It's time for it to come off

I made a decision last night that I feel good about. I've been thinking about it for some time now and truthfully, I know it's time. I've been struggling with it for years now and I've done everything I could possibly think of to prolong this decision...but I've finally accepted the fact that it's time for my hair to come off.

September 2014 longer hair

When I was a teenager, I first began experimenting with hair color. I don't remember why I wanted to do it. I must have seen a commercial on TV advertising Miss Clairol or something. I thought it would be a great idea to change the color of my hair. Back then, my hair was a beautiful shade of reddish brown with golden highlights. People would kill for that color. I wasn't disappointed with my hair, I just wanted a change, and you know teenagers, they're impulsive. 

I bought a bottle of hair color and told my mother that I was going to dye my hair. She wasn't too happy. She tried her best to discourage me, but I was determined. I read the back of the box and followed the instructions to a tee. After about 45 minutes, my hair was a totally different color. I no longer had the beautiful reddish brown hair with golden highlights that God had so graciously given me, now I had bright clown red hair. I wasn't happy. 

Back to the drugstore I went to find a way to correct this colossal mistake. The only thing I could think to do was dye my hair a darker shade, so I picked out a nice black thinking it would do the trick. When I got home, I went through the entire process again, and after another 45 minutes, my hair was no longer bright red, but midnight black. I stood looking in the mirror at my reflection. Who was this person? My complexion looked stark bwhite against my dark, dark hair. I wasn't thrilled but it was better than the bright red. 

March 2015 shorter hair

That began my love/hate relationship with hair color. From that first experience when I was a teen til now, almost 43 years later, I can't tell you how many boxes of hair color I've bought. I also can't tell you how many hair emergencies I've had during those years. Once, while recoloring my hair too soon after having just dyed it, my hair turned green! No, I'm not kidding. It was green! Thank heavens Clairol, or one of their competitors, invented a product to remove those horrid mistakes. I wish they'd had "Color Oops" back in the 70's when some of my worst hair nightmares occurred. 

Over the years, I've learned a thing or two about hair color and the proper way to apply it. I've learned which products would give the best results and which colors looked best on me. I would say, after 40 something years of coloring and highlighting my hair, I've become a pro. I'd also say, I'm really tired of coloring, especially now that I have Lymphedema in my arms. 

When I was younger, it was so easy to color my hair. My arms never got tired and I could have applied and removed hair dye all day long. Now, I struggle to lift my arms over my head. The swelling from Lymphedema is the culprit behind my difficulties and that very culprit has helped lead me to my decision...to shave my head. 

August 2015 at the salon

I told my youngest daughter about my decision last night. At 27, She was all for it! I asked her if she'd help me, you see, I can't manage the clippers myself because of arm pain. She was more than happy to help. I explained that I was tired of fighting the signs of aging. Every time I dyed my hair, I told her, within a few weeks, I'd have a band of white framing my face. No matter what color I chose, the white always came back and it just wasn't worth it any more for me to keep the battle going. 

She asked if I was going to shave my head bald. I hadn't really thought about it, but I guess that would get rid of the majority of the color. Then I got to thinking...it's going to be much cooler soon. I get cold easily. Could I deal with having no hair on my head? Wouldn't I freeze to death? I could always put on a hat, or a wig....hmmmm. 

I haven't decided how short I'll go. I know my goal is to get this fake hair color off of my head and allow my natural, God given, white hairs a chance to grow. It's going to be strange seeing myself with a head full of white locks, but it's time. I'm almost 58. I'm over the facade. I just want to be real. 

August 2015 highlights

It's amazing how losing your breasts can cause you to become fierce. Fifteen months of struggle and I've finally gotten to the point where I don't care about people's opinions any longer. The outside of me doesn't reflect the inside of me, so what's a few less hairs? I can always grow them back again. Think of all the money I'll save! And think of all the fun I can have playing with different wigs! I can go from short to long, blonde to black, in just a few minutes. Yes, it's definitely time...as soon as I get back from vacation, the clippers are coming out. I'm going to redefine what it means to be BOLD AND BEAUTIFUL. 

©bonnie annis all rights reserved

Pinktober

Well, today is the first of October once again and the pink ribbons are starting to pop up everywhere. Last year, I hated seeing them. They were a constant reminder that my life had become intertwined with breast cancer. I didn't like it one little bit and I said so. This year, I'm feeling a little different.

One year can make a lot of difference in the life of a breast cancer survivor. 365 days can bring many changes. It can also bring death. I am grateful the past year has been good to me. I'm still here. Many of my friends are not. Today, I focus on how I feel about breast cancer awareness month.

Conflicted would be the word that describes my feelings best. While I'm a proponent of early detection, I can understand the trepidation that comes with a first mammogram. Years ago, I remember my mother and my sister telling me I needed to go have one done. I was 42 at the time. I should have had my first mammogram at the age of 40. That was the recommendation most doctors issued back then, but I was rebel. I didn't feel like I needed to have a mammogram done. I didn't want to have one done. I was very modest. I was not willing to bare my breasts in front of anyone other than my husband or my physician. So I always came up with an excuse not to go. I was too busy. I had to work. I always found an excuse.

A few years passed and now, at the age of 45, things were different. I'd lost a couple of friends to breast cancer. As I thought about mammograms, I realized I was being silly. Why wouldn't I want to have a test done that could save my life? Surely those technicians were trained not to look at breasts as anything other than body parts guaranteeing their monthly income. So I called and made an appointment.

The day before my appointment, I wanted to cancel it. I almost did, in fact. I tried to call on my lunch break but was unable to get through. The line was constantly busy. Every chance I got, I tried to call the imaging center and cancel, but with no luck. I was stuck. I was going to have to go have my first mammogram.

The morning of my appointment, I got a shower. I was told, in the pre-test instructions, not to put on any deodorant. I wondered why. I figured it might have something to do with their equipment. Maybe they didn't want deodorant smeared all over it from each woman that came for testing that day. I'm sure it would have been extremely aggravating to have to clean the heavily scented cream off of the machinery in between each patient. I wouldn't have wanted to do it.

When I arrived at the imaging center, I was amazed at how many women were there early in the morning. I guess lots of us were wanting to get in and get the test over with before heading off to work. I waited about half an hour until my name was called. I was nervous. I didn't know what to expect.

The technician was a gruff looking sort, even the way she said my name scared me. She barked out orders to me telling me to put my clothing into a locker. She told me to take the key, attached to a stretch bracelet, around my wrist. She sounded like she was in a hurry and that she wanted me to be quick about undressing, so I complied. I was told to sit in a little waiting room after I'd donned my gown and I obeyed.

My turn came too soon. I wasn't ready. I needed time to mentally prepare myself. I'd heard, from friends, that mammograms hurt. I didn't want any pain, especially this early in the morning. The technician led me to a weird looking machine. She told me to slip my right arm out of the gown. I was really embarrassed. This meant she was going to see my breast. There was no way to hide it. I know I must have turned a bright shade of red as I did as instructed. I felt her cold hand on my back moving me toward the machine. She told me to put my breast in the part of the machine that would scan me. I didn't know how to do it since it was my first time. I tried to do what I thought she wanted done, but I must have messed up. She came over and grabbed my breast as she re-positioned it. I was mortified to have her touch me like that. Then she lowered down some clear plastic plates over my breast and adjusted them tighter and tighter. My boob looked like a pancake and it was very uncomfortable...no, it really hurt! She turned to walk away and as she did, she barked out, "stand still, do not move."

I stood there with my breast sandwiched in between the two clear plastic plates. I held on tightly to the little handle that helped me stay positioned right where the technician wanted me. I heard her remind me to be still again. Then I heard some noises as she ran the test. After several minutes, she came over and repeated the whole scenario on my left breast. When she was done, I was instructed to put my gown on and return to the locker area. As I got dressed, I began to cry. What a horrible experience! No wonder women didn't want to schedule mammograms. I wondered if all the technicians were as brusk as the one I'd encountered. I hoped not.

About a week later, the doctor called and said my baseline mammogram was all clear. He said I needed to come back in a year and have the test repeated. I told him I would, but I didn't. I didn't want to go through that humiliation and pain again.

I waited several years before going back for another mammogram. The next time I went, the technician was very friendly and kind. She made jokes during the entire time I was being tested. She made it a joy instead of a nightmare. I was so thankful for her and made sure to tell her about my first experience. She apologized and said no one should ever have to go through that. Once again, the doctor called and gave me a clear report and once again, he asked me to return a year later for another test. I assured him I would and this time I meant it.

Every October, women are reminded, with the pink ribbon campaign, to get their breasts checked. I'm sure a lot of people have become desensitized to the "pinknado." Many companies capitalize on breast cancer awareness month by putting pink ribbons on their merchandise. They say they'll donate X amount of dollars to breast cancer research, but I wonder if they really do.

This year, instead of wanting to retch when I see pink ribbons, I am thankful. Anything that can help bring awareness to the need for breast examinations is fine by me, especially since I've lost both of my breasts to cancer.

I had fun with a little nurse's aide on my last pre-op visit to the hospital. As she was asking me a zillion questions and writing furiously, she asked if I'd had my mammogram this year. I looked at her and said, "Seriously...are you joking?" She looked up from her clipboard and said, "No, why?" I motioned toward my chest and said, "how can I get a mammogram when I have no breasts?" She turned a bright shade of red and apologized profusely..."payback's a bitch," as they say. I couldn't help but laugh inside. I bet she won't ever ask that question again without first looking at her patient's chest.

"Pinktober" will soon be over and the sea of pink ribbons will disappear until the following year. Most people won't give breast cancer a second thought except those who have felt its grip personally through a family member or friend.

If you, or someone you know, needs a mammogram, please schedule one today. Yes, it's scary if you've never had one. Yes, it's humiliating to bare your breast in public...but if those few moments of shame can help save your life, aren't they worth it? Early detection can make a huge difference in the kind of care and treatment you receive if cancer is found. Don't be silly like I was in skipping a few years in between tests. If I'd been diligent to have those yearly mammograms, they might have found my cancer earlier and I might not have lost two valuable parts of my body.

Take it from someone who truly understands both sides of the picture. Every time you see a pink ribbon, ask yourself when you had your last mammogram. Those little ribbons are great reminders not to take our health for granted. Don't be the "one in eight" that will diagnosed with breast cancer this year.

©bonnie annis all rights reserved

My first and last 5K

Phil and I getting ready to start the race.

Oh how I love profound quotations. This one  is one of my favorites: “You must do the thing you think you cannot do.” - Eleanor Roosevelt. Recently, I put this to the test.

For weeks I'd had my race packet sitting on a shelf in my closet. The hot pink survivor t shirt lay there folded neatly with my race bib on top of it. I'd put it in my closet so I wouldn't have to see it on a daily basis. I had so many mixed emotions about the race, and still, I couldn't figure out why I'd signed up. (In an earlier blog post I'd written about my fingers magically doing their own thing and me having signed up without really comprehending what I was doing.)

A few days before the race was to begin, I'd made hotel reservations in Macon for us. It would be easier for us to travel down the night before and get a good night's sleep in the hotel. When we arrived at the Hilton, race preparations were already underway. Tents were going up. Large banners were everywhere. The large start/finish line inflatable trestle lay on the ground ready to be inflated the next day. 

We entered the hotel and went to the registration desk. There were breast cancer gift bags behind the counter. As we received our room assignments, the front desk clerk handed us a folded letter with a breast cancer ribbon affixed to it. She explained the information contained in the letter was regarding the race and various streets that would be closed in the surrounding area. I told her I was there for the race and she asked if I was a breast cancer survivor. I just shook my head as we left her desk and headed for the elevator. 

Once inside our suite, I began to unpack our bags and make things more accessible. As I unzipped our luggage, our race shirts were the first thing I saw. They reminded me, once again, that tomorrow morning, I'd be participating in my first ever 5K. After attaching our bib numbers to the shirts, I hung the shirts in the closet. My husband's shirt was white and mine was pink. All survivors had hot pink shirts with the word survivor and a cute graphic image of a woman racing on the front. I shut the close door and tried not to think about the race. I was afraid to admit to my husband that I was afraid.

Fear of the unknown is one of the worst kinds of fear. This quote  speaks it best: “The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown.” ― H.P. Lovecraft. In reality, I doubted myself. I knew I was perfectly capable of walking. I loved to hike and have done it for years. I could walk for days and days...but that was before all this trauma had been done to my body. I used to know my body well and know what it was capable of and now, I didn't trust my body. My body was weak and broken. It didn't always do the things I wanted it to do. How could one small 3.1 mile race intimidate me so???

When it came time for bed, I prayed and asked God to give me a good night's sleep. Psalm 4:8 kept flowing through my mind..."In peace [and with a tranquil heart] I will both lie down and sleep,For You alone, O Lord, make me dwell in safety and confident trust." I drifted off to sleep and didn't give the race a second thought. 

The alarm sounded at 6:30 a.m. Both my husband and I did not want to get out of bed. It was so cool in the room and the bed was so comfortable, but we made ourselves get up and begin to get ready. I was prolonging the inevitable and offered to let Phil shower first. He showered quickly and put on his clothes. He liked his race shirt and as he pushed up the long sleeves, I thanked God he was going to be right beside me today. A small amount of anxiousness left me at the thought of knowing I wouldn't be alone.

Since Phil was dressed and ready, he offered to go down to the restaurant and get breakfast for us. While he was gone, I had time to shower and get dressed. I looked at myself in the hot pink shirt. Survivor. It was written across the front of my shirt so it must be so...

At 8:15 a.m. we started across the hotel parking lot and headed for the survivor's tent. A huge pink banner marked the entrance. Phil said he'd wait outside while I went in and I grabbed his hand and told him I wanted him with me. We went inside and instantly were greeted by lots of smiling faces. I was directed to the back of the tent where I received a survivor's cap and a bag full of goodies. 

The survivor's celebration ceremony began and the emcee stood on the stage asking every survivor present to come forward. A sea of pink began to form and merge into one continuous, long line. We were instructed to come, one by one, onto the stage. The "Fight Song," by Rachael Platten, began to blast through huge speakers at the sides of the stage. As soon as the words began, I felt myself tearing up with emotion. This was my fight song. I had fought long and hard and I was so tired of it. I was ready to take back my life. 

It was my turn to step up onto the stage. To my right there were several presenters holding survivors' medals in their hands. I turned and bowed my head as the medal was slipped gently over my head. As I looked straight into the eyes of the presenter next to me, He smiled a big smile. "Congratulations, survivor!" Shaking his hand, I fought to keep the tears at bay and then walked across the stage to the sounds of immense clapping and shouts of joy. I couldn't even feel myself walking. It was as if I were on a cloud like conveyor belt. It was all so surreal. 

When all the survivors had made it across the stage, the emcee made some final comments and then the music changed. An upbeat exercise tune began to play and the emcee led everyone in some stretching moves with his great motivational chatter. At 8:55 a.m. we were told to prepare for the race. I quickly made a porta potty pit stop and we headed toward the starting line. 

Survivor

The race began promptly at 9:00 a.m. I have no idea how many people there were because people were everywhere! Phil and I were able to get right up front and I was thankful. Runners began pushing their way forward since they were participating in a timed race for prizes. The starting horn blasted and we were off. Phil took my hand and held it tightly. I knew he'd done it to let me know he was with me all the way on this journey. 

At first, I felt like I was back at home walking around our old neighborhood. Phil and I would do that often in the evenings as a form of relaxation after a long day at work. The street was pretty level and smooth around the Mercer University campus. We enjoyed seeing the campus buildings and weren't in a hurry but were walking at a good, even pace. We kept our position near the front of the pack and continued on. 

Pretty soon the trail began to include some steep grade hills and the walk became a little more challenging. The first mile was over and we pressed on. The course wound through the college campus and into the historic district of downtown Macon. We began passing some beautiful old homes. We noticed our pace had slowed just a bit and people were passing us. It was getting a little more difficult to walk. I felt the right side of my recent incision pulling and my shins were hurting from the hard pavement. I slowed down and Phil noticed. He encouraged me to keep going. He told me I "was going to make it to the finish line even if he had to pick me up and carry me." I laughed at him and said, "you can't carry me" and he said, "oh yes I can." We passed several Mercer basketball players who were cheering and carrying signs of encouragement. All along the way, the volunteers and school students made a point of being there to spur us on. 

At the 2 mile marker, a water station was available. We quickly grabbed 2 cups of water and kept going. I looked in front of me and saw a sea of people. I looked behind me and saw the same. It seemed we were now somewhere in the first third of the pack instead of at the very front, but that was okay. I looked down at my feet. I was in this race. I was walking and that's all that mattered. 

Between the 2 mile marker and the 3 mile marker I got really tired. My legs hurt so badly and I was just wiped out. I realized I was old and out of shape...no...I was old and had just had surgery! It's no wonder I wasn't feeling my best. I cut myself some slack and just kept going. Even though it was hard, I didn't stop. I started repeating Philippians 4:13 over and over again..."I can do all things through Christ who gives me strength." Yes! I could do ALL things...

I was so happy to see the 3 mile marker! That meant the finish line was just around the corner. The crowd started cheering as we neared the end of the line. Our voices rose together into one big "WHOOOHOOOOO!" Phil let go of my hand so I could cross the finish line alone. He'd held it for every step of the race but wanted me to do this part alone. I wasn't afraid any longer. I knew I could do this!

We were almost there...I could see the big inflatable start/finish trestle just in front of me. As I got nearer, I heard the emcee on his microphone. What was he saying? Was he talking about me? Yes! He said, "here's another of our brave survivors approaching. Let's make some noise for this beautiful lady in pink." As I approached the finish line, spectators on both sides began to clap and cheer. I felt like a celebrity on the red carpet! When I crossed under the finish sign, I was so relieved. A little boy handed me a red carnation and smiled the biggest smile at me. I thanked him and instantly felt peace. It was over. This race I had dreaded for weeks now, was done....and so was this chapter of my life. I knew I would never walk another breast cancer race again...not because I didn't want to, but because I didn't need to.

It all made sense now. God had encouraged me to sign up for the race. I needed a visual picture of the accomplishments I'd made over the last 15 months. I needed to see, feel, and understand all of the emotions I'd been suppressing. It had been a huge struggle to face all the challenges that had come my way as a result of a breast cancer diagnosis. There had been many ups and downs just like in the walk today with all the steep hills and valleys. It hadn't been my choice to participate in breast cancer. I'd just been forced along the way. I'd been led down a path I didn't want to travel, but I'd kept walking. I hadn't stopped. I'd kept fighting. I'd pressed on toward the goal!

God knew I needed closure on this chapter of my life and that's what the race represented. Yes, I'd been going through the motions...doing everything I'd been told to do. I'd had the required surgeries. I'd allowed myself to go through various treatments, all with a goal of getting better. Now it was time to move on and to stop focusing on the past. It was finally time to start looking toward the future. Instead of just surviving, it was time for me to thrive. It was time for me to live a life filled with happiness, excitement, and joy. I was not going to let cancer define me any longer. Yes, it had been a major part of my life but I wasn't going to continue to allow it to have place in my life. Indeed, I had cancer. There's no doubt about that but it doesn't have me. 

The race was a much needed event in my life. It signified setting goals and accomplishing them. So I  will continue to set goals and work toward completing them. With God's help and in His strength, I can do ALL things because He equips me and strengthens me to do them. 

I'm glad I signed up for the race and I know the reason I dreaded it so was only a spiritual attack from the enemy. He (Satan) wanted to rob me of all that God was going to give me by allowing me to participate in this event. 

My medal of honor

Today, my shins are killing me. I know it's from walking so fast and hard on that rough pavement but it's okay, I know they'll heal in time. There's an old exercise motto, "no pain, no gain." I don't know who said it first but it means, in essence, if you aren't willing to put forth the effort, even if it requires suffering, you won't gain anything from it. While that quote is true, I know God often uses painful situations to grow and stretch our faith. I like this quote better: “The stretching of your faith is immediate pain that results in ultimate gain. It is in the waiting that we become who we are meant to be.” ~ Mandy Hale

God uses all things for His glory. I know He's not finished with me yet. I know I have much to learn and much to accomplish before my life is over. I can't wait to see what journey He's going to take me on next! Stay tuned as I continue to document my life through my blog. 

©bonnie annis all rights reserved

Faux pas

I love foreign languages! Some of them sound so beautiful, especially the French language, but for some reason, when I was in highschool, I opted to take Spanish. Most of my friends were taking Spanish, so I took Spanish, too. We had a blast in class with our teacher, Mrs. O'Dali Morales.

Mrs. Morales was a short, wide, brown, woman with a thick, heavy, Hispanic accent. She didn't like tom foolery in her classroom but we always loved to cut up in there. I remember one day we were learning to roll our r's and everyone in the class was busy tickling the roof of their mouths with their tongues to produce the perfect "r" sound. Mrs. Morales stomped her foot and folded her arms. She shouted, "SILENCIO INMEDIATAMENTE POR FAVOR!" She wanted us to be quiet and wanted us to do it immediately. We stopped our whirring tongues and became very still. Mrs. Morales was not happy. We'd crossed the line.

While we were busy learning with Mrs. Morales, some of my other friends were studying French. French was beautiful language and seemed so romantic. But sometimes, as we'd listen outside the classroom door, it sounded like the students were talking with gravel in their mouths. I just didn't understand French. Spanish made more sense to me. It was very close to the English language and very easy to learn. I did try to learn a few phrases from my friends and today, the title of my blog contains one I'll expound on shortly.

About ten years ago, I had the opportunity to work for an ex Catholic priest. Every once in a while, he'd twine Latin phrases into our conversations. I wasn't very familiar with Latin and always asked him what each phrase meant. There was one in particular that he used often, "mea culpa." When I asked him what it meant, he said it meant "I screwed up...or through no one's fault but my own." That phrase came to mine today.

This morning, I got up bright and early. I had an appointment with my oncologist at 11:00 a.m. Every three months, I go to have blood work done and while I'm there, he does a checkup. He always asks how I'm doing and if I have any new symptoms. I had several things I needed to share with him today, so I looked forward to going and getting some answers.

It was a beautiful day! The air was crisp and the leaves were just starting to turn into beautiful shades of Autumn color. As I headed down my driveway, I hoped the weather would be this perfect all weekend.

I arrived at the medical complex next to the hospital and since I'd arrived a little early, I sat in the car talking on my cellphone to one of my daughters. We had a nice chat and then I noticed it was almost 11:00 a.m. so I ended the call and went inside.

In the lobby, a large, black woman was standing by the directory. She stopped me and asked if I could help her and then she said something. I couldn't understand her because of a thick accent, which was apparently Jamaican, so I asked her to repeat herself. She said the same words again and I still couldn't understand her. I could tell she was frustrated and I really was trying to help her, there was just a communication issue. She reached up and tapped her heart and said the words again. Ahhh, I finally could grasp what she was trying to tell me. She was hunting the cardiologist's office. I quickly found it on the directory and told her where to go. I smiled at her and waved, saying "have a nice day!"

The short elevator ride to the third floor dropped me off just outside Dr. F's office. I took a minute to stop by the restroom and then walked up to the counter to sign in. The receptionist asked my name. She looked at her computer and then up at me and said, "Mrs. Annis. We have you down for the 29th. We called and left you a message, did you not get it?" I could feel my cheeks begin to turn red as I explained that I had not received the message. She apologized and said the doctor had her reschedule several appointments due to an emergency situation. I felt so dumb. This was the second time in 6 months that I'd committed the blunder of coming to his office on the wrong day.

In my head I was shouting, MEA CULPA, MEA CULPA!!! What a terrible faux pas! I felt MUY ESTUPIDO right about then! (And I'm sure you can guess what that means...but if you can't, it means "very stupid" in Spanish.)

I nodded to the nurse as I walked out of the office. She was kind and understood my embarrassment. She even apologized at my having not received the message and motioned for me to wait a moment so she could check the phone number they had on file for me before I left.

A little snipped from one of my childhood TV shows, Hogan's Heroes, popped into my brain as I walked quickly to my car. Colonel Klink was shouting at Sargent Shultz in German as he waved his arms...."DUMMKOPH!" (That means stupid person or blockhead.)

I'll admit, I did feel a little foolish and my love of languages waned a little this afternoon. It's pretty bad when you beat yourself up for making a mistake and you don't even do it in your own language! Oh well. LO SIENTO (that means "I'm sorry" in Spanish.) At least I feel a little cultured in my blundering and if I can't laugh at myself when I screw up then I must be LAME. (And that's English slang for just plain stupid.)

Don't you feel dumb - Major Payne

© bonnie annis all rights reserved

Clinging to hope

Last night, my husband and I went to visit an elderly neighbor. We'd met this sweet lady when we moved into our new home last year. As we were busy unloading boxes, she pulled up in her golf cart to offer us some fresh tomatoes she'd just purchased from the local fruit stand. I took the tomatoes from her and introduced myself. When I told her my first name, she smiled a big smile. "Really," she said, "Bonnie's my first name too!" I told her I was very surprised. I explained that I was named after my aunt and she told me how she'd received her name but I can't remember what she said at the time. We chatted for a bit and I introduced the rest of my family to her. Before she left, Bonnie handed me a slip of paper with her phone number on it and told me to give her a call when I had time. I promised I would and we watched her drive away. I mentioned to my husband how nice it was to have met one of our neighbors and he agreed.

About a week later, after we'd gotten all of our belongings moved in and arranged, I came across the slip of paper with Bonnie's number on it. I picked it up realizing I'd never given her a call and made a point to call her later that afternoon. When I finally got around to calling her, Bonnie was cheerful and full of helpful information about the neighborhood. We had a delightful conversation and I promised to call her again soon.

Two months later, I was diagnosed with breast cancer. One day, as I was feeling pretty down, I called to talk to Bonnie again. I shared my news with her and she told me that she, too, had been a victim of breast cancer. She explained that 22 years ago, she'd been diagnosed. She'd gone through all the radiation and chemotherapy, had fought hard, and had beat it. Her news was encouraging to me and I thanked her for sharing. Just hearing that she'd already lived past the typical 5 year mark the doctors give all breast cancer patients, I was very hopeful.

Throughout the year, I touched base with Bonnie several times. As I was going through treatment, sometimes I didn't feel like talking on the telephone so I'd email her. Bonnie and I developed a sweet friendship and soon, in order to delineate which Bonnie was which, my new neighbor decided to call herself "Bonnie over the hill" referring to her age. I became "Bonnie up the hill" since my house was on a hill and I lived above her. Our emails continued and Bonnie shortened her nickname to Bonnie "OTH." I did the same and signed off Bonnie "UTH."

For some reason, several months passed by and I didn't see or hear from Bonnie "OTH." I began to worry about her and wondered if perhaps something had happened to her. She lived alone and didn't have family close by to check in on her. One day she was so heavy on my heart and I shot her a quick email asking how she was doing. Her reply shocked me...her cancer had returned.

I called Bonnie "OTH" and talked with her. I could hear the devastation in her voice as she explained about her test results. She never expected the cancer to come back after all these years, but it had. My heart broke for her and at the same time, I felt my expectations fade. When I'd first heard about her surviving for 22 years after her first round with cancer, I expected to have a similar outcome...now I wasn't so sure any more.

Time slipped away and before you know it, the summer was gone. We hadn't seen or heard anything about Bonnie "OTH" in a long time. I told my husband that I was very concerned and told him I was going to get in touch with her so we could plan a visit. Once again, I sent her another email. I asked if she would mind a short visit and she replied she'd love it. So we planned to go after dinner and stay for about half an hour or so.

I was nervous as the time drew near for us to go and see her. I don't know why, but I felt a hesitation in my spirit. As the clock neared 7:30 p.m., our scheduled visitation time, I gathered up the potted plant we'd purchased for Bonnie (some beautiful Fall chrysanthemums) and a book I thought she might like.

The road was rough as we traveled over it. Gravel roads can get filled with potholes when left unattended after heavy rains and her road was filled with them. I bounced and jiggled all the way there. When we pulled up to her house, I could see someone sitting on the front porch in a motorized scooter. I knew instantly that it was Bonnie. We got out of the car and greeted her. She seemed glad to see us.

As  I went up the stairs to her front porch, I could see a marked change in Bonnie's appearance. The last time I'd seen her, she had a head full of reddish hair. She'd looked healthy but old. This time, her hair was very sparse and her skin was paper thin. She looked like she'd lost a lot of weight and had been struggling physically.

Bonnie motioned for us to have a seat on her beautiful old porch. I chose the rocking chair next to her and my husband sat just across from her so we could all talk easily. I noticed on the table by Bonnie's chair were many pill bottles. There was also a bottle of liquid medication. We asked Bonnie how she'd been feeling and she explained she'd had to begin treatments again. The chemotherapy had caused horrible mouth sores and made it difficult for her to talk. The liquid medication was for easing the pain of the mouth sores and so I told her not to feel obliged to speak. She nodded her head and agreed to just listen. We chatted a while and she did take time to ask me how my cancer journey was going. As I shared, she looked sympathetically at me and nodded her head. She understood completely.

Bonnie sat huddled in her rocking chair with a thick sweater wrapped around her. She also sat underneath an outdoor heater (the kind restaurants use so their customers can eat outdoors even in chilly weather). It had turned off a little cooler, but 78 degrees didn't seem cool enough for all that to us.

When I noticed Bonnie starting to look tired, I stood up and told her we'd better go. We didn't want to overstay our welcome. I asked if Bonnie had anyone that checked in on her daily and she replied no. She pulled something out from around her neck and told us it was a Life Alert necklace. She explained she'd fallen 3 times in the last couple of weeks and had been unable to get anyone to help her. Her daughter, who lives in another state, made Bonnie agree to wear the necklace telling her it would give her peace of mind knowing help was just a button push away. I told Bonnie she could call us at any time and we'd come immediately to help. I made a mental note to check in on her every few days. We said our goodbyes and I bent down to hug Bonnie. I could feel her bony shoulders through the sweater and realized her poor, little body was declining rapidly.

I didn't talk much on the ride back home. It was so hard to see Bonnie in her current state. It was only natural, I guess, to think about my own mortality now. I'd never really given it much thought. After surgery, I just figured I was now "cancer free" although the doctors had never said it.

Tomorrow I will see my oncologist again. Every 3 months I go for checkups. I'll mention several things to him that have been concerning me...my overwhelming lack of energy, insomnia, and a new lump I've found in my neck. I'm hesitant to mention the lump for fear of more testing, but you see, that's the thing with cancer. You're always on the lookout for anything new because it could show up any time, any where. That's why the doctors tell you to pay close attention to your body after diagnosis and that's why so many women freak out at any and every little lump or growth they find. Bonnie's cancer came back in her spine and has now traveled to other parts of her body. I can only imagine how she felt when she discovered a change that signaled a red flag to her doctor after 22 years.

Seeing Bonnie "OTH" was very difficult. It made me realize how very quickly things can change. I felt so sorry for her and I was so glad we took the time to visit with her. I wondered why Bonnie chose to go through treatment again. She'd already been through it many years earlier, but why now, in this late stage of her life? When she was younger, I'm sure she chose to go through it to prolong her life. Chemotherapy and radiation are so hard on a young person. I can't begin to imagine how difficult they must be on a person in their 80's. But that's the thing...we always cling to hope, don't we? When we stop hoping and stop fighting, cancer wins...so we can never give up. We have to keep on fighting. Bonnie is my hero. She's fought this battle once before and won.I surely hope she can do it again. If she can do it, I can too.

This weekend, as I walk my first 5K with the Susan G. Komen "Race for the Cure," I'll be walking for Bonnie "OTH" too. She can't physically be there, but I'll walk in her honor. Bonnie "UTH" will make it a point to keep going even when the battle is tough. I have to cling to hope, just like Bonnie "OTH."

©bonnie annis all rights reserved

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