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

Surgery again

Yesterday, I went into Piedmont Fayetteville Hospital to have my second surgery. This time I would be having a cyst removed along with some tissue that had died in the last surgery.

I arrived at the hospital shortly before 11 a.m. as instructed. My sweet daughter, Laura, was with me since my husband was unable to get off work. Around 11:30 a.m. a nurse came out to get me and take me back to the pre-surgical wing. I wasn't nervous at all and I know it was because of all the prayers going up for me.

She gave me a gown and told me to remove all of my clothes and then, she'd be back in to hook me up to an I.V. I was compliant for the most part but I didn't remove my underwear. I thought about it and decided there was no need for me to take off my panties. They weren't even going to be working remotely in that area, so I left them on. (The rebel in my strikes again!)

I got into the bed and waited. About fifteen minutes later, the nurse came back in to insert the I.V. needle. I was thankful she gave me a shot of Lidocaine first to numb the area. I didn't even feel the I.V. shunt go in. When she was done, the nurse told me she'd go get my daughter and bring her back to sit with me. I looked down at the I.V. needle she'd just placed into my hand. It didn't look like it was inserted all the way, but I figured she knew what she was doing.

Laura came back into the room with me and we talked for a while before the Anesthesiologist came in. When she came in, she asked all the routine questions : loose teeth? partials? dentures? trouble swallowing? etc. She explained they'd be inserting a breathing tube along with the anesthesia. I listened to her as she hurriedly explained each detail. She was so high strung that I commented about it to Laura after the doctor left the room. Laura assured me that the anesthesiologist must have many patients today and was just trying to move quickly so she could cover all the bases. More medical staff came in to visit - surgical nurses, a resident anesthesiologist, and Dr. Sroka's assistant. They were all very kind and reassuring.

Just before 2 p.m., Dr. Sroka came in to talk with me. She went over the procedure again and asked if I had any questions. While she was there, the nurse was at the head of my bed doing something. All of a sudden, I felt an intense burning pain in my left arm and looked down to see where it was coming from. My wrist, just about the I.V. needle began to immediately puff up and swell. As I screamed out in pain, Dr. Sroka sternly corrected the nurse and said, "You just blew her vein. What were you doing?" The nurse explained that all she'd done was grab hold of the bag of Prevacid (an antacid liquid) and force it through the I.V. Dr. Sroka told her when she did that, she ruptured my vein and she'd have to remove that I.V. and replace it with another. The nurse was not too happy about that and disagreed with the doc. I was surprised that she was defending her I.V. insertion so vehemently when it was clearly problematic.

Dr. Sroka went out and 2 nurses came in. The original nurse, the one who'd blown my vein, and another R.N. The second R.N. came over to me and said she'd be placing the new I.V. I was thankful! The first nurse might have been vindictive. The second I.V. was placed quickly and efficiently and the surgical team was ready to go. Something was inserted into my I.V. and that's all I remember until I woke up in the recovery room.

In the recovery room, the first thing I heard was an oriental nurse talking to me and telling me it was time to wake up. Her cute accent made me think one of my good friends was in the room with me (she's from China too.) As I forced my eyes to open, I saw a large clock on the wall at the foot of my bed. It was 5:05 p.m. I was surprised it was that late in the day. It seemed I'd only been there a short time. The nurse offered me some Sprite and it felt so good on my throat.

Laura came to help me get my clothes back on and I didn't realize how much pain I was in until I sat up on the bed. I felt like I'd been run over by a truck. My chest was on fire and I could feel something very tight around my chest area. I looked down and saw they'd placed a type of surgical corset on me to hold the incision tightly. I was told I'd have to wear that for the next week until Dr. Sroka had her followup visit with me.

We began the long ride home and I was so groggy. I could hardly keep my eyes open. Laura told me that it was from the leftover anesthesia in my body. Instead of going straight home, we stopped by the drugstore first to get my pain medication. I was so thankful Laura thought to do that because I needed it as soon as I got out of the car. I was also thankful they'd put a Scopalamine patch on me to keep nausea at bay during and after surgery because I began to feel a little woozy as I walked into the house.

I tried my best to stay awake long enough to have a small cup of chicken broth and some saltines. I knew I would need something on my stomach before taking my pain meds. Bedtime couldn't come soon enough for me. I was so thankful to have purchased a wedge pillow before my first surgery last year. It surely came in handy. After getting all my pillows propped up and the wedge pillow in place, I slipped into bed and slept soundly all night long.

This morning, I woke up at 6:05 a.m. I felt pretty good until I got out of bed to go to the restroom. As soon as I stood up, the pain shot through my chest and I remembered, I'd just surgery! Very slowly I walked across the room and got my pain pills. Everyone else in the house was asleep. I tiptoed into the living room to have my quiet time. As I lit a candle and pulled out my Bible, I said a prayer of thanks. I was still alive. Cancer hasn't won yet. I was overwhelmed with gratitude.

Sometime this week, I'll get the biopsy reports. I'm trusting God that everything will turn out just fine. My life is in His hands and there's no place I'd rather be.

©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