End of the year appointments

As the end of the year approaches, I'm working hard to get all of those "last" appointments scheduled. Since we've already met our deductible, it only made sense to try and schedule as many -OLOGISTS as I could pack into the last weeks of December. In January, the deductible will start over and everything will be financially challenging. Today was radiation oncology day.

The office had moved and thankfully, when the receptionist called to remind me about my appointment yesterday, she also gave me the address for the new location. Instead of taking me fifteen minutes to get to the office, it was now going to take me an hour. I adjusted accordingly and left the house promptly at 8:00 a.m. Amid all the 9 to 5 workers, I eased into traffic and found my groove. It was a beautiful December morning and I was thankful to be alive.

On my way to the doctor's office, I received a phone call telling me the doc had been called into an emergency meeting. She wouldn't be able to keep my 9:00 a.m. appointment...would I be willing to see her at 9:30 a.m.? I'm flexible, so I agreed to move my appointment time but since I was already en route, I decided I'd just sit in the waiting room and read a while.

I found a parking spot directly across from the office door. It was a few minutes before 9:00 a.m. so I sat in my car and checked my text messages and Facebook wall. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw something shiny. As I looked up, I saw a beautiful bald woman heading to her car. The sun was glinting off the top of her scalp and made her look even more beautiful. She was wearing her Christmas red...a lovely shirt with decorative trim. I tried not to stare but couldn't help it. I was still so very thankful I'd not lost my hair.

Entering the hospital doors, I scanned the hallways for the restroom. After finding it, I made a quick stop and continued on to the radiology oncology office. The receptionist greeted me and I asked how she liked the new office. She smiled and said, "it's great!" I picked out a corner chair and sat to read a magazine. Within a few minutes, I was being called back to get weighed.

You've lost a few pounds, the nurse exclaimed. I told her I hadn't been trying to but just hadn't had an appetite. She asked me how long that had been going on and I told her it had been several months now. She jotted notes on my folder and ushered me into the room.

The doctor came in shortly after I'd been seated and took a few minutes to make small talk. She was pleasant but we never really hit it off like I had with my regular oncologist. Something about her just didn't sit well with me. Maybe she reminded me too much of a relative...

Dr. S. had me remove my shirt and she began examining me. As she allowed her fingers to travel over my skin, she was palpating for any new or different variations in my skin and tissue. She exclaimed that my right chest cavity felt "hard as a rock," and I agreed. She said it was from the changes due to radiation.

She continued on with my exam and medical history making notes all along the way. She was attentive and thorough. When she was done, she asked about pain I might be having and I shared with her about the spinal pain, the insomnia, and the hip joint pain. She seemed genuinely concerned about all of these and told me it was important to get enough sleep so my body could regenerate cells. She prescribed some Ambien to try and get me over the "hump" of not sleeping and also wanted me to go see a pain management specialist. I left her office with all the instructions and she said she'd see me in 6 months. I was so glad...6 months instead of 3!

So now I'm waiting on the pain management clinic to call me to set up an appointment. Hopefully, I can get in before the end of the month. I'm nervous about going there. I don't want to get hooked on pain medication and I'm scared to death of having epidurals or other needle type injections in my spine.

I'm so tired of going to the doctor. It seems I have an appointment every other week. I keep wondering when or if the insurance company is going to say, "okay, we've paid enough out on you and we're going to cancel your coverage." I hope that never happens! I don't know how anyone with cancer could ever afford quality care without insurance. I'm so thankful we have good insurance and I'm even more thankful that my sweet husband is still able to work and provide for us.

Next week, I go see the regular oncologist. This will be a new doctor since my original oncologist moved his practice. I wish these doctors could just stay put! It's hard to find a doctor you feel comfortable with and then they up and move! It would be nice if everything could just stay the same but things are always changing. I guess that's just life...always moving, always changing.

Detox or die trying

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

© bonnie annis all rights reserved

Ice Packs and Ice Cream

A huge horizontal incision trails across my chest. The steri-strips are yellowing and slightly pulling away. It's been a little over a week since this last surgery. I am sore. No, that's an understatement...I am EXTREMELY sore. I feel like I have had a type of Chinese water torture but instead of water, battery acid has been slowly dripped inside my chest wall. Drip by drip the acid bores deeper through tissue and the pain doesn't ease up. I try hard not to complain, but it really hurts. I used to think I had a high pain threshold but now, I'm not so sure. I think I've become a bonafide wimp.

On Tuesday, I went to the doctor and had fluid drained off. It was not pretty. After the fluid had been drained off, the doctor and the nurse used me for a human maypole. They took wide elastic bandages and wrapped me like a mummy. I was instructed to remain wrapped up for a week to ten days. The wrappings were to help keep the fluid from rebuilding. I went home and took a couple of pain pills and put an ice pack on my chest. The coldness of the ice pack took my mind off of the chest pain and maybe helped just a little.

Today has been a difficult day. I've felt pretty rotten. I woke up feeling bad. My incision is pulling and the burning continues. When I took a shower, I noticed several steri-strips have come loose. I imagined there were stitches under them but I can't see any. Dr. S. must have used surgical super glue again. At my last surgery, she told me there were stitches inside but she used glue to hold the outer edges of my incision together. She said it made for a cleaner line, a prettier piece of work. So the steri -strips were reinforcements, to hold things together until I've healed. I've had an ice pack on most of the day and Advil has taken a slight edge off the pain.

My sweet hubby volunteered to go to the grocery store for me. We haven't been in weeks and both the cupboard and the fridge are bare. I made out a small list. I didn't want to overwhelm him. I told him as he was leaving that I knew I hadn't thought of everything and asked him to pick up other things he thought we might need as he was perusing the aisles.

I lay on the sofa and rested while he was gone. Discouragement overtook me and I began to cry. How much longer was this ordeal going to continue? It seems I've been in recovery mode for almost 2 years now. As I lay there thinking, my chest pain intensified. I got up to go change out the now thawed ice pack with a frozen one.

The sound of the garage door going up signaled that hubby was home. I watched as he brought in the bags of groceries and put them on the kitchen counters. As I rose from the sofa to put the groceries away, he waved me off. "I've got it," he said. So, I watched. He systematically put away each item and mentioned, as he opened the freezer, "I got you some ice cream, too." (I didn't ask for ice cream but he knows how much I love it.)

We had lunch in the living room. (We rarely eat at the table any more unless it's something messy and we just feel like sitting in there.) After lunch, he asked if I wanted some ice cream. As I readjusted my ice pack, I smiled at him with a big cheesy "yes, please" grin. He fixed me a big bowl of Moose Tracks and as he slipped it into my lap, I whispered up a silent prayer..."thank you, God, for ice packs and ice cream. The ice packs help me feel better on the outside and the ice cream helps me feel better on the inside. Thank you most of all for my sweet husband and for his tender, loving care. He's so good to me and I am so very blessed.

I'm so tired of hurting but I know it won't last forever. At least I've got ways to get a little more comfortable when I need it. I'm so thankful for the person who invented ice packs but even more thankful for the person who created ice cream!

© bonnie annis all rights reserved

The sounds of silence

I heard a quote the other day that really touched my heart. It was made by a well known psychologist, Dr. Laura Schlessinger. She's a wise woman and very well educated. She has a way with words and tells it like it is. This quote, by Dr. Schlessinger, is profound: "We won't remember the words spoken from our enemies, but instead, the silence from our friends." Powerful, isn't it? Those sixteen words resonated in my soul and prompted my blog post for today.

Why should they care? It's just cancer. I mean it's not like I'm at the point of death or anything, right? And yet, the silence is deafening. When the diagnosis was fresh, of course, some family members and friends rallied but the majority have remained silent. Blood. We share the same blood and yet, it's as if I'm non existent. How long does it take to pick up the phone and dial a number? And if that's too much, why not write a quick note and mail it off? Simple. I don't get it. Perhaps that's human nature..."if it's not affecting me or my family, why should I get involved?" Maybe that's what they're thinking, who knows. Maybe I shouldn't expect anything and yet, I do...not necessarily from friends, but definitely from family.

Thinking back over the last fifteen months, I remember how helpful people were to me during my cancer diagnosis and treatments. I received encouragement from old high school friends through Facebook. A few distant relatives got in touch with me personally or called my mother to get the latest updates. Some of my husband's coworkers, whom I'd never met before, asked him about me constantly. One of my neighbors brought home-cooked meals. Even the cashier at our local pizza parlor became involved in my struggle and asked weekly how things were going. Those efforts were very touching and ones I'll always remember.

There were many kind words provided to me over the past year. But as difficult as it sometimes is, I try not to focus on friends or family members who might not have spoken to me, or made some kind of effort at contact, during my trial. I try not to focus on the people I would have expected to hear from, but didn't. People who, for whatever reason, didn't step up to the plate. And the reason I try not to focus on them is because it takes time away from something more important...the people who blessed me in so many more ways than I can comprehend. Those are the people I'll choose to think about and remember well. Dr. Schlessinger was right. Rarely do we ever remember the unkind words spoken to us from our enemies but silence from our friends (and family members) speaks volumes.

Listen to the Sounds of Silence by Simon and Garfunkel here.

© bonnie annis all rights reserved

Suck it up and suck it out!

I feel like I'm always behind when posting on my blog but sometimes it's a little easier to write things after they've already happened. Yesterday was one of those days. I don't think I could have written yesterday if I'd really wanted to because I was in so much pain.

Since surgery this past Friday, I'd been hearing a strange noise emanating from my chest cavity. It was most prevalent when I'd turn in bed, trying to find a little comfort. At first, I thought it was my imagination...surely I couldn't be sloshing...that was ridiculous. I'd just had surgery. What would have been left in my chest to make a liquid sound? The only thing I could think of was blood.

So when the doctor's office called to check on me, I knew I had to mention it, this sloshing. At first, i thought the nurse would think I was a nut case...yeah, right, Mrs. Annis...you're sloshing...okay, really? But then I figured if I didn't say anything at all, this could be an important development and it might go from interesting to serious in a short time. When the nurse asked how I was, I heard myself say, "I'm doing okay but there's this weird sloshing noise." There was a moment of silence on the phone. The nurse had to process what she just heard. Sloshing, did she say "sloshing?" When she realized I had indeed said that I was sloshing, she said she needed to talk to the doctor. She'd call me back in a little while. I waited. She called later and said she'd talked to the doctor and the doc wanted me to be seen asap. I had an appointment at 2:30 p.m. on Tuesday afternoon. I knew what was coming and I didn't want to go.

Upon arrival at the doctor's office, the receptionist greeted me. I sat in the waiting room with my daughter and my granddaughter. We watched several people come and go. When was it going to be my turn? After about fifteen minutes, I was called back and put into an exam room. The nurse was polite and said I'd only be there until the woman in the next room was done with her appointment. It seems the ultrasound machine was in the next room and they were going to need it to work on me.

After about half an hour, I wondered if they'd forgotten me. My bladder was screaming so I went out into the hallway and asked a nurse where the restroom was located. Murphy's law says as soon as you get up to go pee, the doctor will come and be ready to see you. Sure enough, it worked. While I was in the restroom, the doctor was waiting on me.

When I exited the restroom, the doctor was in the hallway. She ushered me into the ultrasound room and began talking to me. "So, I hear you're a little squishy today?" I wanted to laugh, but it wasn't funny. I told her I was pretty sloshy and she had me remove my shirt and sit up on the exam table. As she mushed around on my chest, I could see the pocket of fluid underneath my skin. She continued manipulating my chest and as she hovered over the lower right hand side, I cringed. I knew as soon as she touched me there, I was going to be in extreme pain. I winced as she pressed firmly and told her I was really hurting there. She explained it was normal for me to hurt there. That's where she removed the dead tissue on Friday. That's where she had to scrape and work so hard to take all the bad stuff out. Oh.

I watched as the doc pulled packets of gauze, some needles, some syringes, antibiotic, Lidocaine, and other items from her crash cart. As she began setting up, I knew it was not going to be pretty. She draped a blue sterile pad across my lap and laughed as she said she was going to try to keep my clothes dry.

She took a syringe and inserted a needle. Then she drew up about 300cc of Lidocaine. As she was drawing up the numbing medicine, she looked at me and smiled..."no worries, no pain for you today." I smiled back and thought I hope she's right.

An antiseptic swab was rubbed over the center of my chest and then the doc said, "little stick." I felt what amounted to a small bee sting and she said, "how was that?" I told her it wasn't bad. She waited a few minutes for the Lidocaine to kick in and then she screwed a larger needle onto the syringe. As she readied the needle, I squeezed my eyes tightly closed. I didn't want to see her insert it. I felt the pressure as the needle went in. The doc knew exactly how deep she could penetrate my skin because she'd already scanned it with the ultrasound machine. I was thankful she had one in her office!

I opened my eyes to see a syringe full of dark blood red liquid being extracted from my chest. She told me I could keep my eyes closed and I told her I'd rather keep them open. I explained that I had wanted to be in the medical field at one point in my life and the blood and gore didn't bother me. She asked why I hadn't pursued my desire to work in medicine and I told her because my life changed and I started having my family. She smiled and told me she understood.

She emptied the first syringe into the red bio-hazard container and took another from the crash cart. She plunged the needle deep into the center of my chest and drew up another full syringe of bloody fluid. This procedure was repeated for a total of 5 and 1/2 times before she stopped. On the last vial of blood, the doc told me she didn't want to suction me totally dry because my insides were so traumatized from radiation and surgery. She said they needed a little cushioning to keep things loose and where they could heal nicely.

When she was done, the doc called in her assistant. They took 2 large ace bandages and wound them tightly around my chest. The compression, she said, would help keep my chest cavity from swelling up with fluid again. As I left, she told me to check on the swelling daily. If it got worse or felt hot to touch, I needed to call her immediately. I was given a prescription for antibiotic as I left the office. The doc wanted me to take it for 10 days.

When I got home, I pulled an ice pack out of the freezer and placed it on the insertion site. I was already sore from the surgery and now the Lidocaine was wearing off leaving me in even more pain. My husband and my daughter could tell I wasn't feeling well. It had been a rough day.

What I'm thinking: 
I was thankful my breast surgeon was skilled enough to remove the fluid from my chest cavity in her office. At least I didn't have to go to the hospital and have it done. I was also thankful to know I wasn't imagining things. I really was sloshing! If this wasn't the 21st century, I might have had leeches placed all over my chest to suck out the excess drainage. I'm thankful that didn't happen. I have a pretty strong stomach but I don't think I would have done well with a bunch of blood suckers wriggling and thriving all over my middle. Ewww! In any event, I'm glad to have the drainage procedure completed. Hopefully I won't ever have to go through that again. I'm really hoping things will start to get better and better from this point onward. I'm very tired of feeling rotten and look forward to some good days. I think I deserve them. It's time for someone else to share in the suffering just a little.

© bonnie annis all rights reserved

It takes a village

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

©bonnie annis all rights reserved

One more thing to complain about - Fibromyalgia

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What I'm thinking: 

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

©bonnie annis all rights reserved

I had a dream

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

©bonnie annis all rights reserved

Once again...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

© bonnie annis all rights reserved

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

Inside out

Since my last post, I feel like I've been turned inside out. I've faced a gamut of emotions and no, they are not cancer related. First of all, let me give you the update on my ultrasound report - everything came back good. That was a huge praise and the oncologist said if I keep having pain, he'll do a CT scan. I was also supposed to have an MRI on my spine because of pain I've been suffering lately, but I had to cancel that test due to insurance issues. We have had changes to our insurance and have a much higher deductible this year (which we haven't yet met). If I'd had the MRI done, I would have had to pay $700 out of pocket up front and we didn't have that kind of money so I made the decision to forego the test. I'm praying that everything will be okay and that the pain isn't an indicator that the cancer has embedded in my spinal column. Those are palpable pains I've dealt with. Physical pain is much easier to handle than emotional pain.

Gerri and I

I have been struggling for the past week over the sudden death of my very best friend, Gerri. Gerri and I were very close friends and always teased each other saying we were sisters from other mothers. We went to seminary together and worked together. We were joined at the hip so to speak. She used to call me her "Ace Boon Coon," which I didn't understand until I Googled it. (It means a very best, loyal friend.) That was a good definition of our relationship. Gerri just "got" me.

I never had to pretend around Gerri. She knew everything about me and loved me anyway. That's rare to find these days in any friend, but she was unique in that way. She loved me even when I was unlovable. Gerri didn't care if my hair was fixed or if I wore makeup. Those trivial things didn't matter one bit to her. She just wanted to be with me and when we were together, we were like Mutt and Jeff...we were, as she put it "besties."

Last week, I had texted her to see what she was up to and she replied with a "hey, girlie girl." (That was another term of endearment she used with me.) We chatted a while and made plans to go get our hair done together. Gerri knew of a great stylist that she'd been going to for years. She told me she'd call Bethany and see if we could get back to back appointments. We planned to make a day of it, and we did.

Our sweet husbands drove us to Carrollton to the salon. Gerri went first because her hair was uber short and she was only getting a trim and her purple streak recolored. Gerri was bold that way. She always wanted to make a statement. She didn't care what other people thought of her, she just lived her life to the fullest. Bethany called us back and sat us in chairs that were side by side. She began to work on Gerri as we talked and made plans for the rest of our day. As Bethany began to work on Gerri, I couldn't help but smile as the pink foils were placed in her hair after the dark purple dye was applied. Gerri looked at me and said, "WHAT???" I started to laugh and told her she looked so funny. Then it was my turn.

Bethany worked on me for over an hour. I was getting a full head of highlights so she must have put in close to 100 foils. As Bethany worked, Gerri started to smile and talk about my family, asking how each one of my children and grandchildren were. She told me that my husband, Phil, was a good man and it was evident that he loved me. I glanced over to the waiting area to look at my sweet husband who was sitting patiently with Gerri's husband, Doc. How many guys do you know that would sit in a salon for over 2 hours waiting on their wives to get their hair done and not voice a word of complaint? Not many, I can assure you. After our hair was finished, we went to check out and make our next appointments. Once again, we made them together.

Gerri with her foils getting her purple streak

Once in the car, Gerri and I began to talk. Somehow, the subject of death was brought up and Gerri said, "when I die, I want to be cremated." I told her that I'd planned the same thing and said I'd already purchased an urn. I told her I kept it in the living room on the floor by my bookcase and if it survived being kicked over and broken, that I planned to have it used to carry my ashes over to Cumberland Island where I'll be sprinkled one day. Gerri listened intently and then said, "I want to be planted." "Planted?" I said. "Yes. I found a company that sells these little pots with dirt and a tree seedling in them and they say you can have your ashes mixed in with it and be planted." I looked at her in surprise and she continued, "I want to be planted where my grandchildren can climb up on my limbs one day." As I listened, I heard a deep sadness behind Gerri's comments.

Me in foils getting my highlights

After dinner, we drove back to Gerri's house to visit a little longer. When we got inside, Gerri sat down in her recliner. I could tell she was tired and I was too. She saw me adjusting my bra and said, "You know, you don't have to wear those things for me. Why don't you take them off?" She knew my prostheses were very heavy and hot in the summertime. They'd been riding up all day and I'd been having to yank them back down into place. She told me there were some empty bags in the kitchen and I could get one of those to put my "boobs" in, so I took one and headed toward her bathroom.

When I came back into the living room, we smiled at one another. "See, doesn't that feel better?" she said. "Yes! I hate those things!" I said. Gerri told me I should just not wear them and I agreed with her. She knew me well. She knew it embarrassed me to go out in public with out my "boobs" on. Gerri told me I needed a vest like hers. She said the vest was good camouflage and that often, she went braless. She told me that no one ever knew because she had the vest on to hide herself but it was so much more comfortable than wearing a restricting bra. We had a good laugh over it and then Doc, Gerri's husband, began tinkering with a new Bluetooth receiver he'd just gotten in the mail.

I made the mistake of asking Doc how loud his surround sound speakers would go. Doc loves music just about better than anything and I knew he'd enjoy cranking it up a little for a good cause. Gerri shot me an "oh, thanks a lot, Bonnie" glance and put her fingers in her ears. Doc increased the volume and we were surrounded by melodious notes.

The sun was going down and I told Gerri we'd better be getting on back home. As we said our goodbyes, I gave her a big hug and started down the stairs. She called me back and said she wanted just one more hug, so I obliged. We got in our car and waved as we pulled off.

On Friday, June 26th, I got a Facebook message from one of my seminary professors, Dr. Gary Greene. Gary had been the instructor for a class that Gerri and I had taken together. I hadn't talked to him in years, so when I received his message to contact him, I was taken aback. When I got in touch with him, he asked if I'd heard about Gerri. I replied that I had not and he proceeded to ask me to call him. I knew at that point that something was very wrong.

Gary answered my call almost immediately. Again, he asked if I'd heard about Gerri. I responded that I had not and asked what was wrong. Gary told me that Gerri was dead. I could not believe my ears and at first, thought he was playing some sort of sick joke on me. I questioned him, asking if he was sure and how did he know...who gave him the information, and he said he'd heard from one of his neighbors who was also a friend of Doc and Gerri's.

Immediately I called Gerri's cell phone number. I don't know why I did it, I guess I was just in shock and needed answers. Doc answered and I asked if Gerri was okay. He told me that she had passed away. I asked what happened and he recounted the story to me. Now it was starting to sink in, my best friend, the one person I felt knew me inside and out, was gone.

My heart was broken and it took days to process Gerri's death. I'm still struggling with it today. The only thing that gives me consolation is knowing that I will see her again one day. Gerri was a Christian. She loved the Lord with all her heart and wanted others to know it.

Gerri and I were so much alike. One of the things that drew us to one another was knowing our pasts were so similar. We were able to accept each other, warts and all. We never judged one another, we just loved one another.

I'm so thankful for last Friday. Spending those minutes and hours with my "bestie" will forever be etched into my memory. I can still see her sweet smile in my mind as she sat in the salon chair, hear head sporting pink foils clipped together on top of her head full of cropped hair. I'm thankful I had an inkling, while at dinner, to snap a cell phone photo of Gerri and Doc. Little did I know it would be the last time I'd ever see them together. I'm so thankful I had the opportunity to tell her I loved her as we left their house that evening and I'm so thankful I agreed to go back for that second hug.  Oh, if I'd been in a hurry, I might not have taken the time to give her one last squeeze.

I think God knew I'd need these sweet memories to cling to this week as I've struggled to process Gerri's death. I know Gerri's in the presence of her Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. Her body isn't in pain any longer. She doesn't have to struggle in this wicked world for one more second either. My heart still aches for my sweet friend but I know I'll see her again one day. I can almost hear Gerri telling me to "suck it up and move on." She was very blunt at times but very honest to a fault.

I loved my "Ace Boon Coon" and I know she loved me too. I'm so thankful God allowed us to meet all those years ago at New Orleans Baptist Theological Seminary. He knew we'd be important parts of each others' lives and for that, I've extremely grateful.

Gerri and her son, Jeff

© bonnie annis all rights reserved

Reality hurts sometimes

I always hate going to the nursing home. It’s so taxing on my emotions. As we pull into the parking lot, my heart skips a beat. I know what’s coming next. Slowly, I walk across the parking lot with my bags of magazines and other items I’ve chosen to bring Mama today. When we approach the door to the building, I see my hand reach out to press the large black button that allows us instant access.

We walk into the entryway and I purposely avoid looking directly into any of the residents eyes…it’s too painful. I quickly survey the room with a sweeping glance and plaster on my huge “what a beautiful day” grin and we continue walking. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the heavyset African American woman, a double amputee, sitting in her wheelchair parked in front of the TV with the other residents. She seems strong and feisty. I know she sees me glance her way and I smile. She doesn’t smile back. I think she’s probably hardened herself to the glances of pity at her loss of limbs and she’s just learned to take it with a grain of salt.

The door to Mama’s room is closed. I stand in front of it and stare at the “please knock” sign for a few minutes before gently tapping on the door. There’s no answer but I know she’s inside because I can hear the TV blaring. I push the door open and peek around the corner catching her eye. She seems shocked to see us but happy at the same time. She doesn’t look away from the TV but just for a minute and we make ourselves at home in nearby chairs.

At first, we begin with the normal chit chat…how are you today? What’s been happening? Anything new with you? After a few pleasantries, and trying to talk over the TV, I ask if we can turn it off for a while. Reluctantly, Mama agrees and hands me the remote.

It’s nice to be able to talk without the constant noise from the television. As we talk, she mentions a recent trip that my sister made to Chile and as she’s talking about it, I pull up photos on my cellphone from my sister’s Facebook page to show my mother. She looks intently at the pictures analyzing each detail and committing them to memory. I continue pulling up various photos to show her and we talk about each one. We cover a myriad of topics and then the room becomes quiet. There’s nothing left to say to fill the void, so I try to think of a childhood memory that might help start up a new conversation.

Do you remember when you and Daddy took us to a sugar cane farm when we were younger? Where was that, Mama? She didn’t really remember but thought it might have been at a state fair. I had hoped to glean more details for my own memory bank but she doesn’t offer anything else and I let it drop.

A nurse’s aide comes in to bring the lunch tray. I get up to help Mama remove the lid and also to see what’s on the menu for today. There are chicken strips, pork and beans, coleslaw, potato soup and some sort of chopped fruit. There’s no color and it looks disgusting. I asked her if she ever gets fresh fruit and veggies and she tells me that it’s very rare to have those things. No wonder the people here have such sluggish movements. It’s not only because of their age but they’re not receiving vital nutrients they need either. I make a mental note to bring fresh fruit and veggies on my next visit.

As Mama picks at her lunch, I glance toward the end of her bed and notice her uncovered feet. Both of her feet are drawn into an unnatural position. Her toes are gnarled and curled under. While she’s eating, I ask if she can get out of bed. I would love to take her out into the garden on this beautiful, sunshiny day. She tells me she can’t. She has disks in her back that are very fragile and are in various stages of disintegration. How very sad, I think to myself, to be confined to a bed 24 hours a day 7 days a week. I don’t think I could stand it.

In just a few minutes, the TV comes back on. Mama wants to see a movie. Our conversation stops and she focuses on the actors on the screen. We sit and watch her as she watches her program. My husband is patient and understanding but I can tell, after a few hours, he’s ready to get back on the road. I send him a text and ask, “What time do you want to leave?” He responds and says, “Whenever you’re ready.”

We sit with Mama a little longer, watching the clock slowly tick the minutes away. I reach into my bag and pull out a Mother’s Day gift. I purchased a book I knew she’d wanted to read. Along with the book, I’d chosen a sentimental card. She thanks me for both and begins flipping through the pages of the book talking about the pictures inside. Her hands shake as she turns the page. I watch her eyes, intent on what she was reading and I realize time continues to march across her face as I count wrinkle upon wrinkle.

It’s time. I just feel it in my bones. It’s time for us to go. I lean down to kiss her and tell her goodbye. I try to come in close for a hug but I can’t get close because of the bedside railing. I try to maneuver around to the other side of the bed thinking I might have better luck there, but I still can’t get close enough. I manage to plant a wet kiss on her forehead and feel her do the same to my cheek. Oh how I wish I could get close to you, Mama. I long to be your little girl again.

We say our goodbyes and pack up our things. Mama is engrossed in her television show and barely seems to notice as we get ready to leave the room. The nurse comes in with some pills and before leaving, I ask about them. “What are they for?” I say. Mama explains that one pill is for nausea and the other is for pain. I ask if she’s hurting now and she says no but it helps to keep the pain she does suffer manageable.

As we back slowly toward the door, I look around the room. There are photos and family mementoes everywhere. My brother, sisters, and I have tried to make the room as pleasant as possible. We’ve tried to surround her with memories and love. Mama is content with her puffed corn and her movie. She doesn’t seem to mind being confined to bed at all. Just outside the window a cardinal flits by. I see the bright red brilliance and remember how very much Mama loves birds. I wish she could see it and I start to point it out to her but stop. I don’t want to interrupt her routine again. She’s settled and comfortable. We’ll just leave and maybe next time we can talk about birds.

My fingers press the exit code into the keypad. I try to use my knuckle to depress the numbers because of all the germs from previous users. We hear the door unlock and quickly make our exit. I wonder how many of the residents have tried to sneak out behind visitors when the door opens. As we depart, I look back and through the glass, I see the African American woman still sitting in her same spot, exactly where she was 3 hours ago. Two words cross my mind…stationary and still. How many hours do those residents sit in the exact same location without being moved? Do they sit there all day until some kind and caring staff member decides it’s time for a change? How do they survive their mundane existence? Many of them have already checked out through their gift of Alzheimer’s or Dementia but there are those sad few, the ones who are still of sound mind, who must struggle.

We pull out of the parking lot and I hang my head. My husband notices and says, “What’s wrong honey?” I tell him I am just so very sad…sad that things are the way they are for my mother and sad for all the residents who live there. I beg and plead with him to never, ever, put me in a nursing home. I tell him I can’t bear the thoughts of being held captive there. I make him promise me he’ll never put me in one and he does. He makes me promise the same.

We drive in silence over half the way home. I think we were both impacted by our visit today. When we arrive home, I am so thankful I can get out of the car and walk into my house. I’m thankful I can lock and unlock my door at will. I’m thankful I can get up and look out the windows whenever I choose to do so, and I’m thankful I only lie in bed when I’m ready to sleep or when I’m not feeling well.

Seeing a loved one’s health decline is not easy. The miniscule day to day changes are more evident when visits are infrequent. and seem to be magnified when viewed in their entirety. Geoffrey Chaucer said, “Time and tide wait for no man.” No matter how much I want to stop the hands of time, with regard to my mother’s aging process, I know I have no power to do so. It’s painful to watch her slowly decline but then again, “from the moment we are born, we begin to die,” says Janne Teller.

I guess the thing that makes it the hardest for me is knowing that one day she’ll be gone…and when she is, I won’t have my mother any more. But even though she’s still here, it’s almost like she’s already gone. She never asks me about me. She never seems to care what’s going on in my life. I know she still cares, but it would be nice if she would just ask. Even though I’m 57, I still need a mother.

There are so many days I want to pick up the phone and call her to ask advice or to just share a piece of news with her. When I do call, she doesn’t listen or perhaps she just can’t hear what I’m saying. She is either watching something on TV or is sleeping. At those moments, I realize, even though she’s still very much alive, my mother has checked out on her motherly duties. She’s no longer to be held responsible for offering motherly advice or fulfilling that role in my life. In the book, For One More Day, by Mitch Albom, his quote, while speaking of his own mother, explains exactly how I feel: ““But she wasn’t around, and that’s the thing when your parents die, you feel like instead of going in to every fight with backup, you are going into every fight alone.”

My father is gone. Both of my in-laws are gone. My mother is the only parental figure I have left in my life. I want to cling to her with all that is within me…but how selfish of me. I know she can’t shoulder my problems any longer. When I found out I had breast cancer, I wanted to run to her and hide in her skirt like a little girl and wrap my arms around her legs and cry, but she wasn’t there. When I called her and told her about my dilemma, she sympathized with me but offered no more. I needed her. I needed her to be there for me throughout my treatments and healing process. Instead, in the back of my mind, I kept hearing myself telling the little girl inside to grow up! To be an adult. To handle it. And so I did.

©bonnie annis all rights reserved

Canceritis

When I was first diagnosed with cancer, I immediately thought I'd been given a death sentence. I wondered how much time I had and I begin to become fearful. I went through all the motions, had the surgery, did all the treatments, and followed doctors' orders. I was a good patient. And now that my active treatment is officially over, I think I've developed a new malady...Canceritis.

It's common, they say, for breast cancer survivors to live in a constant fear of recurrence...after all, who wouldn't be scared to death that one of those random, rogue cancer cells might still be lurking around in your body? Surgeons can do amazing things but they never guarantee that they were able to "get it all." When treatment is over, it's difficult to go from being constantly proactive in fighting cancer, to allowing one's self to relax, let down the guard, and just get back to living life. Every new ache and pain causes a feeling of dread and a wondering of the big, "what if."

I was overcome by random pains yesterday. I hadn't felt anything like that since having my surgery. It was scary. Deep inside my right chest wall, there was a constant, nagging, very obvious pain. I reached up to touch the place where my breast once was and winced when my fingers brushed against my incision. As I felt along the surgical line, I noticed several places that were sensitive and enlarged. Had those been there before? Were these places of concern? Should I call my doctor?

I put some lotion on my hand and began to smooth it gently into my skin. I made a mental note of every lump and bump, every nook and cranny. I wanted to memorize what each place felt like so I could recheck in a day or two.

As I continued palpating my skin, I realized I have just a touch of Canceritis- a fear of the recurrence of cancer. While I don't want to admit that fact, it's definitely true. Canceritis has got to be one of the most common and least treatable side effects of breast cancer. There are so many remedies for other cancer side effects- nausea, hair loss, etc. The body heals, although it may often take some time, but the mind...that's another story. There's only one cure for that...faith.

How does a cancer patient learn to relax and let go of the fearfulness that a recurrence brings? The only way I know to combat that fear is by faith. Why should I allow fear of the unknown to have power and control over my life? I don't want to borrow trouble!

So instead of focusing on every little ache, every random pain, every new lump or bump I might feel, I'm going to leave the diagnosing to my medical staff. Of course, I will pay attention to my body and I will report anything that seems suspicious, but I'm not going to dwell on it and live in a constant state of Canceritis.

A couple of Tylenol knocked the edge off of the pains I was having in my chest. This morning, it's barely noticable. I'm thankful I don't have to walk in fear...that's a dangerous place to be. I'd rather think positively and realize I probably overdid it yesterday. I was quite busy and did lift several items I shouldn't have. Maybe I strained a muscle or maybe the scar tissue in that area was just loosening up a bit. In any case, I'm feeling better.

I never asked for cancer to come into my life. It was certainly an unwelcomed guest. There's a beautiful poem by Michael Hayes Samuelsen speaks so profoundly into the lives of Breast Cancer survivors and it has certainly meant a lot to me. I hope you'll enjoy it too.

Close the Door When You Leave

I never asked you to visit…at least I don’t believe I did
Maybe…I don’t know
It’s so confusing

At any rate, you’re a rude guest
You take my energy,
Rob my sleep, and with a stick

You swirl and distort my dreams
All right; You are here -- for now
But understand

There are two places
That are forever off limits

You may not tread on my spirit

You may not occupy my soul

I have heard of your visits to others
I know the damage you leave in your path
The wanton disregard for innocence, value, and what some would call fairness

Also, I hear that laughter confuses you; that good foods make you feel bad, and
That nothing causes you more distress than an autumn sunset, the forever blue of a summer sky,
Or the unconditional radiance of a child’s smile

Listen and understand
You might pilfer my closets, empty all the drawers, and trash my house
But there are two places forever off limits

You may not tread on my spirit

You may not occupy my soul

Do not mistake my nausea, weakness, and pain as signs of your victory
They are simply small dents in the armor I wear to fight you
Instead, look deeply into my eyes

They will once again remind you that there are two places forever off limits

You must not…

May not…

Will not tread on my spirit

You must not…

May not…

Will not occupy my soul

Canceritis may come and go. I'm sure in the days ahead I will experience more aches and pains that may lead me to become just a tiny bit fearful again. But those aches and pains along with that fear can only touch my body. It can't touch my spirit or my soul. I will not choose to walk in fear, but instead, choose to walk in faith. My days are numbered by my Heavenly Father and He is the only one who knows when He will call me home. Until that day, I've got a whole lot of living left to do!


©bonnie annis all rights reserved

Sick and tired

Here I go again, complaining. I'm sorry. If you want to stop reading now, I completely understand. I don't mean to complain, really I don't, but I am just so sick and tired of being sick and tired.

The other day, I caught my husband's upper respiratory infection. He didn't mean to give it to me but he did. I was already feeling pretty crappy thanks to the general malaise after radiation therapy and surgery. Now, I have to deal with these extra germs on top of that.

My energy level is kaput! I could barely drag myself out of bed today. I don't ever stay in bed past 7 a.m. but this morning, I stayed in bed til 9 a.m.! That's very unusual for me but I was just so stinkin' tired.

I feel like all of my get up and go, got up and went. Have you ever been anemic? If so, you know what I'm talking about here. It takes every bit of effort I can give to just walk across the floor, but I make myself do it.

It isn't something I want to consider, but I keep hearing a nagging little voice in the back of my head saying, "what if it isn't just the upper respiratory infection that's bogging you down? What if the cancer has come back?!" I don't want to listen to that little voice. I don't want to even think about it but I have been having more and more aches and pains lately.

My upper spine, in between my neck and the middle of my shoulder blades, hurts all the time. A deep hurting, down in my bones....and that worries me. My left shin bone aches incessantly, again, deep down in the bone. I try not to dwell on the pain, but it is pretty annoying. At night, it gets even worse. I guess that's because I'm lying still and nothing is distracting me from feeling the pain.

Dr. "F" always asks me when I go for my checkups if I'm having any weird headaches, stomach pains or bone/joint pain and to date, I haven't had anything to report. I know he asks these questions to determine if there has been a recurrence. On this next visit, however, I'm going to have to tell him about my spine and shin. I wonder if he's going to finally order a PET scan for me. I haven't had one yet and most of my friends who've also been diagnosed with cancer have already had several of them. I don't want to borrow trouble, as my grandmother used to say, but I'm really tired of hurting. I'm really tired of being sick...and I'm really tired of feeling tired. I just want my energy back again.

My hiking boots are lying on the floor of my closet. They've been there for some time now. I don't want to retire them, but I wish I had the energy to just put them on and do some hiking. Usually, at this time of year, I'd be out in the woods on a trail somewhere. My mind says, yes...let's do it, but my body says, no, we can't.

So I guess I'll sit inside and read a book. Someone told me recently to listen to my body because it was telling me I needed to rest. I'm not used to resting. I'm used to being busy and going and doing...
When will this season of my life be over? I'm frustrated.

God, I don't know why I've been chosen to suffer these physical ailments, but I know you have a purpose for them in my life. I don't like them. I don't want them. Could you please take them away or at least spread the suffering around a little? I know my ailments pale in comparison to so many others but I can only complain about what I'm going through because these are the things that affect me personally right now. You say in your Word that we are to cast all of our burdens upon You, so that's what I'm doing right now. I'm taking these aches and pains and casting them onto your sturdy shoulders, and I'm trusting You to do with them what you will. Forgive me for having a pity party. Forgive me for complaining. Forgive me for focusing on myself today instead of keeping my eyes fixed on You. Forgive me for falling short. Forgive me for listening to the lies of the enemy whisper in my ear, "your cancer has returned." I know You are the only one who controls when or IF the cancer ever comes back in my body, and I'm choosing to trust you that it will NEVER come back again. But even if it does, I know you will give me the strength to face that day and You will provide everything I need to get through it. Thank you, Father, for reminding me that when I am weak, you are strong. I'm glad you're so very strong, because today, I feel so very weak. Thank you for loving me anyway, in Jesus' name I pray, Amen.

©bonnie annis all rights reserved

Lymphedema sucks big time! (forgive one more rant, please!)

I wish this was going to be a sunshine and roses post, but it's not, so be prepared. I'm not usually a grouch monster but today, I can't help it....I have a good excuse.

This will be a very short post because my arms are extremely swollen. I was trying to do some sewing today for my grandchildren and was making a good bit of headway until my arms started swelling. I took a little time away from my sewing machine to do the manual lymphatic massage and got the swelling down enough to put on my compression top. After putting it on, I went back into my office/sewing/craft room to resume my projects.

The compression top was extremely uncomfortable and I haven't worn it in a long time so it was rubbing underneath my armpits. It was really tight and I wanted to take it off, but knew if I wanted to keep on sewing, I'd have to keep it on. I managed to wear the compression top and do a couple of hours of sewing before giving in to defeat. I had done all I could do and I knew I had to take off the top.

About the time I was realizing my limitations, my husband came in from work. He's always so sweet to me and started chit chatting about his day. I burst into tears and told him I had to get this top off right now. I reached up underneath my t shirt and unzipped the compression top. I unfastened the hook and eyes and undid the Velcro, pulling the compression top off in one quick motion. What a relief to have that torture device off!

My arms are so swollen now that I can't do another thing. Hubby tells me to go put them up on pillows and rest. I'm so frustrated. I can't get used to being unable to do the things I used to do...lymphedema sucks big time and it will never, ever, ever go away. I'm stuck with it for the rest of my life. Isn't it enough to have your breasts removed? Did I have to end up with non-stop swelling too?

© bonnie annis all rights reserved

Forgive me for complaining

I am so tired of waking up with huge, swollen arms! This Lymphedema sucks! Every morning, I have to get up and do manual lymphatic massage on myself just to be able to move my arms. The swelling has gotten so bad that I'm having to buy shirts in a much larger size just so I can get my arms in the sleeves. I don't mean to complain, really I don't, but can't my life just please return to a pre-cancerous state??? Is that too much to ask?

Nobody told me how crappy it would be after having lymph nodes removed. My breast surgeon did elude to the fact that I MIGHT get Lymphedema but she didn't think I would since I was only have 2 lymph nodes removed in my left arm and 4 removed in my right arm. Apparently even having one tiny little lymph node is enough to disrupt the whole lymphatic system and cause Lymphedema. 

It's hard to describe how it feels, but imagine, just underneath your skin, there is an accumulation of fluid. The fluid swells and gets tighter and tighter...so much so, that you feel like your skin is going to pop and split wide open! The swelling impedes movement and is quite painful too. It's not a once in a while thing...when you have it, you have it for good. It doesn't go away. 

My body is already a mess. When I look at myself in the mirror, I wonder how my husband can still love me. I have no breasts. I have huge scars across my chest. I have scars from the drainage tubes they put in after surgery. I have tattoos from the radiation clinic that they used to line me up under the linear accelerator for treatment and also, I have fat, swollen arms. Have you ever seen a Sumo wrestler? That's what I feel like when I look at myself. 

This morning, the swelling was exceptionally worse than usual. When I use my arms a lot during the day or I do any kind of lifting, it exacerbates the Lympedema. It took me about twenty minutes of manual massage to get the lymphatic fluid dispersed throughout my torso so I could put on a shirt. After going through my closet, I finally found one that I could wear. I guess I'll have to donate the shirts that don't have large sleeves to Goodwill and start buying new ones that will accommodate my balloon arms. I do have my Lymphediva sleeves that help compress my arms and aid with the swelling too.

It's so frustrating to have to deal with this physical challenge on a daily basis, but I'm just going to have to accept it and move on. I just needed a chance to rant for a little bit. I'm not normally a negative person. I hope you understand. Surgery doesn't remove all of the challenges, in fact, it creates even more of them. 

I am thankful for the medical advancements that are available now to those of us who've been afflicted with breast cancer. We have so many new and wonderful techniques that can buy us time. Cancer does maim, kill and destroy lives but it's up to us to choose to be thankful to be alive and continue to fight. 

Yes, Lymphedema sucks and yes, I don't like it one little bit, but...it's something I have to live with so I'd better just suck it up and move on. Thank you for allowing me to complain today...it's just been one of those days.