A second letter to cancer

Me in Gerri's jacket

Dear Cancer,
This is my second letter to you. I never thought I'd be writing one again so soon, but here I am again. I don't even know why I'm writing you. You're supposedly gone and good riddance! Dr. S cut you out of my body over a year ago, so why am I still dealing with side effects from your presence?

Early this morning, I had to call my doctor's office. Fluid has built up again in my chest. This time, it's concentrated on the right side instead of like last time when it was all in the center of my chest. I asked her if she wanted me to come back into the office so she could drain the fluid off again. I didn't really want to have to go through all that again, but I was willing to do it if it was necessary. Dr. S said sometimes, it can take 2-3 weeks for the fluid to dissipate. I told her it was really uncomfortable and it hurt when anything, even clothing, touched that side of my body. She told me to wait a few more days and if it's not better, to come in next week. When I touch my chest, I can see a big pocket of fluid jiggling near the space where my right breast used to be.

Did you know the Susan G. Komen Race for the Cure is next weekend? I've signed up and I plan on walking across that finish line with pride. I was supposed to walk last year but that was too soon after my first surgery (thanks to you) and I couldn't. People donated money for me and I let them down. I didn't feel good about that at all but what could I do? This year will be a different story. Even if the fluid remains, I'm going! We've already got a hotel room reserved and we've already paid the registration fees. My sweet husband is going with me. We're going to show you!

Today I was reminded of you again, not only when I looked in the mirror and saw the swelling and fluid, but also when I had an unexpected visit from a dear friend. The doorbell rang and I knew I wasn't expecting any visitors, so I almost didn't answer it. I figured it was a delivery man with a package and if I didn't answer the door, he'd just leave it and go on his way...but something told me to go to the door, and I'm so glad I did. Standing on the front porch was Doc, my best friend's husband, and in his hand was a denim jacket. As I greeted him with a hearty hello and a big bear hug (one sided of course, once again, thanks to you), he stepped inside. (Doc had just recently had surgery on his brain and I had no idea that he was okayed to be driving just yet.) I asked him to come in and have a seat as he held out the jacket to me. Taking it, I almost burst into tears. This jacket had been my best friend's jacket and Gerri (my bestest friend in the whole, wide world, had died unexpectedly last month.) Doc told me Gerri would have wanted me to have the jacket. With tears in my eyes, I looked at the front of it. Gerri had several pins attached to the jacket. There was a silver biker pin (she loved to ride motorcycles with her husband), a "He is risen" pin (Gerri was a devout Christian), and a tiny pink breast cancer ribbon pin. (I know she wore that one for me.) I took the jacket and hung it across the back of a bar stool while Doc and I talked.

We talked about Gerri and how much each of us missed her. No, you weren't part of her life, too, and I'm so thankful. Gerri died of a heart attack, they think. We really aren't sure, but it was sudden and none of us were prepared for the loss of her from our lives. Doc and I shared sweet memories. As he talked, I could feel the deep pain in his heart. He was so lonely. After a couple of hours, he looked at his watch and said he had to go. As I walked him to the door, I gave him another big hug and thanked him for coming.

When Doc was gone, I took Gerri's jacket from the chair. I held it in my hands for a few minutes and then took a big sniff of it. I just wanted to see if any part of Gerri lingered there. I smiled as I was able to smell her on the jacket. There was such a familiarity there.

I walked into my bedroom and stood in front of the mirror. I wanted to put the jacket on but was afraid. I knew it was going to be an emotional time when I did and I wasn't sure if I was ready for that. I lay the jacket down and went to my office. I worked on some things for a while and then went back into my bedroom. The jacket lay there waiting for me.

Picking up the jacket, I slowly slipped one arm into it and then the other. Instantly, I could almost hear Gerri's voice whisper, "my ace boon coon." That's what she used to call me. It was her term of endearment that meant I was her very best friend ever.

I stood in front of the mirror a long time. The jacket fit perfectly. It did look funny with the pockets sunken in because I had no breasts (thanks to you, dear cancer), but I didn't care at that point. I could feel the closeness of my friend.

The tiny pink ribbon pin was attached to the right front breast pocket. I could just imagine Gerri placing it there and thinking, this is for my friend, Bonnie. She was always thinking of others, just like you, cancer, but you are always looking for those you can destroy. Gerri looked for those she could love.

So cancer, you may think you still have a hold on me but let me tell you something...you don't own me. You don't define me. You are not a part of my life currently and I hope you never will be again in the future. I don't want to have to write any more letters to you...YOU GOT THAT! Ok.

Sincerely,
Bonnie Annis
Breast Cancer Survivor

© bonnie annis all rights reserved

Last night I slept alone

I missed him last night...missed his snoring...missed his warmth, but it was my decision. Since surgery last week, it's been so hard to sleep. A healing incision and constant pain don't make good bedfellows. I'm a side sleeper and that makes it even more of a challenge. For nights, I've piled pillows all around me and my poor husband has held on to his tiny sliver of bed tightly. He's been so generous to give me most of the space but I couldn't allow it to continue. "How unfair," I thought to myself. I did my best to keep my pillows close around me so they didn't encroach on his territory but inevitably, they'd slip and slide over into his space. I felt so guilty. Trying to keep those pillows corralled while working to sleep on my back and deal with the pain became too much to bear. I had to come to a decision and that I did.

It wasn't easy to make the decision to sleep in another room. (This would make the second time we'd slept apart in our own home. The first time was right after my initial surgery. I wrote a little about that experience,too, and you can read about it here. ) I like the comfort of knowing my husband is right beside me. It makes me feel safe and secure, but we talked about it and decided it was worth a shot.

So after our late night television show was over, he carried all of my pillows into the guest room for me. I watched as he arranged them the best he could on the bed. We kissed each other goodnight and he turned to walk back to our bedroom. He looked sad but neither of us said anything.

I crawled into bed and rearranged the pillows. After a little reading, I fell asleep. This morning, when the sun peeked through my window, I knew it was time to get up. I looked around this small, little room and realized it hadn't been as bad as I'd thought to sleep apart from my hubby. I'd gotten a pretty good night's sleep and I hadn't worried about trying to keep the pillows corralled. I hadn't heard one single solitary snore all night long. Knowing he was just on the other side of the house made me feel a little better. It also made me laugh as I thought about what it would be like to have had 2 twin sized beds in our room instead of one California King. We'd have been like Lucy and Ricky Ricardo.

As a child, I remember watching the "I Love Lucy Show." Back in the early 60's, television was careful about even hinting about sexuality much less openly displaying it. I never gave a thought to seeing Lucy and Ricky's separate beds, and maybe that's because I was a child. I'm sure the adults noticed it more than we did. Lucy said, years after the series: "Despite sleeping in separate beds throughout the entire series, Lucy and Ricky slept in two beds pushed together in the same box spring during the first two seasons of the show. Once Little Ricky was born, however, CBS suggested the beds be pushed apart as to diminish any hint of a sexual relationship between the Ricardo's. Despite this, however, from time to time, especially after moving in to the bigger apartment in the Mertz building, the beds would occasionally be seen pushed together again."

I don't know if this separate bed thing will become permanent or if it will just be for a few short weeks. I need to talk to my husband and see how he felt about our being apart last night. For now, the arrangement is copacetic. If we do decide to sleep apart, we'll just use separate rooms. I'm not about to get rid of my king size bed in favor of 2 twin beds. I'm sure there are many couples in America who opt for sleeping in separate beds or bedrooms, but I don't know of many. It's not something people feel comfortable discussing and it's not really proper to ask about either.

The decision to sleep in separate rooms came a little easier under the circumstance of my recent surgery. It also helped that we've been married for 22 years and we're secure in our love for each other. If we'd been newlyweds, I'm sure one or both of us would have put up a little more fight. But hey, the reality is, we're an old married couple and we've learned to handle whatever life throws at us. If it works for us, that's all that matters.


© bonnie annis all rights reserved

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