What a workout!

I was so excited as I pulled into the driveway and saw the huge box against my front door. My rebounder finally came. I could barely wait to get out of the car and open the front door! It is August, not December, but it felt like Christmas to me.

With a good amount of effort, I drug the box inside the house. It was more cumbersome than heavy. As I unboxed the rebounder, I was amazed at how quickly it went together. All I had to do was screw on the 6 stabilizing legs and put on some end caps. Voila'! My rebounder was ready.

I flipped it over and stood looking at it for a few minutes. It looked really nice. I'd gotten to choose the color of the bungees and the top. I chose hot pink, very significant of my breast cancer journey, don't you think? As I looked over the rebounder, I wondered if it would hold my weight. It looked sturdy enough even though I wasn't a little kid anymore and I was significantly heavier than I had been way back then!

I slipped the instructional DVD into my computer and pressed play. Timidly, I stepped up onto the rebounder watching the bungee cords as they gave way just a bit. So far, so good. I marched in place and got used to the way it felt to be on the top of the rebounder. I'd never been on one before and this was very new to me. I was surprised at how I struggled to keep my balance. I'm sure it will get better with time. I wished I'd bought the stabilizing bars that were optional, but hindsight is 20/20. Maybe I'll order then later.

The lady on the exercise video began to move on her rebounder. She was so thin and energetic! (Naturally, why would they choose an overweight instructor?!) I watched and mirrored her actions. She started out slowly and then increased the intensity. As I was working out with her, I thought this was going to be a pretty easy way to exercise. First we were just marching in place and then we progressed to jumping jacks.

Getting up a little courage, I began to bounce along with her. This was supposed to be an exercise that would help my lymphatic system. I sure hoped it worked. It was starting to be fun! I bounced a little higher and a little higher copying her movements. The higher I got, the more out of control I felt. I needed to slow it down a little. I realized as I was beginning to slow myself down, the light fixture in my office was right over my head and if I'd kept on bouncing higher and higher, I would have probably knocked myself out on the light. I got a mental image of myself trying to explain to the doctor how I got a brass finial embedded in my head! Heavens!

I'd worked up a sweat and as I was wiping my forehead, the instructor finished up the workout session. I stood on the floor and watched her. I glanced from the computer screen to the written instructions I'd received and noticed a warning. The warning said to keep exercise sessions between 2 and 5 minutes a day for the first week. I'd already worked out about 15 minutes. It also said the day after you began rebounding, you'd notice sore muscles in areas that had not been worked for some time. That tells me that tomorrow, I'm going to feel the burn. I have a lot of muscles that haven't been worked out in a really long time.

I'm so glad I was the only one home today when I began rebounding. I bet I looked really funny. I had on a black and white striped exercise top, black leggings, and some fuzzy pink polkadot slipper socks on to keep me from falling. Can you imagine me bouncing up and down hair flying all over the place while stifling unbridled laughter?

After a few days, I'm sure I'll get the hang of it. I'm excited to know it's low impact. My poor old knees are thankful too. Fifty seven years old and jumping on a mini  trampoline...who wouldn't thunk it?

©bonnie annis all rights reserved

Breast cancer is like gardening!

I'm not much of a gardener, I'll admit. Oh, I love a beautiful yard and spend hours a day wishing I had one, but, I don't. Yard work takes time and lots of energy. I haven't had much of either lately. But I do subscribe to Better Homes and Gardens. I do peruse the magazine and dream of what my yard could look like. I do enjoy seeing homes with thick green grass, shrubs, and flowers planted in perfect order.

As I sit at my desk, I can see our front yard from my window. Everything is lush and green at first glance, but as I look closer, I see not only the Bermuda grass but lots and lots of weeds! How did they get there? When we first bought our house, just a little over a year ago, the Bermuda grass was perfect, not one single weed dotted the lawn. Now, there are almost more weeds than Bermuda grass and I'll admit, I haven't felt like going out to weed. I did Google how to take care of Bermuda grass, because I had no idea what it required, and I found out it's important to biannually apply both fertilizer and a weed killer. The trouble with weeds is they're pretty invasive. If left unchecked, one little weed can take hold and ruin a perfectly good yard in just a small amount of time. And that's what happened to our yard.

The more I look at the weeds, the more they bother me. It would take a lot of time to get out there on my hands and knees and pull them up, but, on the other hand, an application of Weed and Feed wouldn't take more than an hour using a lawn spreader.

Those pesky weeds! The more I think about them, the more I want to rip them up. Have you ever tried pulling up weeds by hand? Some of them are pretty stubborn! Their roots are like little tentacles spreading far and wide. They seem to have a death grip on the soil and take a lot of muscle to dig out. Heaven forbid if you pull and don't get the roots! Those rotten little suckers will come right back again and with a vengeance.

When I was diagnosed with Invasive Ductal Carcinoma last year, I asked the doctor exactly what that meant. She explained that the cancer started inside a milk duct in my breast and then began to spread outside the milk duct into the breast tissue. It didn't stop there! It kept on going and spread to my lymph nodes. My cancer was like a pesky weed! It had taken root and spread out tentacles of destruction. The only way to eradicate it was through surgery. So, that's exactly what I did. I allowed the surgeon to lop off my boobs, just like you'd lop of broken tree limbs but not quite. And when she injected the radioactive blue dye into my breast tissue, it lit up my lymph nodes like a Christmas tree. The cancer had traveled and made a home there. Instead of forcibly pulling at the roots of the metastasis, the surgeon completely cut out and removed the lymph nodes. The problem was eliminated!

So if the problem was eliminated, why do I have a constant fear of recurrence? Just like the pesky weeds in my lawn keep coming back even after we pull them up, I have a constant dread that one day, the cancer is going to rear its ugly head again somewhere else in my body. It didn't help that my breast surgeon made me feel guilty about not taking the chemo meds but that was my choice. I didn't want to put poison into my body. I chose to go a more natural route. And when we get ready to take out those stinkin' weeds, I'll try to find a natural solution instead of pouring harmful chemicals onto the grass.

Cancer, they say, is the gift that keeps on giving and I believe that statement to be true. It continues to give daily challenges. Not all of the challenges are bad, but some of them are worse than others. Like a lawn full of weeds, if I give up and do nothing, the weeds win! They take over and kill out the grass. But if I choose to fight them, I can take them out one by one. Yes, a new one might pop up here and there but if I'm diligent, I can handle it. That's the attitude I have to take toward this "dumb, stupid, breast cancer" too.

If I ever face another metastasis in my body, I'll do a lot of research to find out the best way to deal with it. My doctors will advise me according to their expertise. I hope that day never comes, but I'm going to keep my eyes peeled and my self exams constant. If I find anything suspicious, I'll report it right away.

Breast cancer is like gardening. Our bodies require constant love and attention. They need to be cared for and treated well, just like a well manicured lawn. One day, maybe my lawn will be devoid of chickweed and sedge. I'd love for people to ride by oohing and ahhing over my bright, green grass and hopefully the weeds, just like the cancer in my body, will be non-existent.  That's my plan anyway.

©bonnie annis all rights reserved

..."we so often live our blessings without ever acknowledging them. Perhaps the gift of losing one’s health is the gratitude it can grow for the simple functions of life." ~ Kara Tippetts

My deep, dark secret

When I was 15, I wanted to get a tattoo. I begged my mother for one and she vehemently told me, "NO." When I asked her why I couldn't get one, she said something to the effect of "good girls don't get tattoos." I knew I was a good girl but secretly also knew I was a rebel at heart. Years went by and I forgot about my desire to get a tattoo. I think my mother was thankful. We never discussed it again until many, many years later.

When I was 51, I decided I was GOING to get that tattoo I'd always wanted. I was going to keep it a secret, just between my husband and I. I was determined to do it and he knew he'd better not say one word about it. So we drove to the closest tattoo shop and I went inside.

I had no idea what to expect but wasn't too shocked to see posters of all sorts of tattoos on the walls. There were many scary, evil, dark looking ones. They made me feel very creepy so I quickly flipped through the posters until I came to a section of butterflies and flowers...much better.

When I was called back, a young guy in his mid twenties introduced himself to me. He said his name was Ben. I checked him out. His ears were gauged, his eyebrow pierced and his body was randomly covered in tattoos. I assumed he was also a rebel. He'd do just fine.

He took me back to one of the rooms and motioned for me to have a seat on the massage table. We sat and talked a few minutes and he asked if I had any idea what I wanted. He also asked if I knew where I wanted to put a tattoo. At that point, I really didn't have a clue what tattoo I wanted or where I wanted to put it. I only knew I wanted to keep it hidden from the public eye for the majority of the time. After sharing that with Ben, I decided to have it placed on my left outer calf muscle. So far so good...a place was selected, now all I needed was to give him the idea for my tattoo. I still had no idea what I wanted. Ben started to ask me questions about things I liked. He was very good at what he did and he was very patient too. I liked that. As we went through a long list of things, we started talking about nature and that led to a brief discussion of my love of hummingbirds. He asked if I'd like him to draw up a hummingbird and I told him that would be fine. He left the room and went to draw. While he was gone, my husband and I talked about the tattoo parlor and how strange it felt for both of us to be in there. Here we were middle aged, middle class folks in the middle of a world we knew nothing about. I wondered what the tattoo artist thought about me...an older woman wanting her first tattoo. Surely he had to be laughing inside but then again, he may have only been seeing dollar signs.

After a short time, the artist reappeared with a beautifully sketched image of a hummingbird. I rolled up the leg of my jeans and he put the stencil on my calf. When he peeled it off, I loved it! I exclaimed how pleased I was and he said, "I haven't even started working on you yet. Just wait until I'm done."

He helped me get comfortable on the table and my husband stood in the doorway so he could see what was going on. I didn't know what it was going to feel like to get a tattoo and asked Ben to explain it to me. Instead of doing that, he said, as he took the tattoo machine in hand and pressed it against my leg, "this is what it feels like." He slowly began outlining the hummingbird. He asked if I was okay with that and I shook my head affirmatively.

The tattoo needle was very light, almost like a bee sting. It hurt, but also felt good at the same time. I know that sounds weird but it really did! (That's why tattoos are addictive to some people I guess). As he worked on the outline, I hardly paid attention to the pain. When it came time for him to begin shading the tattoo, I noticed he changed needles. I asked about it and he said he used 5 needles for outlining but 7 for shading. I watched intently as he dipped the needles into various colors and shaded the bird. It was amazing. It was like coloring with ink only instead of having a nice, smooth,flat surface to work on, Ben was dealing with real flesh and blood. Occasionally he'd stop and wipe my leg removing ink and droplets of blood. After about an hour and a half, Ben had completed my hummingbird.

The beautiful color on my leg was amazing! Ben had done a fantastic job of creating a very realistic tattoo. I was so pleased and told him. I watched as Ben carefully applied the petroleum jelly and plastic wrap which would protect the tattoo until I could get home and wash it with antibacterial soap. Ben gave me instructions on tattoo care as we paid him and got ready to go.

In the car, I told my husband thank you for going with me. I knew he wasn't keen on my getting a tattoo but he knew how much it meant to me. I felt an energy welling up inside me. It had only taken me 36 years to have my dream of having a tattoo come true.

I was able to keep my tattoo hidden from my family and coworkers for a long time by wearing slacks or calf length skirts. Working for a Southern Baptist Church, tattoos were not only frowned upon but unbiblical. ("You shall not make any cuts on your body for the dead or tattoo yourselves: I am the LORD." Leviticus 19:28) And yes, I am a Christian. And yes, I believe the entire Bible is God's Word. But I did it anyway. I didn't do it to defy God. I didn't do it to cause dissension in the family of God. I did it because I wanted it for myself. ( I won't go into a long discussion here because that would make my post extremely long...but I do want you to understand I am very serious about my faith and always have been.)

Little did I know that years later, and many tattoos later, I'd be getting 6 more tattoos...but these wouldn't be in a tattoo parlor. These would be at the radiation clinic. When the radiologist explained to me that I'd be receiving 6 tiny blue dots that would be tattooed on my skin to help line up the linear accelerator, I smiled. "Are you sure you don't mind now, these will be on you forever," the tech told me. I assured her it was okay and then promptly showed her my other tattoos.

Today, as I was looking in the mirror after my shower, I took my finger and traced the dots of the little tattoos. They began mid abdomen and traveled up and over the space where my right breast would have been. Tiny little dark blue dots. If you didn't know they were there, you'd miss them. The radiology staff knew they were there and they used them at each of my radiation treatments. They were tiny guidelines to make sure the radiation beams were aimed exactly where they needed to be.

Most of my family and friends don't know I have even one tattoo, let alone 11. I wonder what they'll think of me after they read this post. I can just imagine how they'll stereotype me along with the bikers and low life folks who usually sport tattoos and if they do that, I'll be sad. My tattoos are an expression of me (all except the 6 from the cancer...those I'd have never chosen to have in all my life). It would be so nice if people would look upon a person's heart and their character instead of merely focusing on their outer appearance but that doesn't usually happen. I'm still the same sweet, loving, caring person I always was before my first tattoo and I intend to be the same for the rest of my life.

I still cover my tattoos when I go out. It is not my intention to ever offend anyone. Some people like tattoos and some don't. I respect each person's right to choose. If I had it to do over again, I probably wouldn't have ever gotten that first tattoo. I'll admit, I never really gave a lot of thought to the fact that I'd have the ink on my body for the rest of my life, but that's typical of me. I've always been a "dive in feet first" kinda person and ask questions later.

In a magazine a few weeks ago, I saw a photo of an old woman with several tattoos. Her body was very frail and filled with wrinkles. The tattoos she had weren't as attractive as they once were and that got me to thinking. I wondered what my tattoos would look like in 10 years or 20 or 25. And then, I wondered how I'd explain them to my grandchildren without encouraging them to do the same thing. I had never thought of that before either...

Don't get me wrong. I don't regret getting my first tattoo or any of the ones that followed. I can't really explain my reasons for getting one other than to say I've always had little rebellious streak in me.

When I was a child, if someone told me I couldn't do something, I just had to prove them wrong and I'd do it. I guess that carried over into my teenage years and even into adulthood. I was always obedient and compliant as a child. I always, always did what I was told. I always pushed myself to live up to higher standards and excelled in everything but it never was quite good enough. This quote by Pink sums it up pretty well "My mom took all of my behavior personally. Everything I did, she thought it was an act of rebellion against her. But it was just me being me." I always felt like I had to prove something...whether to myself or someone else, I don't really know...I just had to do it.

So there you have it...my deep, dark secret. I'm sure some of you won't understand and probably won't be back to read my blog anymore, but that's okay. And there are some of you who'll just say, "Wow, I had no idea," and you'll still be my friend and love me. You know they'll always be haters and haters gonna hate! In either case, it's okay. I'll still have my tattoos because they aren't going anywhere and hopefully, 20 or 30 years down the road, my hummingbird will still look like a hummingbird and not a vulture or something terrible like that!

© 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

Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy!

Can you tell I'm excited? I can hardly wait! I ordered my Bellicon Rebounder yesterday and now, I'm just waiting for it's arrival so I can get started rebounding. Since reading about the benefits to the Lymphatic system, I've been looking forward to not only jumping around to help my body, but I'm thinking I'm going to have a lot of fun while doing it, too! I feel like a little kid!

I always wanted a trampoline when I was younger but we never had the money for such frivolities. Not many of my friends had trampolines either. They weren't really that popular in the late 50's and early 60's.

The first time I ever saw a real trampoline was at the Ringling Brothers Barnum and Bailey circus. We watched the trapeze artists walk the high wire above a huge trampoline. It was a time of gasps and nail biting as they performed their aerial antics. We were so afraid they'd fall and sometimes they did, but the trampoline was the safety net. It always looked so fun when they'd fall to the trampoline and bounce up high in the air a few times before slowing to a stop and landing.

Today I received an email from the rebounding company. They included a short video explaining the benefits of rebounding. I'm including it here for you to see (in case any of you might want to purchase your own rebounder in the future). The benefits of rebounding on a Bellicon rebounder .

I did a lot of research before deciding to purchase the Bellicon rebounder. There are many rebounders out there and I wanted to make sure to get a sturdy, well built one. After studying about all the various choices, I narrowed my selection down to two rebounders. The first was a Needak rebounder. Needak® rebounders are well made and they've been manufactured since 1990. The only thing that concerned me about their rebounders was the noise. They are made with stainless steel springs, like most other rebounders. The Bellicon uses a patented bungee system that provides an almost silent rebound and I liked that a lot. Both companies offer folding legs or stationary legs. I chose the stationary legs for mine because I won't be needing to fold it up and store it away often, but for people who'd like to slide it under a bed, the folding legs would be optimal. Both springs and bungee cords will eventually wear out and need to be replaced. With the Bellicon, the replacement bungee cords only need to be replaced every 3-4 years and are easily replaced by the owner in the comfort of his/her home. Bellicon rebounders are made in Germany and assembled here in the USA. That made a big difference to me too! I didn't want to buy a product that was made in China with substandard materials.

To use the rebounder for maximum health benefits, I googled rebounding exercise videos. I was surprised to find how many exercises can be done on the rebounder. I was also amazed to see how many body parts work in conjuction during rebounding. I really liked the low impact aspect of rebounding and thought it would be a great addition to my cardiovascular workout.

Hopefully my new Bellicon rebounder will be here this week! Stay tuned and I'll let you know when it arrives and how my first jumping session goes. I can't help thinking I need to find the song, "Stop in the name of love," on Pandora. It only seems fitting for a Southern Bell to have that playing during the first rebounding session...Kathy Bates, in the movie, Fried Green Tomatoes, did it and it was just perfect. I just can't get that image out of my mind as I think about rebounding!

©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

A little bit jealous

Today I had the joy of going to the hospital to visit some dear friends. They'd just had their first child, a beautiful baby boy. They were so excited to share the details of their labor and delivery. I quietly watched their animated expressions. They were so happy and so in love. It was wonderful!

My husband and I watched them as they tenderly held their little one. He was so tiny, so fragile. He was all wrapped up in a little flannel blanket the hospital had provided and had the tiniest little hat on his head. Peeking out from under that hat was a head full of coal black hair. The window blinds were open and casting the most beautiful light on his face. Every single feature was gorgeous.

And then, the baby began to get fussy. She was a new mother and didn't quite know what to do. She let him fuss and cry looking up at me with an expression of puzzlement in her eyes. I went over to the baby and picked him up. I told her it was probably time for him to eat and asked when she'd last fed him. She told me it had been earlier this morning and now, it was almost 11:30 a.m. I said it was more than likely that he was either in need of a diaper change or ready to eat. I suggested she feed him first and change him later.

All the men in the room decided to leave. It was evident they felt strange about being around a woman who was about to begin breastfeeding. I asked her husband if he'd like me to stay and help her since she didn't have any family or friends with her. He happily agreed as he left the room with the other men.

I went over to her and helped her unsnap her hospital gown revealing her lovely, voluptuous breast. I asked if she knew how to breast feed and she shook her head no. She had only tried what she thought was the right way to do it earlier in the day and didn't have much success. I explained to her it was so important that the baby latch on correctly so he could feed properly and so he wouldn't make her sore. Lifting the baby to her breast, I showed her how to position him properly so he could take hold of her breast. Immediately, the baby latched on and began sucking. My friend looked up at me and had the biggest grin on her face. She was so excited! When I felt she was secure in feeding, I walked back to my chair and sat with her. We didn't talk, I just watched this beautiful mother and son bonding.

I was ashamed of myself as I sat there watching. Tiny, tiny pangs of jealousy overcame me and I don't even know why they did. I'm well past childbearing years. I guess the reason I was feeling a little jealous was due to memories of feeding my own children. Those were such sweet times. Holding one of my children against my body and feeling that gentle pull as sustenance flowed from me into them. It was a time of sheer bliss. As I continued to watch her, I was reminded that my breasts are gone...permanently gone. Sitting in the chair, I said a silent prayer for her, that she would never experience the horrors of breast cancer.

The baby fed for about ten minutes and I went over to show her how to burp him. She was so funny trying to pat him on the back. She barely patted at all and I told her he wouldn't break. She had to pat just a little harder to expel the air from his stomach. He let out a hearty burp as I took him from her and showed her once again. Then I helped him latch onto the other side.

I'd taken my camera with me in hopes of getting some special photos. I knew my friends didn't have anyone to take photos of them and I wanted to do it as a special gift to them. While the feeding continued, I asked permission to take some photos during this special time. Behind my lens, I was amazed at the simplistic beauty that filled the frame. Tears welled in my eyes as I beheld this special moment. After capturing several shots, I put my camera down and went over to help again. I asked if she knew how to change the baby's diaper and she shook her no. I was so glad I was there to show her what to do.

The baby was fed and happy as he drifted off to sleep. Tenderly, I placed him in his bassinet and went over to help my sweet friend fasten her gown. She hadn't been one bit embarrassed to have me help her and I was grateful for the opportunity. As I snapped the last snap, I asked if she'd bought any breast pads for her bra. She looked at me like I was crazy until I explained what they were and then, she said she didn't have any. This poor first time mother! She had so much to learn. I wished I lived closer to her so I could help her when she went  home from the hospital.

It's amazing that God perfectly provides for mothers to feed their babies. It's the most natural thing and yet some consider it obscene if done in public. Artists have painted gorgeous paintings of women with a child at their breast, but I guess beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Some appreciate this side of femininity and some do not.

When I got home, I went through the photos I had taken at the hospital. The all turned out perfectly. When I got to the ones of my friend feeding her little one, all the feelings of jealousy I'd experienced earlier were gone. Here before me was just a sweet, young mother caring for her baby.

I do miss my breasts. I'd be lying if I said I didn't. It's taken a year and a half to get to a point where I can not wear my prostheses and be okay with it. When I go out in public, I wear them. Not because I want to feel feminine but because my clothes don't fit well without them.

Breasts are not merely sexual objects. They are functional. They were created for a purpose and feeding a baby is one of them.

I can't wait to show the photos I took to her husband. I'm hoping he'll like them. I think he will be pleasantly surprised.

Before I left the hospital room, my friend paid me a huge compliment. She told me I was "a wonderful mother" but also "a wonderful friend." She was so thankful to have had me to teach her how to breastfeed her child today. What better way to end a day? And how could anyone be jealous after that?

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