I feel like I'm on an emotional roller coaster

It's been 459 days since I heard a voice on the telephone telling me I had cancer. It seems so long ago and yet, sometimes, it also feels like it just happened yesterday. That's the weird thing about cancer. It comes into your life and totally turns your world upside down and inside out. You're never the same after you hear those words and that's the part I'm learning to come to grips with. 459 days have passed since I received my life changing news. I'll never forget that day...that Thursday afternoon in June and I don't think God wants me to forget it.

I've done my best to process things on a day by day basis. It's been very difficult, I won't lie. Some days I've felt like giving up. Some days I've cried all day long but then there have also been days when I've been in a deep soul searching mode. It's felt like a roller coaster. Some days up and some days down. Some days I'm flying through the air gripping on so tightly to life that my knuckles are white with fear. But then there are other days, days when I'm so overcome with an indescribable, beautiful peace that can only come from God Himself.

I'm sure I could have attended support groups through the breast cancer wellness center in our town. I could have listened to other women sharing their struggles and pain, but I chose not to do that. I chose to fight my battle alone. It was something I had to do. I had to process things in my own way and in my own time. I cried out to God over and over. Sometimes I asked for an explanation. Sometimes I just cried and begged Him to hold me in His arms and let me feel His love surround me. Every once in a while, I dared to ask "why me?" and He lovingly chided me in His answer, "why not you?"

For people of faith, a journey like this causes immense introspection. It's a test that will prove the depth of your commitment. It's a huge floodlight shining into the deepest, darkest, crevices of your soul. For some, like me, faith is made stronger and more secure. For others, faith wavers and may crumble.

Why does God allow such suffering and devastation into lives? The answer is His alone. Sometimes He chooses to use suffering to reveal flaws...to refine and remold. Sometimes He allows it to show His great mercy and love. For whatever the reason, He allows it. He chooses it. He orders it...specifically for each individual. He deems the length of time for the suffering. He sets limits and boundaries on the pain. He mandates the beginning and the end of it. Sometimes He chooses to remove it completely and sometimes He allows it to linger a little longer.

Over these past 459 days, I've come to see things in a new light. Some days I've done extremely well and other days, I've failed horribly. It's been a roller coaster but through it all, I've learned to accept the fact that I'm not in control of the ride.

God has much to teach me still. I'm trying my best to be a diligent student and learn my lesson well. I know I've grown. I know my faith has been refined and for that, I'm very thankful. Cancer has been both a blessing and curse but, it has also been a great teacher.

Why did God handpick cancer for me? I may never know. I've spent many of the past 459 days trying to figure it out but I have no answers. Today, I listened to a beautiful song that may hold some clues as to His reasoning. The story is called "Blessings" and is by Laura Story. Listen to it by clicking on the link below and as you do, hear the verse that spoke to my heart today. It says "what if trials of this life are Your mercies in disguise." Could that be the answer? Could the trial of cancer in my life be His mercy in disguise? I am beginning to think so. I know He'll continue to reveal more to me in the days ahead as my ride continues. I'm so very thankful He loves me and even more thankful I trust Him in all of life's ups and downs.

Listen to Blessings by Laura Story

©bonnie annis all rights reserved

Why did I sign up?

Almost a month ago, while checking my email I came across one from the Susan G. Komen Foundation. It seems the Race for the Cure is coming up soon. I read the email and clicked on a link that took me to their website. As I was reading it, I felt like I needed to sign up and participate in this year's race. Today, as I'm still recovering from surgery, I'm wondering why on earth I did it! Why in heaven's name? Since being diagnosed on June 5, 2014, my life has suddenly become inundated with breast cancer, for lack of a better word, "stuff." I am now and forever more entangled in the web of pink...not at my choosing. It was thrust upon me.

I don't know diddly squat about the Susan G. Komen Foundation other than it's an organization committed to help raise money to fight breast cancer and the name, Susan G. Komen, came from a woman who died of breast cancer. The name, Susan G. Komen, and breast cancer have become practically synonymous due to all the publicity and hype in the media.

So why did I sign up to be a participant in the Race for the Cure? Honestly, I don't know. I think maybe my subconscious took over and it just felt like something I needed to do for me...maybe a right of passage...to prove that I've given all I had to give in the fight...maybe just to prove I'm a survivor, I really don't know.

Another thing I didn't know was that Susan G. Komen expects each race participant to raise money for the campaign. (No, I didn't read all the fine print before signing up. I'm a jump right in and ask questions later kinda girl.) We're each supposed to raise $150.00. That's not a lot of money if you have friends and family who'll sponsor you, but if you don't have folks to get behind you and dish out their money, you're not going to make the fundraising goal. So, since I signed up myself to walk as a survivor, and my husband to walk as a support person for me, we've got to raise $300. To date, I'm almost there. I've raised $110 through some sweet friends, but I haven't met my goal. He's only raised $50.

It's going to cost us a good chunk of change to participate in the race. We have to drive 3 hours to Macon, Georgia, and stay in a hotel overnight. We'll also be eating out along the way. My click happy fingers didn't think about all of that when I subconsciously decided to participate. We've also had to pay registration fees that would cover the cost of our t-shirts and caps.

So, all in all, this race, while for a great cause, has cost me a lot personally. I lost 2 breasts to participate. I've been fighting for the past year and a half to get through surgeries and treatment. And yes, I'm finally at the point where I proudly can claim the title "Breast Cancer Survivor," but do I need to walk in a 5K to prove it? Not really. And did I need to fork out a lot of hard earned cash...well, no.

I don't think I really NEED to walk a 5K to prove anything to anybody, but, for some reason, this walk will validate all I've been through. It will throw me into a situation where I'm surrounded by other breast cancer survivors and will probably make me face a lot of emotions I haven't dealt with yet.

I'll admit it. I'm scared. I don't know why I signed up. I don't even know if I'll be fully healed by the time the race comes around the end of this month. I haven't been training for it. I'm not ready but by the grace of God, somehow, someway, I'll make myself do it. One foot in front of the other in a sea of pink, I'll walk. I may not make record time but I'll cross that finish line. And when I do, I'm sure it will be emotional. There's no way it couldn't be. This past year and a half have been the hardest days of my life.

Do you know what I really think happened, I think God guided my hand toward the link because He knew it was something I needed to do. In any event, it's done. I can't back out now. I guess it will be one more thing I can cross off my bucket list and I'm thankful I'll have my sweet hubby right by my side.

Donate to my Susan G. Komen Race for the Cure Campaign here

Donate to my hubby's Susan G. Komen Race for the Cure Campaign here

©bonnie annis all rights reserved

Ice Packs and Ice Cream

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

© bonnie annis all rights reserved

The sounds of silence

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

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

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

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

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

© bonnie annis all rights reserved

Yes, he's really that good

My biggest cheerleader, my husband, Phil

I've bragged about him before, but I have to do it again...and yes, he's really that good! If you haven't already guessed, I'm talking about my sweet husband.

For the past fifteen months he's been taking care of me non-stop...and I mean, really taking care of me. He's let me cry on his shoulder. He's listened to my discouragement. He's replaced bandages. He's fluffed pillows. He's done all the things that nursemaids do, and then some. He's been so understanding and so sympathetic. He's been priceless. And when I question him, when I ask him why he's been so good to me, he tells me it's because he loves me. He reminds me of our wedding vows...for better or worse, in sickness and in health. I look at him and try to see what he sees. I tell him I'm broken and he says, "that's okay, I love you anyway."

I'm the lucky one...the one who is blessed beyond measure. Not many men would be as giving. He never demands his own way. He is the epitome of 1 Corinthians 13 love. Listen to what the Bible says about true love in verses 4-7 of 1 Corinthians chapter 13:

"Love endures long and is patient and kind; love never is envious nor boils over with jealousy, is not boastful or vainglorious, does not display itself haughtily. It is not conceited (arrogant and inflated with pride); it is not rude (unmannerly) and does not act unbecomingly. Love (God’s love in us) does not insist on its own rights or its own way, for it is not self-seeking; it is not touchy or fretful or resentful; it takes no account of the evil done to it [it pays no attention to a suffered wrong]. It does not rejoice at injustice and unrighteousness, but rejoices when right and truth prevail. 7 Love bears up under anything and everything that comes, is ever ready to believe the best of every person, its hopes are fadeless under all circumstances, and it endures everything [without weakening].  Love never fails [never fades out or becomes obsolete or comes to an end]."

How many people do you know that have a love like that? Not many, I'd venture to say...but I do, and I'm so very grateful.

It seems our entire marriage of 22 years has been filled with him giving and me taking. It seems a very unfair balance and he's never complained, not once. He's a good man, a truly good man. God knew I'd need someone to love and care for me and He chose the best.

I wish I could help you really understand the selfless love my husband gives me but you probably wouldn't believe me even if I wrote it down and gave  you very specific examples, because that kind of love is so very rare...yes, he's that good. So, I won't. I'll keep my priceless treasure all to myself and thank God every single moment of every single day for His remarkable blessing...a godly man and a loving husband.

Taking one day at a time, one hurdle at a time with someone who loves you isn't hard. Health challenges are easier to conquer with a constant cheering section and I'm so glad he isn't too proud to pick up the pom poms. Yes, he's THAT GOOD.

© bonnie annis all rights reserved

Suck it up and suck it out!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

© bonnie annis all rights reserved

It takes a village

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

©bonnie annis all rights reserved