X marks the spot

This morning, I left for the Radiation/Oncology center at 10:15 a.m. under a light, misting rain. All the way to the center, a little Honda was following me so closely, I thought she was going to rear end me. Of course, I had to give her a little brake check to get her off my tail because I didn't want to have a wreck before making it to the center for my appointment.

I entered the Radiation/Oncology office and swiped my ID scan badge that I'd been given on my last visit. Each time I enter for tests or treatment, I will need to swipe my badge so they can record my visit. A nurse I hadn't met yet came out to get me. She had trouble pronouncing my last name so I told her to make it easy on herself and just call me Bonnie. She laughed and took me back to the dressing room. After donning a lovely seafoam green gown, I waited for Pam, the nurse, to return.

We walked down a long hallway and Pam led me into a room with a huge CT machine in the center of the room. It looked like a huge, cavernous, mouth waiting to devour me! She had me stand beside the CT table while she mixed up some sort of solution and poured it into a very large black bag that looked a lot like a Hefty garbage bag. She squished the solution around inside of the bag for a few minutes and then flattened it out on the table. She told me that she was going to position me and needed me to hold that position while she helped me lie back onto the black bag. "Before you lie back, just know it's going to be quite warm," she said. She took my arm and helped me begin to lean back. It was painful to lie flat. I hadn't been in that position since my surgery. I'd been sleeping at night propped up on a wedge shaped pillow with pillows under each arm for support.

As Pam continued to lean me backward, all of my chest muscles were pulling and tugging. They were so tight and I was surprised at how much it hurt. She saw me wince a few times and told me she would try to hurry in the process. As my back touched the bag, I could feel instant warmth surrounding my body. The extreme heat felt wonderful to me but Pam said, "most people find this very uncomfortable." I told her that I was always cold and it felt great to me.Within a few minutes, the liquid foam she'd poured into the bag began to harden around me. She explained that the foam mold they were making would be used each time I came for treatment, and would help ensure that I was positioned exactly the same way each time.

Dr. Santiago entered the room and said hello. She was talking to me but I couldn't see her because the foam mold held my body so that I couldn't turn my head. Finally she realized I was unable to move and she came around the table to the other side. She explained that she was about to do my mapping and the marks she would make on my torso would provide guidelines for the radiology tech during treatment. I couldn't see what she was doing. At times, I could feel her making marks on my body but in the areas around my incisions, I didn't feel a thing because my skin is still numb there. I had no idea how many marks the doctor made, but she continued to draw on me for several minutes. Pam placed clear dot sized bandages over the top of many of the markings. She explained to me that those dots were very important and I should not get them wet or allow them to be removed. When she was finished placing the clear bandages, Pam ran me back through the CT machine again. The machine whirred loudly and sounded like a small jet engine. The only thing painful about the procedure was the way I was having to lie on the table with my arms outstretched over my head.

Finally we were done and Pam helped me sit up. I felt a little dizzy at first. She had me sit there a few minutes until I felt well enough to stand. I was led back into the dressing room and told to place my used gown in a biohazard bin. When I removed the gown to put my shirt back on, I glanced in the mirror. I had markings all over my chest and abdomen. I also had a mark in the center of the side of my neck. I had asked Dr. Santiago about the wide range of marks while she was placing them on me and she told me that the field she'd chosen was to ensure all of the Cancer would be eradicated. She said they were being very aggressive with the treatment plan and the reason they were going as high on my neck as she'd marked was because the Cancer liked to travel that route. The mirror revealed several lines, dots, and even a huge X just under the location of where my right breast used to be. I took a picture of my torso while looking in the mirror. I won't put it on this blog post, but I did want to keep it for my own personal documentation of this journey.

As I looked at the markings on my torso, I couldn't help but think it looked like a pirate's treasure map. I thought it was funny that I had a huge X in the center of my belly. "X marks the spot," I said, hoping none of the staff heard me. (Somewhere I remembered I'd read that phrase was put into use by the British army long ago. They would mark a piece of paper with a black x and would place it over the heart of someone sentenced to death.The acting officer would say "X marks the spot" and the firing squad would shoot the x. Pirates later took up the phrase using the X to indicate the position of a buried treasure.)

I placed my gown in the biohazard bin and as I left the center for the day, Pam said, "see you next week. We'll go over the results of the CT scan with Dr. Santiago and she'll review the treatment plan with you again. More than likely, your radiation won't start until the day after Labor day." I was glad to hear that...a few more weeks of "normalcy."

On the way home, I stopped by the grocery store to pick up a few things. I had to remind myself not to lift anything heavy with my right arm. Both arms are still very swollen from the lymphedema but I was told to be very cautious with the right arm. When I got home, I was extremely tired. I can't wait to show my husband the "treasure map" on my chest when He comes home from work. I just know he's going to laugh when he sees it. I love hearing him laugh. Laughter has been in short supply around here lately and I could sure use a laugh today.

©bonnie annis all rights reserved

Little Miss Know it All

I'm a planner. I like order. I find security in knowing what's going to happen next, so when I found out I had Cancer, I just knew I was going to have to go through Chemotherapy. I made the decision to be proactive. I should have known better but I forged ahead. I was extremely emotional that day.

As My husband and I were driving back from a doctor's appointment, I begged him to stop at the nearest salon. I wanted to get my hair cut short. I don't know why I felt like I had to do it at that very moment, but I did. Maybe I felt like things in my life were totally out of control and that was the one thing I could control at that very point in time, I'm really not sure, but I wanted it done immediately.  We stopped at one shop after the other and none of them had any openings for walk ins. On we drove and my tears began to flow. Finally, we came to a Super Cuts. I knew I'd be able to get my hair cut there because they don't take appointments. We went in, waited about ten minutes, and I was in the chair having my precious locks sheared off. I've always loved my hair and wanted it to be long and luscious, but most of my life it's been chin length or shorter. This time it was extremely short because I'd asked the stylist for a pixie cut.

Fast forward...it's been a little over 2 months now since my Cancer diagnosis. I've been waiting for the doctor to say, "you'll begin chemo treatments next week." Imagine my surprise when last week, He told me chemo was unnecessary in my case! I was elated but humbled at the same time. I realized that I had run ahead of God. In my desire to be proactive and cut my hair anticipating chemo, God had other plans. I couldn't help but pray asking Him for forgiveness. I should have waited...should have trusted...should have been patient, but just like most things in my life, I'm always running ahead trying to do things in my own way and in my own timing. God continually reminds me that I'm out of step with Him when I do that. I need to work on that.

My closet is filled with various scarves, hats, and wigs now, both borrowed and new. These are things I won't need now. Yet again, I ran ahead of God. So today, Little Miss Know it All (ME), has decided to stop running ahead of God. I'm going to sync up my steps with Him. Instead of running far ahead of Him, I'm going to temper my gait to match His exactly...and while I often won't know where we're going, I know if I stay close by His side, He'll only take me where I need to go. I won't make the mistake of running ahead of Him and doing things unnecessarily. I won't put myself through unneeded stress. I'll be able to relax and take one step at a time knowing that He knows the way and little Miss Know it All doesn't.

If I hadn't jumped the gun, my hair would be past my shoulders by now. As it is, I'm working on growing out this pixie cut. It's frustrating to grow out super short hair because it takes soooo long to get past that horrid "stuck in your collar" stage. I won't complain though because I know it's my own fault. I'm the one who was in such a hurry to cut it off. God is using this to remind me to be patient.

Why do you think it's important to God that patience grows inside us? It's because God's timing is not our timing. He is always doing more than we see or know. It is important that we never run ahead. He sets the pace and only He knows where the path leads. Our job is just to be willing to walk WITH Him.

©bonnie annis all rights reserved

 

Burned bacon, radiation

This morning I was in the mood for a nice breakfast so I pulled out the eggs and the bacon. Usually, I just eat a bowl of cereal or some Greek yogurt, but today I was actually hungry. I cracked the eggs and scrambled them in a bowl. I didn't really want to cook the bacon on the stove top so I decided to microwave it. I looked on the back of the package of Butterball Turkey bacon for instructions on cooking times but there were none. I figured that I would have to wing it. (no pun intended!)

I put the bacon on a couple of napkins atop a microwave safe place and slid it into the oven. I guessed that it would take about 2 minutes for 3 pieces of bacon. I set the timer and went about cooking the eggs so everything would be perfectly timed and ready to eat. Before the microwave timer went off, I began to smell a rank odor. When I opened the microwave door, I saw the bacon was perfectly cooked on the outer edges but the center had a huge, black, burned area. For some reason, seeing that burned area made me think of radiation.

On Tuesday, I meet with the radiation oncologist for mapping and tattooing. I'll also go through a CT scan and a radiation simulation session. I'm trying to be brave but I'm really nervous about it. The doctor has already warned me that after about the second treatment my energy level will hit an all time low. She said to just "go with it" and rest whenever my body said it needed to rest. I'm not good at resting, but I guess I'll have choice.

The internet has both good and bad information on radiation therapy. Some sites, like breastcancer.org, give good detailed, accurate information while other sites have photos and horror stories on them. I know I shouldn't have done it, but curiosity got the better of me and when I first found out I needed radiation therapy, I Googled it. Some of the photos of burned Cancer patients were pretty severe. As I remembered those photos, my mind went back to the bacon.

I don't know why my bacon burned in the middle...a perfect black circle of crispness, but it made me stop and pray. I asked God to keep me protected from the dangerous radiation waves that might cause burning and scarring. The radiation techs are highly skilled, I'm sure, but it unnerves me to think of myself in a situation similar to bacon in a microwave!

© bonnie annis all rights reserved

Sometimes I feel like a motherless child

I was thinking about what I wanted to write in my blog post today and as I sat quietly in my office and pondered...an old negro spiritual came to mind. It's one I heard my grandmother sing many, many years ago. The name of the song is "Sometimes I Feel Like a Motherless Child." You may have heard it. It's a beautiful song filled with raw emotion and it speaks to my very soul. Today, I'm feeling like a motherless child. I know that's a bold statement to make because my mother is still very much alive, but her health is failing and I've not been able to draw on her wisdom, advice, and comfort like I did when I was younger. I don't want to burden her with my needs when she is struggling with needs of her own.

Sometimes I wish I could go back to my childhood. Those days were so happy and carefree. Most days were filled with green grass and sunshine, laughter and hope, no cares or worries...just living life day by day. I never worried about tomorrow back then. As a child, I left that chore to my parents. They were the ones who made sure we had all the things we needed. They were the burden bearers. Whenever I did face a problem I couldn't handle, my mother was always close by. I was always amazed at the depth of her wisdom. She seemed to know a little of everything. I relied heavily upon her to answer all of my questions no matter how small and insignificant they were, she never made me feel embarrassed to ask them.

As I grew up and began my own family, I found myself calling her constantly on the phone. I would ask her for recipes, parental advice, and even marital advice. She always made time for me and often prefaced her answers with, "well, honey, if I were you, I'd...." Her advice was precious to me. I knew she had experience and her words could be trusted. She had never steered me wrong.

After my fourth child was born, I found myself calling my mother less and less. It seemed I'd gleaned a lot of wisdom and information from practical experience but also from books I'd read. I was beginning to feel like I "knew it all." I even found myself feeling a little cocky, like I didn't need my mother any more. There were periods of time I chose not to call her at all, even when I desperately needed advice. Pride made me not want to admit my lack of knowledge. Even though I knew she was only a phone call away, I chose not to pick up the receiver.

Yesterday, my brother texted me to let me know my mother was very ill. She's been in a nursing home for a while now and her health has been slowly declining. He mentioned that she was about to be taken to the hospital for tests to be run and as he did, I felt anxiety welling up within me. What if my mother were suddenly taken from us? What would I do? How would I feel? Since she'd been in the nursing home, I hadn't called for advice in a long, long time. Of course, I do make a point to check in with her every few days, but I hadn't NEEDED her as badly as I once had in the past.

I remember when I first told her I had Cancer. I had called the nursing home even though I knew that kind of news wasn't normally given over the phone. When she answered, I tearfully gave her the news. I could hear the pause in her voice. She knew I was scared...a frightened little girl again. At that very moment, I wanted my mother. I wanted her to enfold me in her arms and tell me that she loved me and that everything was going to be okay, but that didn't happen. The stark reality was she couldn't be there to comfort me any longer...well, at least not physically unless I traveled to the nursing home to see her, but what she could do was pray for me and she did just that. Her once strong and independent voice was now soft and a little tremulous. As she began the prayer, I closed my eyes holding the receiver tightly against my ear for fear of missing even one of her carefully selected words. Tears streamed down my face as she poured her heart into her prayer. When she was finished, I thanked her and silently, I thanked God for my mother.

At my weakest moments on this Cancer road, I find myself feeling like a motherless child. I feel alone and abandoned...uncared for and unattended. I find myself wishing I was a little girl again, able to hide behind my mother's apron. I wish I didn't have to face this challenge on my own. I wish someone else could do it for me...but I'm all grown up and I have to do this whether I want to or not. It would be nice to be a child again. To have my mother come and press a cool, damp washcloth against my brow as she did through many childhood illnesses, but now I take consolation in knowing that although she isn't able to be close by physically, she is always with me in spirit. Her love spans the distance between us. I know it must grieve her not to be able to comfort and walk through this journey with me.

As a mother myself, I know how I feel when my children need me and I can't be there to help. It's very painful and hurtful. There's nothing like a mother's love...it knows no bounds. No matter how old my children get, I still see them as they were when they were small. They are my pride and joy. I want to always be there for them. I love feeling needed, too. I am honored whenever one of them call me for advice or to ask me some question. I'm so thankful God gave mothers such wondrously large hearts. I feel sorry for children who grow up not knowing a mother's tender, unconditional love.

Sometimes I do feel like a motherless child but that feeling doesn't last too long. I've learned to realize when I feel this way, it's because I'm feeling overwhelmed and afraid. When I felt that way as a child, I knew I could always go to my mother for comfort and when she couldn't provide what I needed, she always pointed me to God.

It would be nice if our mothers never aged, wouldn't it? There's a cute children's book entitled "Love you forever," by Robert Munsch. It's a story I've read to my children and my grandchildren. The story details the cycle of life by chronicling the experiences of a young son and his mother throughout the course of the boy's life, and describing the exasperating behavior exhibited by him throughout his youth. In spite of her occasional aggravation caused by her son's behavior, the mother nonetheless visits his bedroom nightly to cradle him in her arms, and sing a brief lullaby promising to always love him. After her son enters adulthood and leaves home, his elderly mother occasionally sneaks into his bedroom at night to croon her customary lullaby. However she gradually grows old and frail, and her grown son visits his feeble, sickly mother for the final time. He sings an altered rendition of her lullaby in reciprocation of the unconditional love that she had shown him; vowing to always love her as she dies before him. After returning home in a scene implying the death of his mother, he cradles his newborn daughter and sings his mother's signature lullaby for her, implying that the cycle will continue.

The story is so precious and so sweet. It symbolizes exactly how I feel about my life. It's hard to think about health issues, aging, and dying but Cancer causes you focus more on that. No matter how old I get, I still want my mother around. I still need her to comfort and reassure me. I guess I'll always be a little girl at heart and I guess that's okay under the circumstances. I'm thankful that even though I sometimes feel like a motherless child, I'm have to remind myself that I'm actually not. My mother still loves and cares deeply for me and I know she always will. Mama's advice to me now would be to draw my strength from God and that's exactly what I do on a daily basis. I'm thankful that He is always understanding, loving and kind. He knows my little girl heart even though it's encased in a grown up body!
© bonnie annis all rights reserved

Listen to a beautiful version of "Motherless child"

Sensory overload

Today we celebrated my youngest granddaughter's first birthday. It was a small party with just family members, so there were less than twenty people there. When I first went into the club house, I found a table along the back of the room and decided to sit there in hopes that no one would pay much attention to me. I didn't want people crowding around me and asking all about my health when Heather was the one who was supposed to be the center of attention. For a little while, my plan worked. I sat with my husband and we waited for the other guests to arrive.

As more and more people filed in, some of them wandered over to my table. I felt unsure of myself and wanted to slide under the table. I had made sure to wear a patterned blouse to keep my hollowed out chest from being so visible. Small talk ensued and we skirted around my health for several minutes until my ex father in law began to ask me questions. He was genuinely concerned so I didn't mind answering his questions. The only problem was that he was hard of hearing so I had to raise my voice in order to project my answers loud enough for him to hear. The room was filled with various conversations but when I explained to him that I'd be starting radiation in a few days, everyone stopped talking. I guess they couldn't help but hear our conversation since I was having to speak a few decibels above my normal tone.

Soon the party began and attention was shifted to the baby. She was so cute in her little 1st birthday tiara. Everyone in the room was smiling as we watched her eat her little birthday cupcake. Her dimpled little hands moved hesitantly to touch the frosting on the cupcake but after the first taste, she was eager to reach for more.

Next came the gift giving. We all "ooh-ed" and "ahh-ed" over the each gift. Little Heather was sitting quietly on her Mommy's lap and could have cared less about the cute little outfits she received. She was, however, very interested in the packaging on a little musical remote control she received. I watched intently from the back of the room and savored each precious moment of joy before me. The longer I sat, the more self conscious I became. I needed to use the restroom but didn't want to get up and go across the room because I would have to pass in front of many people and I didn't want them looking at my chest...so I stayed seated.

The party ended and the people began to dissipate. I finally felt like it was okay for me to stand up and walk around the room. I slipped quietly to the restroom and was relieved that no one paid attention to me because they were all saying their goodbyes to Heather. When I came back to the room, it was empty except for one of the employees of the apartment complex who was busy locking up the doors to the clubhouse. As I looked around the room, I could almost hear the laughter from just a few moments before. I wondered to myself how long it would be before I felt like laughing again. I hadn't laughed at all today. I walked to the car and climbed inside. As my husband and I pulled away from the curb, I began to cry. I think it had just been too much today. My senses had been taxed. I felt like an autistic child in a room full of sensory stimuli...it was too much. I wanted to stand in a corner and bang my head repeatedly against the wall. Why was I so sensitive? Why was I so emotional? Why was I crying right now?

My husband reached over and took my hand and told me it was going to be okay. He knew I was exhausted because this was my first social function since surgery. He began to drive out of the parking lot and as he did, he said, "why don't you lie back and take a little nap on the way home?" He knows I have a hard time relaxing, but it was a good thought. I decided to give it a try.

For the first thirty minutes, all I could do was lie there with my eyes closed. Conversations and moments from the party continually looped through my mind. I tried to focus on something else but couldn't. The longer I lay there, the more I began to relax my muscles and soon, I found myself thinking about walking along a quiet, peaceful shoreline. I could hear the water lapping against the shore. I could see the seagulls flying overhead. For a very brief time, I think I actually slipped into a light sleep but was quickly jarred awake by the sound of a semi truck passing beside us. Traffic was heavy and my husband was having to stop and start often to keep up with the flow of traffic. It was nerve wracking! Here we go again...sensory overload.

When we pulled into our driveway about an hour later, I was so thankful to finally be home. I walked into our house and immediately was engulfed in pure, bliss filled quiet. Now I could relax. Now I didn't have to worry about someone seeing me with no breasts. I was home and I was safe. Maybe one day I won't feel this way any longer. I'm trying to work through it. I know it must be part of the healing process but I don't like feeling this way. I've never been so self conscious before in my life. I guess I understand a little more what it feels like to have lost a limb or to be physically deformed in some way. I wonder if those people feel like I do too...I wonder if they choose to hide in the back of the room? I wonder if they ever get past feeling like they are a sideshow freak...I sure hope so because I don't like feeling like one and that's exactly how I feel right now.

©bonnie annis all rights reserved

 

Brutal honesty

Waiting patiently

Today I'm going to ask my readers to allow me the privilege of being brutally honest with them. (You don't really have a choice though because, after all...it is my blog and if I can say whatever I want to say here :) but you don't have to read this post unless you really want to know how I'm feeling.)

My day started out pleasantly. I woke up at 6:00 a.m. (which is fairly late for me) thanks to Restoril, a prescribed sleeping aid given to me last week by my oncologist. I had decided not to take it earlier in the week because it can be addictive, but after a few more sleepless nights, I decided to try it. One good night's sleep gave me the energy and the stamina to make it through the day, so I decided last night to take it again. I'm thankful I did because today was emotionally rough for me.

After waking and getting ready to go to my doctor's appointment, I went into the kitchen to see if my daughter, Laura, was awake. She had come take me to my doctor's appointment since I hadn't been given the "all clear" to drive yet. She was just stirring and about to hop in the shower. Breakfast was grab and go, then we headed out.

On the way to the doctor's office, it seemed every semi-truck in this area pulled out in front of us. The stress of possibly being late to my appointment began to build. Laura maneuvered in and out of traffic and managed to get us to the medical building with five minutes to spare. We went in and within a few minutes, the nurse was calling me back.

I donned a lovely white seersucker robe and hopped up onto the examining table. Laura and my granddaughter, Heather, sat patiently in the chairs along the wall in the room. My appointment was at 9. By 9:30, Heather began to get antsy...typical for an 11 1/2 month old. By 10, I told Laura to go ahead and take the baby down to the car so she could feed her. I think she was thankful to get out of the exam room and I surely didn't blame her.

Finally the doctor came into my room. She apologized profusely for my having had to wait so long. She began to exam me and asked if I was having any problems. I explained to her about the extreme swelling in front of and under my armpits. She felt the areas and said she wanted me to go see a Lymphedema specialist. She also said if the area in the center of my chest didn't look better by the next time I came, she would need to do surgery to correct it. After the examination, she said it was time for me to get my prosthesis and custom tailored bras. As I left, she said she'd see me again near the end of December.

About to try on bras

Next stop was Renewal, a store specializing in post mastectomy products, wigs, hats & turbans. Laura and the baby waited in the car while I went in to be fitted. The salesclerk verified my insurance information and told me I would be allowed 4 bras a year and 2 pair of prostheses, but of course, I'd have to pay my 20% of the cost. She led me into a dressing room and asked me to remove my blouse. Then she took a paper measuring tape and measured my chest. I was embarrassed to have her see me without my shirt on, but I knew it had to be done. After determining the correct size for my new bras, the salesclerk left the room to select some different types of bras for me to try on.When she came back into the room, she had a stack of boxes so high that I could barely see her face as she walked in with them. "Let's try all of these and find the ones you like best," she said. "Yes, lets!" I screamed silently and facetiously in my mind.

The first stack

The salesclerk was an older woman, probably around late 60's to early 70's. She was a tad gruff and impatient, but I chalked that up to having to do this numerous times during the day. I tried on 3 different bras and they all felt extremely uncomfortable as they rubbed against my incisions. I asked her for ones with a looser band and she went off to find more for me to try. While she was looking, I managed to snap a few photos (you'll see those in this post) because I am trying to document every part of this journey. Soon she was back with another large stack of bras and I was trying on more and more until I finally found some comfortable ones.

Next came the prostheses. She brought in these darling little "hat boxes" in a light pink color. Each one had a little handle and a clasp in front that reminded me of the old train cases young women carried when I was growing up. When she opened the first box and removed the prosthesis, I couldn't help but just stare at it. It was a soft, molded, silicone, breast shape in a neutral color. "Let's slip a pair of these in your bra and see how they feel," she said. When she put them in, I felt really strange. It was as if my body "remembered" that it was supposed to have breasts. My shoulders immediately went back and I stood more erect. I looked in the mirror at the bra with the prostheses in place. It looked okay but the salesclerk said the prostheses she'd given me were too small. She quickly left to get a larger size. I was afraid the larger ones would weigh too much and be difficult to wear daily. The salesclerk returned and said, "do you want to be bigger or smaller chested?" I hadn't really thought about being able to choose what size I wanted to be....I told her I didn't know but I wanted those things to be as light as possible. She had me try on size C down to size A cup prostheses. I chose the A's. Soon we were through and we left the dressing room for the register. At the register, she tallied up my total and deducted the insurance company's payment. I was dumbfounded when she told me what my percentage would be...those fake boobs cost a fortune!

Laura drove me back home and after lunch, she and Heather left. I began doing some housework and in the middle of hanging up laundry in my walk in closet, I had a huge meltdown. I began to cry uncontrollably. I was angry! I cried out to God and told Him how much I hated Cancer. I told Him I hated the way it made me feel...I hated feeling embarrassed in front of total strangers, I hated having to go see a Lymphedema specialist, I hated the fluid building up in my arms, I hated not being able to do the things I wanted to do, I hated the way I looked, I hated having to wear fake boobs, I hated....I hated....I hated.

After my torrential downpour of tears, I walked into my office and sat down at my computer to write this blog post. I felt numb but also felt a little lighter after having released all of my hate. Was it wrong for me to feel hatred? I don't think so. I've been through an awful lot lately. Did God understand my anger? Yes, I know He did because He knows my heart. The Bible says we are to "be angry and sin not." Had I sinned in my anger? No. I had just expressed my true feelings to God and cried over them. God knew my heart was filled with emotion. He allowed me to cry tears that would allow the pain to overflow my spirit and provide sweet release.

Just a few minutes ago, I listened to a song Laura had been playing on the radio as we'd come back from the doctor's office. (She'd told me in the car that she was playing that song especially for me but at that moment in time, I couldn't absorb the words because I was too distraught. She didn't realize it but I'd kept my head turned toward the window most of the trip home because I didn't want her to see me crying.) The words to "Carry Me" by Audry Assad described what I was feeling to a tee. I realized that what I was trying to do was to just make sense of all the suffering I'd been through recently. I was trying to process it through the grid of my weakness instead of allowing God, in His perfect strength, to just carry me through the pain.  He knew I was tired and weak. He knew I was embarrassed and afraid. He knew. He knew.

As I released all of my tears and fears to Him, He replaced them with His perfect peace. Honestly, I'm so at peace now that I'm going to take a nap. I think my mind just needs a little rest. Cancer is very challenging and tiring. Thank you for letting me be brutally honest today about my feelings and while I know feelings are not reality...they are my feelings and God accepts and understands them. I am so thankful that He loves me even when I'm angry at circumstances I can't control...but that just reminds me even more of the fact that I never really was in control anyway.

©bonnie annis all rights reserved


Listen to Carry Me by Audry Assad

Lyrics to her song:

"Carry Me"
Pain is a forest we all get lost in
Between the branches hope can be so hard to see
And in the darkness we've all got questions
We're all just trying to make sense out of suffering but

You say I am blessed because of this
So, I choose to believe
As I carry this cross, You'll carry me
Help me believe it

Fear is a current we all get caught in
And in its motion faith can be so hard to find
And we all falter 'cause we're all broken
We're all just trying to turn the shadows into light but

You get glory in the midst of this
And You're walking with me
And you say I am blessed because of this
So, I choose to believe
As I carry this cross, You'll carry me

And I know Your promises are faithful
And God, I've seen Your goodness in my life
And oh, I've found Your mercy is a river
Your love is an ocean wide

You say I am blessed because of this
You get glory in the midst of this
And You're walking with me

And You say I am blessed because of this
So, I choose to believe
As I carry this cross, as I carry this cross
'Cause as I carry this cross, You'll carry me

You'll carry me, God
You'll carry me
And Your love is an ocean wide

I am invisible

A sweet friend of mine commented on a photograph of myself that I recently posted on Facebook. She said, "...you radiate Jesus through your eyes, your face, your smile." When I read her comment, I was so honored and immediately grateful because this has been my goal my entire life...to always allow others to SEE Jesus in me. The Bible tells us that we carry Jesus with us wherever we go. As Christians, that's a huge responsibility! 

When I was a child, I remember hearing the pastor of a small town church we were attending say, "you may be the only Bible someone ever reads." That comment has impacted my life for many years. It has reminded me that no matter what circumstances I'm going through, I need to always represent Christ in a respectful and positive manner. That means even when I'm dealing with pain or difficulty, I need to always be mindful that others are watching me. It isn't always easy to be a representative for Christ but, when I accepted Him as my Lord and Savior, I took on that responsibility joyfully.

I will admit that struggling through Cancer has been extremely difficult but even so, I want others to see Christ shining through my life. I can make sure this happens by controlling my attitude, my response to pain, by sharing the reality of what I'm going through without causing someone else to feel overwhelmed or discouraged. Christ followers should always live a life filled with hope and joy because we are hidden in Him. Others are not to ever really even see us...they are to see Him! If I represent Christ properly in my life, I am invisible! People will look past me and only see Him. That is my desire. 

Hopefully I have been able to explain this clearly to you today. While I was touched deeply by my friend's comment that I was radiating Christ, I'd prefer not to even be seen or noticed at all. But since I am a body with skin on, people can't help but "see" me. I pray I will always remember that people are watching. They're waiting to see how I respond to circumstances in my life. Will I pass the test of being Christ's representative or will I fail miserably? Hopefully I will be very careful to let Christ emanate from my very pores. Hiding behind the cross, I can't help but allow Christ to be seen first, now can I? What about you? Do you radiate His love? Can others see Him before they see you? I hope they can! What an honor to carry around the body of Christ inside of us! Remember your actions speak louder than your words, so let them speak well of you.

©Bonnie Annis all rights reserved

Colossians 3:3 Amplified Bible (AMP)

³ For [as far as this world is concerned] you have died, and your [new, real] life is hidden with Christ in God.

2 Corinthians 4:10Amplified Bible (AMP)

¹⁰ Always carrying about in the body the liability and exposure to the same putting to death that the Lord Jesus suffered, so that the [^[a]resurrection] life of Jesus also may be shown forth by and in our bodies.

 Psalm 34:5Amplified Bible (AMP)

⁵ They looked to Him and were radiant; their faces shall never blush for shame or be confused.