A second letter to cancer

Me in Gerri's jacket

Dear Cancer,
This is my second letter to you. I never thought I'd be writing one again so soon, but here I am again. I don't even know why I'm writing you. You're supposedly gone and good riddance! Dr. S cut you out of my body over a year ago, so why am I still dealing with side effects from your presence?

Early this morning, I had to call my doctor's office. Fluid has built up again in my chest. This time, it's concentrated on the right side instead of like last time when it was all in the center of my chest. I asked her if she wanted me to come back into the office so she could drain the fluid off again. I didn't really want to have to go through all that again, but I was willing to do it if it was necessary. Dr. S said sometimes, it can take 2-3 weeks for the fluid to dissipate. I told her it was really uncomfortable and it hurt when anything, even clothing, touched that side of my body. She told me to wait a few more days and if it's not better, to come in next week. When I touch my chest, I can see a big pocket of fluid jiggling near the space where my right breast used to be.

Did you know the Susan G. Komen Race for the Cure is next weekend? I've signed up and I plan on walking across that finish line with pride. I was supposed to walk last year but that was too soon after my first surgery (thanks to you) and I couldn't. People donated money for me and I let them down. I didn't feel good about that at all but what could I do? This year will be a different story. Even if the fluid remains, I'm going! We've already got a hotel room reserved and we've already paid the registration fees. My sweet husband is going with me. We're going to show you!

Today I was reminded of you again, not only when I looked in the mirror and saw the swelling and fluid, but also when I had an unexpected visit from a dear friend. The doorbell rang and I knew I wasn't expecting any visitors, so I almost didn't answer it. I figured it was a delivery man with a package and if I didn't answer the door, he'd just leave it and go on his way...but something told me to go to the door, and I'm so glad I did. Standing on the front porch was Doc, my best friend's husband, and in his hand was a denim jacket. As I greeted him with a hearty hello and a big bear hug (one sided of course, once again, thanks to you), he stepped inside. (Doc had just recently had surgery on his brain and I had no idea that he was okayed to be driving just yet.) I asked him to come in and have a seat as he held out the jacket to me. Taking it, I almost burst into tears. This jacket had been my best friend's jacket and Gerri (my bestest friend in the whole, wide world, had died unexpectedly last month.) Doc told me Gerri would have wanted me to have the jacket. With tears in my eyes, I looked at the front of it. Gerri had several pins attached to the jacket. There was a silver biker pin (she loved to ride motorcycles with her husband), a "He is risen" pin (Gerri was a devout Christian), and a tiny pink breast cancer ribbon pin. (I know she wore that one for me.) I took the jacket and hung it across the back of a bar stool while Doc and I talked.

We talked about Gerri and how much each of us missed her. No, you weren't part of her life, too, and I'm so thankful. Gerri died of a heart attack, they think. We really aren't sure, but it was sudden and none of us were prepared for the loss of her from our lives. Doc and I shared sweet memories. As he talked, I could feel the deep pain in his heart. He was so lonely. After a couple of hours, he looked at his watch and said he had to go. As I walked him to the door, I gave him another big hug and thanked him for coming.

When Doc was gone, I took Gerri's jacket from the chair. I held it in my hands for a few minutes and then took a big sniff of it. I just wanted to see if any part of Gerri lingered there. I smiled as I was able to smell her on the jacket. There was such a familiarity there.

I walked into my bedroom and stood in front of the mirror. I wanted to put the jacket on but was afraid. I knew it was going to be an emotional time when I did and I wasn't sure if I was ready for that. I lay the jacket down and went to my office. I worked on some things for a while and then went back into my bedroom. The jacket lay there waiting for me.

Picking up the jacket, I slowly slipped one arm into it and then the other. Instantly, I could almost hear Gerri's voice whisper, "my ace boon coon." That's what she used to call me. It was her term of endearment that meant I was her very best friend ever.

I stood in front of the mirror a long time. The jacket fit perfectly. It did look funny with the pockets sunken in because I had no breasts (thanks to you, dear cancer), but I didn't care at that point. I could feel the closeness of my friend.

The tiny pink ribbon pin was attached to the right front breast pocket. I could just imagine Gerri placing it there and thinking, this is for my friend, Bonnie. She was always thinking of others, just like you, cancer, but you are always looking for those you can destroy. Gerri looked for those she could love.

So cancer, you may think you still have a hold on me but let me tell you something...you don't own me. You don't define me. You are not a part of my life currently and I hope you never will be again in the future. I don't want to have to write any more letters to you...YOU GOT THAT! Ok.

Sincerely,
Bonnie Annis
Breast Cancer Survivor

© bonnie annis all rights reserved

Dear Tumor

Dear Tumor,
This letter is long overdue, but today, I felt like I needed to tell you how I really feel. You entered my life sometime in the past, the exact date I'll probably never know, but you made your presence known that cold, March morning. I'll never forget the day I found you taking up residence inside my right breast...like an alien invader, you had planted yourself firmly and spread your tentacles deep inside.

Before we met, my life was good...no, it was more than good, it was blessed! I was happy, healthy, and whole. I was living my life to the fullest and enjoying every minute of it. I ate well, I played hard, I never expected you to come and disrupt my life, but you did. Before you came, I was the wife to an adoring husband, the mother to four very unique children, and the grandmother to seven wonderful blessings. I thought about the future and had so many plans...places to go, things to do, and people to love.

On June 5, at 4:25 p.m., I learned of your evil. The doctor's words, "it's probably nothing but a cyst" were untrue. When I heard your true name, "Cancer," I cringed. My whole world crumbled in an instant. I think my heart even skipped a beat, I'm almost sure of it. So many things changed in a split second and all because of you.

In July, I learned your name, Invasive Ductal Carcinoma, such a big name for such a small tumor. But you were powerful. You had already grown and become stage 2B. I was determined to learn more about you and so, I Googled you. I read books about you. I asked questions about you. I came to know you well. When they said you were invasive, they weren't kidding! You invaded every part of my life. I was afraid of you and your potential. I just knew you were going to destroy every relationship I knew. How would my husband handle this? How would my children cope? Would my grandchildren understand? Suddenly, everything I knew became fragile. I cried myself to sleep at night. I whispered soft prayers asking God for healing.

Even after you were cut out of my body, I still felt your presence. You left your fingerprints everywhere. I tried so hard to erase you. I wanted to forget you. I wanted my life back. No matter how hard I tried, my life wasn't the same any more. It was different, and all because of you. But then I realized, you were a gift.

You taught me to live from moment to moment treasuring each one as an undiscovered blessing. You taught me that I had taken so much for granted before you came. You helped me learn to put things into perspective.

Before you came, I never considered my own mortality. Sure, I knew that one day I would die, but I didn't dwell on it. Thanks to you, I have been faced with my mortality daily. I understand that I am not promised tomorrow. You've given me the gift of learning Carpe Diem, to seize the day! Each morning I wake, I am thankful just for the gift of waking. I treasure things now that I didn't before, and I stopped placing value on things that shouldn't have it.

So today, tumor, I'd like to thank you for all you've done for me. You've completely changed me, both physically and mentally. You've left an indelible mark on my body and on my soul. I know you were chosen specifically for me by a loving God who planned to use you to teach me much. Yes, I am still learning and I know I will continue to learn in the days ahead. So thank you for the valuable lessons you've given me thus far.

My prayer, dear tumor, is that I will never see you again as long as I live. Hopefully, the radiation has killed every rogue cell that branched off of you and traveled through my body. Now, as I begin the healing process, I am still cognizant that you came to visit. While I'm thankful you came, I want you to know I wish I'd never met you. I wish there was a cure for you and others like you so none of my friends or loved ones would ever have to know you. Can I ask you a favor? Will you please promise to never touch the lives of our family again? Will you stay far away from those I love? Will you?

It has taken many months for me to be able to speak to you, tumor. It has taken me a long time to realize you were not just an evil invader, but a blessing in disguise. God has continued to whisper, "Trust Me," to my heart daily, and I do. I know that He is with me and even if you do come to pay me another visit, He has promised to never leave me.

I pray I never encounter you again, but I will offer you my humble gratitude. Without you, I would never have understood fully who I am in Christ. I would never have realized how much I took for granted. I would never have gained new insight and hope. So thank you, dear tumor, for blessing me. Though I will never know completely the reason you were chosen; I trusted God in your coming. He knows best what is necessary in our lives. All I can do is trust whatever method He chooses to teach me.

Gratefully yours and Humbly His,
Bonnie Annis

©bonnie annis all rights reserved