to minister His love to others who are hurting but that He'd also protect her heart as she walks through her own hard of learning to lose a friend graciously?

Thank you so much. I know you'll lift up these needs as God places them on your heart. Sometimes the hard is too hard but we must always have hope. May the God of all comfort be everything you need as you travel your own hard and may you never forget His promise to never leave us to face the hard alone.

© bonnie annis all rights reserved

6 month folllow up with the Radiation Oncologist

Dr. "S" and me

Today was my six month check up visit to the radiation oncologist. Actually, it was a little over 6 months because I'd been out of state and had to reschedule my appointment. When I walked into the radiation oncology clinic, I was surprised when the receptionist handed me a clipboard with a lot of papers on it. I wondered if she thought I was a new patient and must have given her a puzzled look because she said, "don't worry, just first of the year formalities." I took the stack of papers, clipboard, and pen and sat down to busy myself with filling them out. I wondered why they didn't already have all of this information stored in their computers and I'll admit, I was a little frustrated. As I filled out the papers, I saw a little boy out of the corner of my eye. He was zooming a rubber farm truck around the office floor. I saw his grandmother looking to see if he was bothering me and I just smiled. I asked the little boy how old he was by saying, "are you 2?" His grandmother beamed and said yes. I told her I had 8 grandchildren and was able to guess the age of little ones pretty accurately.

As I sat and continued filling out my papers, people were being called back for treatment. There was an older man who struggled to walk through the door, there were two women both with apparent breast cancer. My heart ached for them as they were all 3 just beginning their treatments. I was glad I didn't have to go through radiation any longer.

After about thirty minutes of waiting, the nurse called me back to get my vital statistics. She asked a zillion questions and entered information into the computer. When she was through, she handed me a gown and told me to get undressed from the waist up. I knew the drill. I sat on the crinkly white paper atop the examination table for a few minutes and then jumped up to check out the room. I hate just sitting on the table swinging my legs like a little girl. I looked over the otoscope and blood pressure monitor. I looked to see what size nitrile gloves she wears and even took a peek at the computer screen which the nurse failed to hide beneath an active screensaver. I love reading medical data especially when it's about me! I was listed under the ICD-9 code as a 174.1 which codes as malignant neoplasm of the central portion of the breast.

I heard the doc outside the room so I jumped back up on the table. As she entered, she greeted me with a big smile. I told her I'd missed seeing her but I hadn't missed the radiation treatments. She grinned. "I can understand that," she said. She started asking questions about my general health and how I was feeling. She asked if I'd noticed any new lumps, bumps, or worrisome places. Had I been having weird headaches? Did I have stomach pain? Spinal pain? Belly pain? Bladder? I answered no to all of her questions and then she went down my medication list. Are you still taking....? What about ....? Yes, yes, yes everything was a yes until she got to Arimidex. I told her to cross that one off the list. She looked up and asked why. I explained about the horrible side effects.

Dr. "S" pulled up some documents on the computer screen and they were obviously letters from Dr. Feinstein, my oncologist. "I see here that you did indeed have some odd side effects from Arimidex and also from the Tamoxifen." I talked to her about the effects of the medications and how they made me feel. I don't know why I was so surprised when she jerked forward in her chair at my statement that I'd decided not to take any more cancer medications. "I really think you need to reconsider your decision," she said. "Since your cancer traveled to your lymph system and it's fed by Estrogen and Progesterone, it's very important that you take that medication to keep the cancer at bay." My reply stunned her. I said, "Dr. S., I know you have to speak to me from a medical standpoint but I am trusting that my God is taking care of all that. I've prayed about it and talked with my husband about it and my decision is final. I've decided to change my diet drastically and do all I can to live a good and healthy life." She came back with, "when do you see Dr. F?" I told her I'd see him the end of March. "Well, when you do, please talk to him about this and listen to what he has to say." "Okay doc," I said, "I'll listen but I don't think he'll change my mind."

She had me lie back on the examination table and began poking and prodding me. She slowly and deliberately moved over each of my incisions stopping occasionally when she felt something questionable. She felt under my armpits and mushed around on my belly asking if "that hurt." I wanted to say, "well of course it does! You're pressing really hard," but I didn't. Next she had me sit up and she listened to my lungs, looked in my ears and throat, felt all the lymph glands in the back and sides of my neck and then felt along my arms. She asked about the swelling and asked what seemed to exacerbate it. I answered her questions then she returned to the computer and began typing.

While she typed away, I asked her a question. "Doc, when will I ever be declared N.E.D.?" (that means no evidence of disease in case you don't know) She looked up from the screen and said, "You've been in remission since your cancer was removed but we can't say definitely N.E.D just yet." (According to the American Cancer Society, remission means the cancer is responding well to treatment and not spreading.) I asked her why I hadn't had a P.E.T. scan yet (that stands for positron emission tomography.) She said there had been many recent studies showing that after breast cancer, it was not wise to administer a P.E.T. scan unless absolutely necessary because of the amount of radiation emitted. People who'd undergone radiation therapy were at greater risk and that's why I wasn't going to receive one now. A P.E.T.scan is an imaging test that helps reveal how your tissues and organs are functioning. A PET scan uses a radioactive drug (tracer) to show this activity and it illuminates any cancer cells that remain in the body. "So, without a P.E.T. scan, we can't really know whether I'm free of cancer or not, correct?" The doctor answered, "correct. But, if there ever are any new lumps, bumps or places of concern, you can be sure that I will be the first one to order a P.E.T. scan for you." I was pretty satisfied with that answer although I know in my heart that I'm already cancer free because of my faith in God.

As I was slipping out of my gown and putting back on my clothes, I could hear Dr. "S" outside my door talking with the nurse...."she's decided not to take any medication....don't understand...Arimidex...just don't get it...." Those were the only words I could make out but there were many others in between. I can only guess what they were but I'm sure they didn't understand the choice I'd made.

I should have known Dr. "S" would give me grief over my decision. Medical doctors have a hard time accepting faith and miracles unless they are believers themselves. I wish I knew where Dr. "S" stood in her belief system. I may just ask her next time I'm there. I do know many family and friends just can't understand my decision not to take the meds but I know my body best. I have to do what I feel God leading me to do no matter if people look at me like I'm crazy or don't agree with me.

I used to work for doctors and in fact, I wanted to go into the medical field when I was in high school. I loved and still love medicine. It's fascinating to me. But doctors and medication don't have anything on the Great Physician. He's the one who made me and He's the one I trust. At my next visit, which will be in 3 months, I'm hoping Dr. "S" will continue to be baffled and give me an opportunity to talk with her once again about God. Who knows, maybe I'll get to witness to every single one of my medical team before it's over and maybe they'll come to realize what I already know, that God's ways are not man's ways. Proverbs 3:4-6 says, "Trust in the Lord with all your heart. Lean NOT unto thine own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge Him and He will direct your paths."

I'm trusting in Him with all my heart. I don't understand anything about this cancer journey except He allowed me to go through it. I am choosing to follow His leading and do what He says. The ones who have trouble understanding can just continue to be bewildered. This is between me and God.

© bonnie annis all rights reserved