Pain, Pain, go away!

What I want you to know:
It seems like I've done nothing but complain for the past few days. I know Phil is so tired of hearing my moaning and groaning, but he says nothing. The radiation burns are driving me crazy and I think I may be allergic to the sulphur based cream the doctor prescribed to help with my pain. Can you see me...with my hand thrown up against my brow crying "woe is me?"

Not wanting to wear clothing on the top half of my body is getting to be ridiculous, but it feels so much better not having the cloth rubbing against me. Last night, as we sat and watched TV, I figured out a way to unbutton my long sleeve shirt and take out the right arm while draping that sleeve around toward the left side just enough to cover the lower half of my right torso. I unhooked the button at the cuff and buttoned it along the middle row of buttons on my shirt making a make shift top that allowed air to flow around my upper right arm. Well, even that wasn't good enough. I was still in pain even though I was getting good air flow, so I went to get a gel ice pack out of the freezer. I wrapped the gel pack in a cotton dish towel and sat with that under my arm pit for the rest of the show.

The ice pack felt so good and very soothing and VERY cold. In just a few minutes, my core body temperature seemed to go down a few degrees. I guess that's why on medical shows, when someone has a raging fever, and they need to get it down quickly, they pack ice under their armpits and in the groin area. The ice was doing such a good job, that when we got ready for bed, I slept with it.

This morning, the gel pack was lying on the floor next to the bed. It had thawed out a few hours after I'd put it under my arm and sometime during the night, I guess I'd thrown it down onto the floor. I slept fitfully again last night, even though I had taken a pain pill. It's just so hard to get comfortable.

Both of my armpits are already extremely swollen and it's only 7:22 a.m. I haven't been able to wear the compression sleeves for Lymphedema since my burns have gotten so bad. The doctor told me the right sleeve was rubbing against my chest and irritating the burned area. So now I have fat arms and an irritated, burned chest. It hurts!

I'm going to try to enjoy my last day of freedom for the weekend...a day where I don't have to go to the radiation clinic. On Monday, I'll have the 19th treatment, (the one I was supposed to have on Friday), and I'll get to see the doctor. I am concerned about the way my skin has turned a deep shade of brownish red and is spotted with bumps. Hopefully she'll be able to tell if this is normal for this amount of radiation or if I'm having a reaction to the Silvadene cream.

What I'm thinking:
I am frustrated beyond belief! I want to be done with treatments. I need to bite my tongue instead of being so vocal around Phil about how I'm feeling. It isn't fair to him for me to complain constantly. It isn't like me! I don't like this side of me. Will the swelling and pain go away when the radiation stops? Will I continue to fight exhaustion after treatments end? Will I be able to enjoy the holidays this year? When we went to Cracker Barrel yesterday, I saw Christmas decorations in their gift shop. I didn't even get excited, in fact, I dreaded even thinking about Christmas...the shopping, the cooking, the decorating....entertaining. Oh how I would love for one of the kids to take over doing Christmas for the family this year! It would be so nice to just go and enjoy it somewhere else. Why am I thinking so far ahead? Why am I feeling this way? Why don't I look forward to Christmas this year? Oh my gosh...why do I have so many questions? I guess I'd better go get the ice pack and put it back under my arm. Typing is taking a huge effort this morning, so I'm going to have to stop now. I hope people don't think I'm crazy when they read my blog!

A Gift

Just when you seem to yourself
nothing but a flimsy web
of questions, you are given
the questions of others to hold
in the emptiness of your hands,
songbird eggs that can still hatch
if you keep them warm,
butterflies opening and closing themselves
in your cupped palms, trusting you not to injure
their scintillant fur, their dust.
You are given the questions of others
as if they were answers
to all you ask. Yes, perhaps
this gift is your answer.

Denise Levertov

©bonnie annis all rights reserved

 

K.I.T.

Betcha wonder what K.I.T. stands for, don't you? Well, it stands for "Keep it Together." It's from a movie line. In the movie, "Bowfinger," Eddie Murphy does a great job of drawing us in and making us laugh hysterically. I'll attach a clip from the movie, so you can see what I'm talking about after you finish reading my blog post for today, but in the meantime, what I'm about to share with you isn't very funny.

From the time I was a teenager, I've been a type A personality...you know, the high achiever, the people pleaser, the "gotta get it done yesterday" kinda person. I've always prided myself in my ability to remain in control, even through difficult circumstances in my life, I was always able to K.I.T. (keep it together) but since I was diagnosed with breast cancer, everything's been falling apart. I can't fix things with my bottle of "control glue" any longer. I've had to learn to let things fall apart. It hasn't been easy to learn to let go of things I can't control, but I'm doing it little by little every day. Relinquishing my control has been a huge challenge for me, but...I'm finally realizing that I was never in control in the first place.

It isn't easy to K.I.T.  when things are chaotic! When life takes a mad twist and throws you into the middle of a raging storm, you quickly realize your mad rowing isn't going to do a thing...so you learn to lean back in the stern of the boat and hold on for dear life. You go where the storm takes you and even if you haven't got a clue where you're going to end up, you K.I.T. because if you don't, you're going to fall completely apart.

Keeping it together doesn't necessarily mean you don't get frightened at times...that's a given. Life is scary especially when you feel out of control. Cancer is a great teacher of that lesson! In the beginning you do your best to K.I.T. and you do a pretty good job of it...taking each punch as it's thrown at you and dodging the ones you can...but, eventually, you realize it's best to ride out the storm because fighting takes up too much energy. That's where I am today. I'm tired of fighting so I've just stopped...

It's so much easier to stop trying to fix things and just accept "what is" as it comes. I've finally realized that my bottle of control glue is empty. But it is of little consequence because...there's Someone else in control of my ship! Yep, you guessed it...it's God. He's always been the captain of my ship. Sure, I've tried to take the wheel a few times and on rare occasions, He's let me so He could teach me a lesson or two. But traveling through the storm of cancer, I think He knows how to navigate so much better than I do. It's amazing to me that I ever thought I was in control. What was I thinking??? I'm sure I gave God a good chuckle now and then. I can just see Him sitting up there on a huge, white, puffy cloud with His arms crossed, looking down at me as I frantically tried to K.I.T. He probably let out a huge belly laugh and then began shaking His head in sad disbelief as I continually struggled to keep my life under control.

So how did I get to the point where I could let go? I'll tell you. I just got tired. I mean, I got really physically tired. Fighting got too difficult. I had to let go. I had to learn that situations around me are constantly changing and I just can't do it any more. I can't control anything in my life so I have to just learn to K.I.T. moment by moment. I'm not talking about keeping it together in a controlling way, I'm talking about keeping it together "in the midst of the storm" kind of way...where I just chill out and relax even though the sea is raging around me.

It's not my job to control things and it never has been. I'm not supposed to have the bottle of "control glue." God is the only one who can keep my life together through sunshine or through the storms. I'm so glad I finally realized this fact. It has taken a huge weight off of my shoulders. You might hear me whispering to my self "keep it together, keep it together, keep it together!" like Eddie Murphy did in the movie, but that's just me giving myself a reminder that even though I'm not in control, I need to keep myself calm and still. Soon the raging storm will be over and I'll be safely deposited on the shore. God's going to get me through this and when the storm is over, He'll have taught me some valuable lessons.

Do you think you have a bottle of "control glue" sitting on a shelf in your mind? If you do, you're sadly mistaken. You don't have control. You can practice keeping it together, but it won't change your circumstances. Learn to let go and Let God take control. You'll find it so much easier to just rest and relax...go with the flow...ride the waves! Be sure to watch the movie clip:
KEEP IT TOGETHER, Eddie Murphy movie clip from Bowfinger

©bonnie annis all rights reserved

Feeling yucky

What I want you to know- 
Yucky...a nicer way to say I feel disgusting. I used it a lot when my children were young, especially when they were sick and had a hard time describing how they felt to me. Well, last night the yuckiness began for me. Shortly after dinner, I began to feel extreme nausea. I wasn't sure if it was something I'd eaten, the new pain pills the doc had prescribed, a virus, or a combination of all three. I didn't like feeling like I was going through a round of morning sickness so I went to bed early. I slept fairly well because of the hydrocodone pills that Dr. Santiago had prescribed yesterday to help with my burn pain.

This morning, I woke up feeling rested but as soon as I got out of the bed, I began to feel nauseated again. I didn't have any ginger ale on hand, but found a packet of ginger tea. Ginger is supposed to be a natural anti nausea remedy. I don't like Ginger very much. The taste is so overpowering to me, but I drank it anyway. I just wanted to feel better.

I thought about calling in sick to the radiation clinic but before I could even do that, they called me! They said their machine was down today so they wouldn't be able to treat me and that they'd just tack that treatment on to the end of my remaining ones. WOOHOO. I didn't feel like going today anyway and my poor skin could surely use a break. 

The nausea continued and was getting stronger so I called my oldest daughter, Erin. She sells DoTerra essential oils and she'd know which oil would help with nausea. Her recommendation was peppermint oil. I put a couple of drops in a glass of water and drank it, (not very good tasting, but I did it anyway.) Still no relief so I put a few drops under my nose as she advised. Just smelling the peppermint seemed to help a little but then...things got really yucky. I won't go into details because when I say yucky, I mean YUCKY and you don't want to know.

Suffice it to say that after the yuckiness was over, I began to feel a little better. The nausea began to abate and I was able to slowly eat a piece of dry toast and keep it down (now you know what the yuckiness was...)

What I'm thinking-
Really??? All I need is to be sick at my stomach! Isn't it enough that I'm exhausted and burnt? Oh how thankful I am not to have to go to radiation today! I tried not to sound too overjoyed when they called, I wouldn't have wanted to hurt anyone's feelings, NOT. Guess it will be toast or crackers all day since I don't want to throw up again. I wish I had some Ginger ale...I'll call hubby and get him to pick some up on the way home from work, he's such a sweetheart, I know he'll do it for me. I hope it isn't a virus, I don't want him to get sick. I wonder if it was something I ate for dinner? Could it have been the chicken from Longhorns, or the salad? Is it a side effect from the pain meds? Oh, I wish I knew. I don't like being sick. I don't like feeling yucky...wish it would go away....

I don't like pain!

What I want you to know: 
This is going to be a short post today because I'm not feeling well. The rough days seem to be outnumbering the good days now and it's definitely a challenge. Today will be my 18th radiation treatment.

Yesterday, the radiology techs noticed that my skin was really getting to be a dark red color so they asked me to wait while they talked to the doctor. After they spoke with her, she wanted to see me and look at my skin. Dr. Santiago seemed quite concerned as she checked me and wrote a prescription for Silvadine, a sulphur based ointment used for severe burns. She also gave me a cooling gel pack to apply as many times as necessary to help ease the discomfort.

On the way home from the radiation clinic, I stopped by the drugstore to have the medication filled. Thankfully, we've met our out of pocket expenses and there was no charge for the prescription. When I got home, I immediately took off my top and began to apply the Silvadine. It reminded me of a thick, diaper rash ointment I used to use on my children when they were babies.

Dr. Santiago told me that I needed to get as much air circulation as possible around my radiation burns and she wanted me to go topless as much as I could while at home. I felt funny sitting in the living room in my recliner without a shirt on. It was starting to get chilly here in Georgia and without a shirt on, I was even chillier.

I never knew burns could be so painful. I've burned myself many times throughout my life while either ironing or cooking. There were also some painful sunburns from Florida vacations, but nothing has hurt like radiation. I have a new found empathy toward burn victims. I can't imagine having 80 or 90% of your body burned. The pain must be excruciating! At least I'm not having to deal with debridement too.

Phil has gotten used to seeing me in a white wife beater tank top or without a top on at all. I have to admit, it's not a pretty sight, but you do what you have to do. I'm following doctor's orders. My skin has already broken down a great deal and with upcoming treatments, it will only get worse. The doctor said if it gets too bad, they'll stop treatment for a day or two to allow me to heal up some. I wish I could call in sick today...

What I'm thinking:
This has been the most challenging thing I've ever been through in my life. Every day is a struggle. I'm a pretty tough old broad, but I'm having a hard time with this. I wish my family members would call and check in on me. Sometimes I feel so alone in this. I wonder if they really know how hard it is to fight every single day. I don't want sympathy, just a little love. I'm still not sleeping well. Last night it's a wonder Phil wasn't bounced off of the bed. I try and try to get comfortable but it's hard. If I turn a certain way, it hurts and pulls. I would give anything for a solid 8 hours of sleep. I don't want to do anything. I stay in the house all day long other than to go to treatment and walk down to get the mail. This is not like me at all. I am wondering when I'm going to feel like my "old" self again...will I ever feel like my "old" self again? I wonder if I'm suffering from depression. I'm not a person who usually gets depressed. I wonder if the cancer is spreading...I haven't told anyone that my bones are hurting, especially my left shin bone. Last night it hurt so badly. Tylenol didn't help. I have to talk to the doctor about this. It's a huge concern for me, but my appointment isn't until the end of October. I pray it hasn't spread. I don't want to even think about it spreading, but it's a real possibility...

©bonnie annis all rights reserved

 

And that's the way it is

I began this post with Walter Cronkite's famous tag line, his sign off at the end of each CBS news broadcast. I couldn't think of a more fitting title for this post since I'm going to be telling it the way it is...

Yesterday was my 16th radiation treatment and it was an extremely a hard day for me. I didn't realize how hard it would be until I got home from treatment and went into the bathroom to apply the Radiaplex gel to my chest. When I looked in the mirror, I saw that my skin was really breaking down. There were dark red burns and spots along the wall of my chest. My skin felt so hot and and tender to the touch. Very gently I applied the prescription burn gel and put on my white "wife beater" tank top. (For those of you who aren't familiar with the term "wife beater," it's slang for a sleeveless white T-shirt and its reputation comes from low class types of men who would often wear the shirts while engaged in domestic violence i.e. drunk rednecks who frequently beat their wives.) The reason I'd chosen this type of shirt was because it was the only 100% cotton shirt I owned. Mine weren't really "wife beaters"... they were only similar to that...mine were from Old Navy and were women's tank tops! On my last examination, the doctor had warned me that I needed to pay particular attention to my skin care. She gave me an odd piece of advice saying I needed to sit around the house topless! When she said that, I was thinking to myself, "ummm, no." I couldn't do that..as sure as the world, my doorbell would ring and I'd be surprised with the unexpected visit from a friend! So the next best thing, was for me to find a way to allow the treatment area to get as much air to it as possible while remaining covered...therefore, the wife beater.

I began doing a little housework and before I was even able to start making the bed or washing clothes, was overcome with exhaustion. I was so very tired and felt like I didn't even have the energy to move across the room. Why was I so extremely tired? I knew that radiation has something to do with it, but this was a debilitating tiredness that I had never experienced before. I sat in my recliner and stayed there most of the day. I felt so guilty just sitting there doing nothing...there was so much that needed to be done.

Around 5:00 p.m. I glanced at the clock and realized that Phil would be home soon. I hadn't prepared a single thing for dinner. I usually have it almost ready by the time he comes home from work. When he came in the door and came over to me, he could tell I was having a bad day. He put his arms around me and asked how I was feeling. I began to weep and told him that I was just so very tired. I told him that I hadn't even prepared dinner and he told me not to worry about it.

God does some amazing things! At 5:45 p.m. our doorbell rang and Phil went to answer it. There, with a large stainless steel pot in her hands, stood one of our new neighbors. She was on her way to church and wanted to drop off a big pot of lentil stew she'd made for us. I couldn't help but cry like a little baby. God knew I was too tired to cook and so He had prompted Judith, our neighbor, to do it for me! What a huge blessing!

It's a good thing I wasn't sitting there topless when Judith came by to drop off our dinner! I'm sure she would have been completely shocked, as would I! God continues to amaze me at His provision during this time in my life. When I am completely drained physically, He meets my needs in ways I never expect. Without me even offering up a request to Him, He already knew...just like everything in our lives, He already knows our needs before we even ask! Sometimes, I think He finds joy in surprising us as a reminder that He's got it covered and that's the way it is....

©bonnie annis all rights reserved

"And when you are praying, do not use meaningless repetition as the Gentiles do, for they suppose that they will be heard for their many words. So do not be like them; for your Father knows what you need before you ask Him." Matthew 6:7-8

The broken vase

After my grandmother died, I had been given a white pottery vase by my mother. It was one my grandmother had owned for many years. Shaped like a small urn, the vase was unique and typical of those fashioned in the mid 1920's. I loved it not only because it was an antique, but because it was my grandmother's. I was honored that my mother had chosen to part with it and give it to me. I kept the vase in a safe place so it would never be broken and I enjoyed looking at it daily. It held not only sentimental value, but also monetary value because of its age.

One day, my youngest daughter was playing in the house. She was throwing a ball around and I'm sure, before I even complete the story, you know what happened....yes, she accidentally knocked over the vase and broke it. She had been warned several times to play in another room, but was more concerned about playing than about listening to her mother.

The sound of her gasp, caused me to jump up from my chair at the same time the vase fell to the floor with a loud, shattering thud. Without even seeing it, I knew my vase was broken. I'll never forget the look of horror on her face. I knew she was instantly sorry for what she'd done. Instead of consoling her, I immediately began to berate her for breaking my prized possession. With huge crocodile tears in her eyes, she gathered up the pieces of the vase and ran up the stairs. I was so angry. I had warned her not to play with the ball indoors. She had destroyed my treasure. I think I fumed about the broken vase for the rest of the day while my daughter avoided all contact with me.

Jamie came to me later with what was left of the vase and the broken pieces. With such a sweet, tender voice she asked for some glue so she could repair the vase. I told her not to worry about it because it was damaged and would no longer be valuable to me. Her head hung in shame, she lay the vase and the pieces on the table and walked away.

Days passed and that broken vase lay unattended on the table in my basement craft room. Whenever I walked by it, I was saddened...I wasn't saddened by the loss of the vase, but in my actions toward my daughter. I heard the words of my mother in my head chiding me, "what's more important a thing or a person?" I knew I had reacted wrongly to the breaking of the vase. I had to make things right.

I found my daughter and apologized for saying such hurtful things to her. I explained to her why I reacted in the way I did. It was not that the vase was monetarily valuable, it was because it was because it had belonged to my grandmother. I had allowed my anger to cloud my judgment. I had reacted in a fleshly manner. I was so ashamed of myself.

Jamie accepted my apology and together we glued the pieces of the vase back together. Fortunately, we were able to fit all the pieces into place except for one tiny missing piece. After the glue had dried, she told me again how sorry she was for breaking the vase and how she knew it would never be the same again. I told her that the vase meant even more to me now because it was a constant reminder of how fragile people's feelings can be. I told her I never wanted to forget how I had made her feel that day and that I hoped I would never be so cruel to anyone ever again.

I managed to save the mended vase for many years after that, but on our recent move to our new home, the vase was broken again. This time it was beyond repair and I ended up throwing it away. What was more important, a person or a thing? For me, definitely my sweet daughter was more important than an antique pottery vase. Things can be replaced. People can't. I learned a valuable lesson that day and so did she. Forgiveness and love can heal hurt feelings and broken lives.

Here's another story I'd like to tie in with mine. I did not write this part and I don't know who did, so I can't give them credit but you'll see why I needed to share this in a few minutes as you continue to read: There's an ancient Japanese story that tells about a Sakai tea man who found a brilliant Chinese tea jar. He was so pleased with his find that he invited the famed tea man Sen no Rikyu to a gathering of friends to show off the beautiful piece. But to the Sakai man’s amazement, when he served tea in the lovely piece, Sen no Rikyu paid no mind to the jar. Once Sen no Rikyu left, the Sakai man threw the tea jar against a wall, shattering it into pieces. His friends gathered the fragments and took them home where they mended the jar back together with gold lacquer. The same friends then invited Sen no Rikyu to a gathering of their own where they offered him tea in the mended jar. When Rikyu saw the mended tea jar he exclaimed, “Now the piece is magnificent!” Some link this story to the birth of “kintsugi”, an ancient Japanese art which translates, “patch with gold.” Kintsugi artists mend broken pieces of ceramics and pottery using gold lacquer, making the pieces are more striking and unique than when they were pulled from the wheel or kiln. In a modern culture that often grades wholeness through the lens of perfection, Kintsugi offers a different perspective.

The art of kintsugi rests in the truth that vessels are stronger and more magnificent because they have been made whole from brokenness, not because they are without imperfection. Each vessel—and every one of our lives—can tell a unique story if we no longer feel we must hide the scarred parts of our lives. “We want to be restored to health, but we don’t simply want what we once were. We want to be better, stronger, wiser for the pain, struggle, and sacrifice.”

Isn’t this the wholeness that we truly seek? We want to be restored to health, but we don’t simply want what we once were. We want to be better, stronger, wiser for the pain, struggle, and sacrifice. We want our scars to shimmer like gold and tell a beautiful story: namely, that what is broken can be whole again, and more beautiful than before. 

That broken vase, the art of kintsugi, my scars from surgery...all of those tie in together. Breaking isn't something we ever intend to have happen but sometimes, it just does. We can let the brokenness make us bitter or make us better. We can throw away the chipped pieces or gently try to repair them. It's our choice. If we choose to fit the pieces back together again, the scars become part of the beautiful story of a damaged but restored life. This is where I am now. My body has been broken and while I can't fit the pieces back together again, I can allow the scars to be a precious reminder of everything I've been through. They can be a constant reminder that I am still living....that I am still fighting...that I am so blessed. 

Just like the pottery vase that Jamie and I mended together with glue, I'll  never quite be the same again, but that's okay. I'm different now. And while you may think a broken vase would leak when you fill it with water, that's not the case with a broken and healed person. Instead of becoming weaker, they become stronger. In the same way a Kintsugi artist takes pieces of broken vessels and adorns them with brilliant gold lacquer, God's used this cancer to do the same for me. He's increased my value a thousand times over because He is the one who has done the restoration in my life. I have done nothing. He has fashioned and molded me completely into His perfect vessel even though He has allowed missing pieces to remain untouched. The Kintsugi art and the broken vase were mended with precision and accuracy to produce the best possible results. God has done the same with me.

When God chose to allow me to be broken, He knew exactly how much breaking needed to be done in order to teach me what He wanted me to learn. Modern day Kintsugi artists will take perfect pieces of pottery and purposely break them in order to practice their art. I certainly was in no way perfect before God allowed me to be broken. My scarred body is evidence of that, but one day, I will be perfect and I will have my broken body made whole again. There will be no need for gold lacquer to fill in the gaps. Those gaps will be filled in solidly with the love of Christ. For where I am weak, He is strong. 

©bonnie annis all rights reserved

Monday, Monday

Well, it's Monday and my weekend respite from radiation has come to an end. Oh, it was so good while it lasted! I enjoyed spending time with my husband this weekend. We didn't do anything special, in fact, the highlight of our weekend was going to the grocery store to buy a few weeks worth of food, but just being together was all that mattered. I'm thankful he was willing to come with me. Going to the grocery store is taxing right now and I never thought it would be. It's amazing how weak your body becomes while in the midst of radiation treatments.

On this rainy Monday morning, I definitely don't look forward to dragging myself out to the radiation clinic. I'd rather stay in my pajamas and curl up on the sofa with a blanket while watching an old movie. But at least I'll get to see the doctor today (every Monday, I see her) so she can look over my skin and see how it's doing. She'll be checking to make sure I'm not getting too "crispy." I've been applying the Radiaplex three times a day and it helps a lot, but my skin is extremely red and is starting to blister in some areas.

I'm thankful I'm almost halfway through my treatments. I don't know how the oncologist and the radiation oncologist determined the number of treatments I'd need, but they came up with the number 35. Typically, breast cancer patients receive around 33 doses of radiation. Maybe they tacked on a couple of extra treatments for good measure.

My radiation oncologist, Dr. Diana Santiago, is pleasant. She is Hispanic and loves to paint. I only found out about her love of painting last week as I was perusing the office and saw a couple of pieces of art on the wall. I asked one of the staff who had done them and they said that Dr. Santiago was the artist. They said she enjoyed painting in her free time. Today, I'm planning on asking her what medium she enjoys using most. I assume it's oils because they are more flexible than acrylics although the drying time is so much longer. Speaking of painting, I have a stack of canvases in my office right now that are calling out my name. I have only painted once since having my surgery. I just haven't felt up to it and my creative juices weren't flowing at all. But this week, I just may have to pull out my paints and put some color to those stark white canvases.

Art is a wonderful healing therapy. A few weeks ago, I worked on a collage for a friend of mine. She's a breast cancer survivor, too. As I was working on that piece, I was so engrossed in the project that I lost all track of time. Before I knew it, I'd been working for six hours without a break. When I start a project, I want to work until I've completed it. It's becomes an obsession. I start out not knowing exactly which direction my project will take and then, all of a sudden, it takes on a life of its own.

When I was in high school, I remember having to do a project for a Social Science fair. Back then I was such a procrastinator. I waited until the night before the project was due before even starting on it. I knew that I needed to do something related to Madrid, Spain, because that was the topic of my report. I needed to create an interesting piece of art to accompany the report into the Science fair. As I thought about what I could do, I looked around my room for inspiration. The only thing I had relating to Spain at the time was a library book I'd checked out as a reference for my report. I leafed through the pages of the book and found a tiny photo of a matador in the midst of a bull fight. His cape was drawn out in front of him and the brilliant red caught my eye. The bull's head was down and ready to charge. His sharp horns ready to pierce flesh. I took a magnifying glass and hovered over the bull's eye. The artist had captured the photo exactly as the bull began to snort and his eyes were narrowed. That was my inspiration! The bull's emotion.

Quickly I dug through my closet looking for art supplies. It was around 9 p.m. and I needed to have this project complete and ready to turn in by 8 a.m. I found a thin canvas board that had been left over from another art project and tubes of  oil paints in red, brown, black, white, yellow, and navy. I looked and looked but could not find my brushes anywhere. I'd wasted about an hour searching for them and then, came up with a brilliant idea. Instead of using my brushes, I would use my fingertips. I would have to be very careful to capture the fine detail with only my fingertips, but I was determined to do it.

I squeezed a thin line of black paint out onto a plastic plate, my makeshift palette. Purposefully, I dipped my right index finger into the paint and put it to the canvas. I drew my finger along the rough texture beginning the outline of the bull's head and strong neck. I was not going to paint the entire bull's body because there was no time. The outline covered almost the entire canvas. I wanted this to be a close up rendition of the bull's strength, so I chose to fill the canvas leaving only small amounts of negative space. After the outline was complete, I began to add detail marveling at how much control I had using only my fingers. I worked until late into the evening pushing the paint deep into the crevices of the canvas. If I remember correctly, I fell asleep on the floor next to my painting.

The next morning, I woke up late and had to hurry to get to school on time. I touched the canvas to make sure it was completely dry. I glanced at it as I walked down the hall to class. In my opinion, it had turned out rather well. I wondered if anyone would notice there were no brush strokes. I presented it to my teacher along with my report. She was amazed at the painting and asked if I'd affixed a 3x5 card to the back with all the pertinent information needed for the fair. I had forgotten to do that, so she handed me a card and asked me to jot down the information and she'd affix it to the painting before entering it into the show. On the card, I had to list my first and last name, what category I was submitting the project for and what school I attended. I also had to enter my current grade and list all the supplies I'd used to create the project. For the art supplies, I listed- one blank white canvas, acrylic paints, and turpentine. I handed the card to my teacher who quickly read over it. "I think you forgot to add brushes to your list of supplies, Bonnie," she said. I had to explain to her that I hadn't used any brushes. "Oh, but surely you did," she said. "No ma'am. I didn't," I said, as I held up my fingertips for her to examine. Each of my fingertips was stained in black, brown, or red. "You used your fingers to paint this?!" she exclaimed. I shook my head and hung it down thinking she was chiding me for doing something wrong.

Later that week, the students were allowed to go into the cafeteria and see all of the Social Science fair projects. We walked by each table marveling at the works of the fellow students hoping to see a first, second, or third place prize ribbon on our projects. As I approached the table holding my project, I was dumbfounded. There in the upper right corner of my painting was a bright blue first place ribbon!

For years I kept that painting. It was a reminder to me that even without the proper art materials, I had been determined to make what I had work. My determination has won me a prize, but the blue ribbon wasn't the prize...my prize was self satisfaction...just knowing that I'd done a job and done it well. I had given it my all. And just like my cancer journey, I'm determined to end well. My prize for going through treatments, for doing everything the doctors tell me to do, will be living. I don't take my life for granted any longer. Every moment of every day is a precious gift...another stroke of paint on the canvas of my life. God continues to complete His masterpiece in me, for surely I am still a work in progress. One day, I will stand before Him and I'm going to ask Him how He chose to take every trial, every joy, every aspect of my life and used them to create a perfect picture of Himself in me. I can just imagine that Heaven is filled with walls of unfinished paintings, and those paintings are never created with brush strokes but by the Master's gentle, caring fingertips.

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