Recycled

Pieces of broken clay pottery

I've always loved pottery and the uniqueness of each handmade piece. Every trip we make to the North Georgia mountains, I beg my husband to stop at little pottery shops so I can scour the shelves for something special to add to my collection. There's one place in particular that I love to go, the Mark of the Potter, just above Helen, Georgia. In that little shop, there's always a potter's wheel set up in the middle of an upstairs room and if you're lucky, you'll catch the potter just as he or she takes a large lump of wet clay and throws it onto the spinning wheel. I could stand there for hours watching as the potter shapes and molds the clay into something special. As I watch, I always wish I'd taken pottery lessons.

I don't know why pottery captures my heart so, but it does. Maybe the scene from "Ghost" with Demi Moore and Patrick Swazye has something to do with it. In the movie, Demi Moore is an artist who uses pottery as one of her favorite mediums. There's a romantic scene at the potter's wheel where Demi is working on a piece of clay and Patrick, her live in boyfriend, sneaks up behind her and sits with her at the wheel. He places his hands over hers as they guide the clay into shape. Inevitably, Patrick causes the clay form to come off center and it begins to wobble. That's no big problem for a potter though. It's easy enough to just collapse the piece and start again.

As I thought about pottery this morning, I remembered some information an old family friend shared with me as a teen when I was taking a hand throwing class in pottery. Although I would rather have learned to use the potter's wheel, I was thankful to just be learning about pottery in general. Ann Nunemacher, was a dear friend of my mother's and she had agreed to teach a hand throwing class during one summer at a Girl Scout camp. Since I've always been interested in any and every sort of craft you could imagine, I was ecstatic to find out she was going to teach. Ann's trade was graphic design, but she was skilled and knowledgeable in many different art forms. I was thankful she was willing to impart knowledge to a group of giddy school girls.

In our first class, Ann taught us all about the different types of clay. She taught us that the clay contained air bubbles and if a piece of art was made without breaking those bubbles by hand before firing or curing the clay, the piece would become weak and break. In order to break the bubbles, the clay had to be repeatedly thrown against a hard surface. This is how the name for the class was obtained..."hand throwing." It wasn't easy to work with the clay. It was very hard and unpliable. Water had to be added in small amounts at a time and it had to be gently worked into the clay to render it workable. We learned to master the clay by adding just the right amount of water to make it soft enough to work, but not so wet that it wouldn't hold together well. When we had the clay at the perfect consistency, Ann taught us how to use potter's tools to shape and cut designs into the wet clay. We were allowed to be as creative as we dared and if we needed help or guidance, Ann was right there. Since we had no kiln at our Girl Scout camp, our clay pieces had to be air dried and cured. It would take many days in the hot Georgia sun for the pieces to be completely dry.

Some of the girls became impatient in waiting for their art to dry. They would pick up the piece, not heeding Ann's warning, and then shudder in disappointment as their piece fell apart. Instead of sweeping the pieces up and throwing them into the trash, Ann explained that the broken pieces of clay could be crushed and added to the new, wet clay forming an even stronger clay for the next throwing. The ground up, broken pieces were called "grog." The cool, wet clay was called "slump." It amazed me how the broken, normally discarded pieces could enhance the workable clay making it stronger. This concept caused me to think about my life as it is now.

God has allowed me to be broken many times in my life. Just like the clay, He's taken my broken pieces and used them to make me stronger. He has allowed me to be crushed and shattered but not for my own purposes. He's allowed it for His purposes. During my times of brokenness, I have experienced not only a weakened spirit, but a weakened body. Just like a potter's clay vessel, spinning off center on a potter's wheel, what I thought I was intended to be wasn't what I was at all. My image of myself didn't always line up with God's image and more often than not, He would cave in the sides of my wet clay and start all over again...remolding, reshaping, reforming. At each trial and at each instance of suffering, He took the broken pieces and added them back into the "slump," the moldable me, making me stronger not only in my faith, but also in my spirit.

There have been many times when my body was broken. I've suffered many physical ailments, surgeries, and broken bones. There are times when my brokenness hasn't been visible to the human eye...the times when my heart was crushed through disappointments or unmet expectations. In each instance, God has done a restorative work. He's taken the broken pieces of my life and fit them together again making an even stronger, more usable vessel.

I still have "learn wheel throwing" on my bucket list and one day, I know I'll learn that skill and cross it off the list. Until then, I'll keep watching God as He takes the strong, firm, dried pieces of my brokenness and adds them to the soft, weak parts of my life. That process gives me new strength and makes me even more usable for His glory.

Trials and brokenness are never easy, but who am I to tell the Master Potter what I think! I'm so thankful I was able to take Ann's class and learn all about clay and pottery. I'm even more thankful that God has used that knowledge to teach me more about His way of using, molding, and re-sculpting my life from shards of brokenness into a vessel of beauty.

©bonnie annis all rights reserved

The word that came to Jeremiah from the Lord: "Arise, and go down to the potter's house, and there I will let you hear my words." So I went down to the potter's house, and there he was working at his wheel. And the vessel he was making of clay was spoiled in the potter's hand, and he reworked it into another vessel, as it seemed good to the potter to do. (Jeremiah 18:1-4 RSV)

But now, O Lord, you are our Father; we are the clay, and you are our potter; we are all the work of your hand.Isaiah 64:8

You turn things upside down! Shall the potter be regarded as the clay, that the thing made should say of its maker, “He did not make me”; or the thing formed say of him who formed it, “He has no understanding”?Isaiah 29:16

Has the potter no right over the clay, to make out of the same lump one vessel for honorable use and another for dishonorable use? Romans 9:21

Seasons

As I sit at my computer this morning, I look out over my wooded lot and marvel at the change in seasons. The leaves on the trees are turning from a deep shade of green into various hues of oranges, reds, and browns. There is a brisk, cool breeze blowing and an air of anticipation on the wind...I can feel it. Autumn is here! My favorite time of year when the mornings are cool and the nights are scintillating. When fires in the fireplace and cups of hot chocolate are so very near...seasons. "For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven... a time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up what is planted;  a time to kill, and a time to heal;

a time to break down, and a time to build up; a time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance;  a time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing; a time to seek, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away; a time to tear, and a time to sew; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak;

a time to love, and a time to hate; a time for war, and a time for peace." Ecclesiastes 3:1-8

This season of my life seems to be a time of change. I'm no longer in the Spring of my life, the time when I would have considered myself young and vibrant...thriving. Neither am I in the Summer of my life, a time when I would be constantly on the move, going and doing. No, I'm in the Autumn of my life. Things that were once green and alive are in the process of changing and dying...like the sloughing off of unneeded and unnecessary layers. The transformation, though painful, hasn't necessarily been a bad thing. In fact, I think it's been rather good.This Autumn of my life has forced me to see things in a different light. Instead of feeling helpless and hopeless, I feel a sense of eagerness at something new on the horizon...just like Sam Cooke's song, "A Change is Gonna Come," I feel a change coming...something will soon be different in me. 

My life has been so rich and so full. For 56 years, I've lived every single day to the fullest. I've made goals and dreamed dreams. I've grown and changed over and over again. First from childhood into adolescence, then from adolescence into a adulthood. I've enjoyed being a wife, a mother, a friend. I've experienced life as it's come full circle...as I've watched grandchildren be born and older family members die. There have been seasons of joy and pain, but one isn't complete without the other. Seasons. Life keeps going. Cancer has helped to change me and is still in the process of refining me even further. I'm no longer the person I once was in the past. I am different now...but in a good way.

As I stand watching leaves swirl around me, dancing on the wind, I wonder if I'll ever dance again. The leaves of my life are changing color one by one. The leaves must change color and fall dead to the ground so the Spring can come again with new life...a time of renewal and growth. To every thing there is a season and a time...this is my time for shedding negativity, for sloughing off unmet expectations, for dropping old hurts, bitterness, and unforgiveness. It's a time to let go. And as I release the parts of my life that are no longer needed, I'll stand bare in the Winter of my life, waiting with great expectation for Spring to come...new life, new leaves, a new season. Cancer, like the season of Autumn, has come for a time but it won't stay forever. It has come to help me remove the dross from my life and prepare me for the Springtime. I can feel a change coming and I know it's going to be a good one. Autumn may be here for a while yet, but Spring is on it's way.

©bonnie annis all rights reserved

My feet long to hike again

 Today is a beautiful, rainy Fall day. I love these days when the constant rains usher in the beautiful colors of October and November. The air turns crisp and clean making me feel happy to be alive. This is the time of year that makes me long to be in the mountains where I can hike and camp. I love being outdoors because that's when I feel so full of life. Maybe that's what I'm missing, feeling full of life.

Yesterday, at the radiation clinic, I talked with Dr. Santiago about my recent time spent in Piedmont's emergency room. I could tell by the expression on her face that she was concerned. When I was placed on the table for treatment, the radiation therapists gathered around me. It's hard to answer questions lying on an exam table, totally exposed, while surrounded by women peering down at you. I felt like a bug under a microscope. I wondered what they were thinking as they looked at my naked chest. Did they feel sorry for me? I'm sure my huge, ugly scars screamed out for empathy and compassion...and if they didn't, well surely my massive radiation burns did. After their questions were satisfied, we commenced with radiation treatment number 22.

Later in the afternoon, I went to see the cardiologist. The emergency room doctor suggested I followup with a cardiologist today and since I didn't have one here in Newnan, I had to search the internet for a board certified doctor. I'm very particular about my medical team and it's been challenging to find all new doctors since moving from the Stone Mountain area. After a little digging, I found a highly recommended doctor affiliated with Piedmont Heart.

It's always stressful going to see a new doctor and I try to make it as painless for myself as possible by providing very detailed information to them. I spent the hour before my appointment typing out details of all my medications, past surgeries, emergency contacts, and everything I thought they might need. When I arrived at the office and the standard new patient forms were presented to me, I was happy to be able to only have to write the words "see attached." The nurse and the doctor were impressed that I'd take time to give them everything they needed. I explained that my history of working for medical doctors had given me inside information as to what doctors needed to know. I think the doctor liked that and he enjoyed not having to explain each bit of medical terminology to me as he proceeded to examine and diagnose me.

His immediate diagnosis was Pericarditis, an inflammation to the lining of the Pericardium. Dr. Mitchell felt like it had been caused by the excessive amounts of radiation given to my chest wall. Although he felt sure his diagnosis was on point, he wanted to rule out any other issues and scheduled an Echocardiogram and stress test for the 14th of October. I've had both of these tests in the past and know what to expect. I was thankful that everyone in Dr. Mitchell's office was kind and compassionate. The nurse was as sweet as she could be and made sure to treat me with dignity. The receptionist was attentive and helpful. It makes a huge difference when you know you're not just a number or a statistic.

Perhaps after I complete my radiation treatments and get through all of these tests, I'll be able to start living again. I can't wait to drive up to Cloudland Canyon and do some hiking. I love walking around the upper rim of the canyon and looking down into the sea of endless fall color on the trees. As we journey down into the canyon floor, I love hearing the sound of rushing water from a nearby waterfall. I can't wait to go back again. I hear the canyon calling but it will have to wait just a little while longer...

©bonnie annis all rights reserved

The hits just keep on coming!

Yesterday started out in a weird way for me. I never sleep past 6 a.m., but yesterday, after a fitful night's sleep, drifted into a very sound sleep around 5:00 a.m.I thought I was dreaming and hearing a distant phone ringing, but after the ring increase in volume, I realized it was no dream. I jumped out of bed and looked at the clock. It was 8:30 a.m. On the phone was one of my daughters, who calls every morning to check on me.

The day seemed to go downhill from that wakeup call because later that afternoon, I began to have chest pains. At first, I didn't think anything about them, but when they didn't go away, I began to get worried. It felt like a deep, aching pain right in the center of my chest. I'd never felt that way before so I called the nurse at the radiation clinic and told her what was happening. She asked me to take my blood pressure and give her the results. My blood pressure was 155/91 and my pulse was racing. She told me to call 911.

When the ambulance arrived, the paramedics began working on me. They hooked up a 12 lead EKG and began to run the test. As the strip came out of the machine, one of the paramedics said, "she's throwing PVCS." I wasn't surprised by that term because my cardiologist had mentioned it before at one of my office visits. PVCs are premature ventricular contractions. That means the ventricle beats before it's supposed to beat and throws off the heart rhythm.

I was strapped to a gurney and put in the ambulance where 3 paramedics began working on me. The first thing they did was hook me up to oxygen and then gave me 4 baby aspirin. Next they began trying to find a place to insert an IV line. When you're a breast cancer patient who's had lymph nodes removed, it complicates things. You aren't supposed to have any blood pressures, IVS or needle sticks to your arms because it can exacerbate Lymphedema.

They tried to find a good vein in each of my ankles. Those were too small. So they told me they'd have to use my left arm, the one with the least amount of lymph nodes removed from it. I watched as first one EMT and then the other poked and prodded on me trying to find a vein. Now those IV needles aren't little and it feels like you're having bamboo shoved up underneath your fingernails...in a word, it hurts! They started in my hand and gradually moved up my arm. In total, they tried 6 times in my arm, twice in m ankles. The last EMT told me that if he couldn't get it, they'd wait til the hospital could do it. I asked why an IV was needed and was told if they gave me nitroglycerin, it could make my blood pressure bottom out quickly and the only way they could bring it back up was to pump IV fluids.

I arrived at Piedmont Newnan Hospital around 4:30 p.m. The EMTS transported me from the triage area into a room and the hospital nurse came in and began her assessment. After asking a zillion questions, she hooked me up to oxygen and another 12 lead EKG. Then she came at me with a needle. After 3 attempts, the nurse called in a retired firefighter who specialized in placing IVS. His name was Keith. Keith took his time and looked all over my arm for a suitable place to insert the IV. After about 10 minutes, he had an IV line in and ready, but no fluids were administered. 

The nurse was able to draw blood from the newly inserted IV and began running a Tronipin test. That test is one that looks for cardiac biomarkers. The biomarkers, if elevated, indicate heart attack or other cardiac damage. After she'd completed her test, I was sent to the XRAY department for chest XRAYS. After the films were done, I was taken back to the room to wait.

Apparently, last night was a crazy, unusual night at the hospital. The nurse came in several times to apologize for the long wait. She said they had many PSYCH patients in triage and were short staffed. Along with those patients, she said there were many people who had come in thinking they had EBOLA because of the recently televised case that had popped up in Texas.

I waited for hours. Around 10:00 p.m. they came in to get me for a CT scan with contrast. When I got to the CT room, the nurse there looked at the IV and said it wasn't in the vein deep enough for the contrast to flow through so she refused to administer it and sent me back to the room. After waiting another 15-20 minutes, Keith, the retired firefighter, came back in the room again to remove the first IV and reinsert a new one. He'd almost run out of options because I had been stucked so many times and he couldn't use one of the previously punctured sites. Finally, after twisting my arm around and back, he found a spot on the underneath side of my forearm. It was very painful to have the IV there but I sucked it up and just dealt with the pain. They had to do the CT and they had to have an IV for the contrast. When he was done, Keith contacted the transport department again and I was on my way back to the CT lab.

If you've never had a CT with contrast, let me tell you...it is a weird feeling when the dye goes into your body. You feel an overwhelming warmth, like hot, molten lava flowing through your veins starting at your arm and working its way down your body. The strangest sensation was when it reached my abdomen and then all of a sudden my pelvic area. I wish they had taken the time to explain how I was going to feel because I really thought I'd wet my pants right there on the CT table! The warm liquid gives you that sensation but I didn't know that until after the fact! After the CT I was taken back to the room to wait again.

At 12:00 a.m. the doctor came in and said my XRAYS, CT, BIOMARKERS, and all the blood work looked okay but they needed to run another Tronipin test again. The nurse came in to draw more blood and run the test. At 1:00 a.m. the doctor came in to tell me that they were going to let me go home if I'd promise to follow up with a cardiologist today.

Jamie, my youngest daughter, and I left the hospital at 1:30 a.m. and headed home to try and get a few hours of sleep. We were both exhausted. I tried my best to be quiet and not wake my sleeping husband, but he immediately woke up to get an update. (He'd been with me at the hospital until Jamie arrived and then had to leave so he could get up and go to work at 5:00 this morning.) After I told him what was going on, he turned back over and went to sleep. I lay there for hours trying to relax and calm down enough to go to sleep.

This morning, I woke up around 6:30 a.m. At least I'd gotten a few hours of sleep. Today I'll go to have my radiation treatment done and then I'll head off to the cardiologist for a followup. My arms and ankles are black and blue from poor needle sticks. I hope the cardiologist doesn't think I'm a druggie! I just hope he can figure out what caused the chest pains last night and hopefully help me not to ever go through that again. It's a very scary feeling when your body is doing something you have no control over. I'll keep you posted as I find out more information. Hopefully, this was just another blip on the radar....

Some kinda crazy

On Facebook yesterday, someone had posted this ad for No Bra day on October 13th. I don't understand how setting one’s"ta-ta’s" free for a day by going bra-less is in any way supporting breast cancer. Another thing that bothers me is all the ads trying to make breast cancer look sexy. Breast cancer is definitely not sexy. In fact, it's the farthest you could ever get from sexy! But the ads people come up with amaze me. At least they are creative and trying to raise awareness in their own strangely unique way. 

I'm not trying to be cynical in this post, it just baffles me how the folks who prepare and pitch these ads just don't seem to "get it." They don't seem to really understand the concept that breast cancer is a life altering, body altering, and emotionally altering disease.

Take a look at this woman's photo. I don't know her personally but the photo was shared on the SCAR PROJECT's website. This photo is a good representation of the "un-sexiness" of breast cancer.

 
The SCAR Project is a series of large-scale portraits of young breast cancer survivors shot by fashion photographer David Jay. Primarily an awareness raising campaign, The SCAR Project puts a raw, unflinching face on early onset breast cancer while paying tribute to the courage and spirit of so many brave young women. You can visit their website here: The SCAR Project Their mission is three-fold: raise public consciousness of early-onset breast cancer, raise funds for breast cancer research/outreach programs and help young survivors see their scars, faces, figures and experiences through a new, honest and ultimately empowering lens. I'd love to be part of that project as both a breast cancer survivor and as a photographer. I can think of no greater honor.
 
Now to give you an idea of how silly some ads can be, look at the photo below. November is prostate cancer awareness month. I'd like to issue a new challenge...on November 13^th lets…..SET THE BALLS FREE and see how big that movement goes over! I'm willing to bet you won't see any ads like this floating around and I'm willing to bet you won't find any men going around sans pants. Now do you see my point? Do you see how ridiculous some ads are in the world of breast cancer? I rest my case!

Counting down

For the past 5 weeks, my life has centered around trips to and from the radiation clinic. Every Monday, I get to see Dr. Santiago, my Radiation Oncologist. During our visit, she checks my skin and asks me how I'm feeling. It's gotten to be quite a routine exchange of words. Yesterday was a little different:
Dr. Santiago: "So how are you feeling today?"
Me: "Fine"
Dr. Santiago: "How's your energy level?"
Me: "I'm a little tired and don't have quite as much energy as I'd like to have right now."
Dr. Santiago: "That's normal. You have to remember your body is trying to heal. Rest when you need to and don't push yourself."
Me: "Okay, I'll try."
Dr. Santiago: "Let me take a peek at your skin."
Me: (I open my gown and hold it open for her to view the radiated area. Pointing to my underarm, I say this:) "It really hurts in this area."
Dr. Santiago: "Yes, that's always the case where there's a body fold. Skin rubbing against skin and clothing rubbing against the burn can cause a great deal of pain. Try using gel ice packs under your arm but be sure and wrap them in a towel or some sort of cloth first."
Me: "Okay."
Dr. Santiago: "So, you've completed 19 treatments now."
Me: "Yes!"
Dr. Santiago: "You only have 9 more to go."
Me: "Really? I thought you had said 35 originally?"
Dr. Santiago: "That's correct, but from reviewing your xrays and according to your treatment progress, I think we can cut that down to only 28.:
Me: "That's great!"
Dr. Santiago: "So, are you still using the Radiaplex gel and the Silvadene on your skin?"
Me: "Yes."
Dr. Santiago: "How many times a day?"
Me: "Three times a day, as instructed."
Dr. Santiago: "Good! Your skin looks like it typically should for this time frame of your treatment. I know the burns are uncomfortable."
Me: "Yes they are but the gel really helps."
Dr. Santiago: "How are you sleeping?"
Me: "Not very well. I toss and turn all night. I can't get comfortable."
Dr. Santiago: "You can take the pain pills I gave you every 4 hours."
Me: "Thank you, Dr. I don't want to take them if I don't have to because I don't want to get dependent on them."
Dr. Santiago: "Is there anything else?"
Me: "Not that I can think of today."
Dr. Santiago: "Well, then, I'll see you next week, you can start counting down."
Me: "YAY!"

What I'm thinking:
So today will be my 20th treatment and after today, there will only be 8 more to go! I should be finished by next Friday, October 9. I wonder how I'll feel that day...should I celebrate...will I feel lost not having the routine of going to and from the clinic in my life every day? I guess I'll have to wait and see. The next step will be going back to my Oncologist, Dr. Trevor Feinstein. He'll draw blood and use those tests to determine my cancer markers and then, I'll begin anti-hormone therapy for the next 5-10 years. Wow. As I just wrote that, the reality of cancer controlling my life for the rest of my life is very real. I'll be constantly going to one doctor after another for check ups, blood work, and treatment. Yes, I'm thankful that the radiation part of it will be over...so very thankful! Yes, I'm thankful I didn't have to have chemotherapy...extremely grateful for not having to go through that agony...but where do I go from here? How do I get back to just living my life? Was this just a tiny blip on the radar? Will I have a constant fear that cancer may be lurking in the shadows and jump out at me in the future? I never want to think about recurrence! Maybe if I just don't ever think about it, I'll never have to deal with it. October is breast cancer awareness month. Everywhere there will be pink ribbons and reminders for me. How am I going to handle that? Will I be emotional? Will I try to avoid all reference to breast cancer? I'm not a huge fan of all the walks, celebrations and parties that seem to minimize the reality of cancer but it is what it is...the ones of us who've been through hell and back have a different view on all of it...some might even say we're cynical, but that just isn't the case. We are just tired. We've been stretched beyond our limits and we've spent so much energy fighting that we just want a break....we wish we could turn back the hands of time, but we can't...we are forced to face reality and reality is ugly. But on the other hand, we're thankful to be alive! We just experienced the worst scare ever and the words "you have cancer" hung a death sentence over our heads. But we don't give in, we press on. We fight and sometimes we win. It's a fifty/fifty chance and only God knows the outcome. In any event, I'm glad the countdown is on and after today, I'll only have 8 more treatments in front of me. I think I can do this. No, I know I can. I've made it this far and I'm not going to stop now.

©bonnie annis all rights reserved

The fortune teller

The county fair just left Coweta county. I had planned to go this year, but that was before I got cancer. I love fairs! I love the sights and the sounds...the people, the lights, the smells, the energy. Fairs are fun and exciting. I can be a kid again at the fair.

When I was a child, I remember going to the Southeastern Fair every year when it came to town. I always went with my next door neighbor. Her family was kind enough to invite me to go with them. Mama and Daddy always managed to sacrifice a few dollars for me to buy a bag of popcorn, get some cotton candy, or ride a few rides. Melinda and I were so giggly and silly riding in the back seat of her Mother's station wagon. We couldn't wait to go through the house of mirrors or the haunted house. We loved crashing into each other in the bumper cars. We were ecstatic that in just a short time, we'd be entering the fair grounds, buying a long row of tickets and waving goodbye to her Mother.

I'll never forget one year in particular when we went to the fair. I don't remember all the details of how we ended up there, but we found ourselves sitting at the fortune teller's table as she read our palms. Melinda went first and I have no idea what the fortune teller told her, but when it came time for me, I remember distinctly what she said. I must have been about 10 years old at the time. I know I was impressionable and very naive. I hadn't experienced the world yet. The fortune teller was a woman around her early 60s. More than likely she was a gypsy woman because her mannerisms, speech, looks, and everything about her pointed in that direction. We sat at a round table in a dimly lit area. If I'm not mistaken there was a candle on the table because I remember a faintly glowing light. The old woman asked me to give her my hand. As she reached across the table, I timidly stuck out my arm. She took my arm and twisted it over gently so my palm was facing up. She peered into my hand and began to trace the lines with her fingertip. "Do you see this line?" she said in a gruff voice, "this line represents your life. It is called your life line." I leaned in close and looked with her at the palm of my hand. "Do you see how the line stops in the middle of your hand?" I looked and saw that the line curved slightly and stopped almost in the dead center of my hand. "That means you have a short life line. That means you won't live very long." When she said that, I remember feeling extreme dread. I was suddenly scared! She continued holding my hand and said, "I see 56 years. I see 56 years of life." Well, for a 10 year old, that seemed like a pretty long time, but still...I had planned to live a lot longer than 56 years! I don't remember us staying at the table with her after she said that. I'm pretty sure, I jumped up and couldn't wait to get away from there. I'll never forget that day. I never told anyone about what the fortune teller had told me.

Now I know you're thinking I'm being really superstitious, but keep reading and let me tie this together. I'm not a believer in black magic, the occult or any kind of sorcery. I'm a Christian and I know that only God knows the number of days He's allotted to me on this earth. I'm using the fortune teller to help you understand how I've been feeling lately. I'm not trying to give any credence to the predictions the old gypsy woman made, but please hear me out. At 56, I was diagnosed with breast cancer. Before receiving my diagnosis, I was a fairly outgoing person. I loved hiking, camping, traveling...living every day of life to the fullest and now, everything has changed.

Yesterday I was filling out an questionnaire sent to me by the Social Security Administration. I had recently applied for Social Security Disability and they needed more information. On the form, they asked a lot of personal questions, as all government agencies do. I did my best to answer them all honestly and truthfully. The questions were geared toward understanding how my life had changed since I'd been diagnosed with cancer. They wanted to know how it had affected me emotionally and physically. They wanted to know if it had caused me any physical limitations, etc. etc. As I was filling out the form, each question made me realize that I had indeed experienced great life changes since my diagnosis. No longer did I want to go out in public, no longer did I want to participate in activities, no longer did I find joy in the things I had before...as I answered the questions, I was realizing that the old me, the me before cancer, had in fact died. At 56...I had died. The fortune teller, although putting on a guise for silly children at a county fair, had been partially correct. She had said I would die at the age of 56.

Now whether her statement stayed with me subconsciously for all those years and just recently resurfaced, or whether I'm just relating to that memory with recent circumstances, I don't know...but I do know that I have definitely changed. I feel like a part of me has been lost and will never be able to be regained again. Maybe over time, after I've healed a bit more, I'll find my "want to" again. I'll find my desire to live life to the fullest again. But right now, I'm just not there yet.

I know this is a long process and each breast cancer survivor has to work through this on her own. I know that God has never left me and He understands my feelings of despair at times. He was always so patient with Job and allowed him to grieve over the loss of his past life. And, in His great mercy, although He allowed Satan to touch Job's life in such a profound way, He restored Job. He blessed him with even more than he had before. He gave him a reason to find joy in his life again. Job never lost sight of what was really important. Things and even people didn't matter to Job. The only thing that mattered was his relationship with Christ. I know that too. I know that the only thing that really matters in my life is my relationship with Christ. Right now, I feel like I've lost the old me and I feel like I've died to some degree. But I know God has so much more for me.

Sometimes I feel like I'm back at the fair only this time, I'm on the merry go round. It's going around and around, faster and faster, it's going. It is constantly moving and I'm going up and down on the wooden pony, but never reaching my destination. I look around and as I'm traveling, I watch different bits of my life passing by. I want to stop and get off but I can't. How long will I feel this way? How long until I feel myself again? Was the fortune teller right? Had I died at 56? Was this all a terrible dream that I can't wake up from?

No. I'm a realist. I know I'm not dead and I didn't really die at 56. Yes, a small part of me is gone. The part of me that was self confident and self reliant. But as I think about it, maybe those parts needed to go because if they were still part of me, I wouldn't be forced to rely on God as much as I do now.

The county fair is gone now and I didn't get to go this year. It wasn't because I couldn't, it's because I didn't have any desire to go. I didn't want to be around massive amounts of people. I didn't want to have to put on my fake boobs and go out in public. I wasn't feeling well physically. It's probably a good thing I didn't go too, because if I had, I'm sure I would have seen a gypsy fortune teller there and I would have been reminded all over again about my past experience as a child.

Isn't it amazing the memories we store up in our minds from childhood? We are so impressionable. The memory of the fortune teller wasn't a pleasant one and is one I'm choosing to forget as of this day. I wonder if she ever knew how her statements affected all the children who placed their hands in hers? I wonder if she cared or if she was only interested in that dollar she made from each one?

I'm sure there are many who honestly do believe in palm reading and fortune telling but I'm not one of them. I know those things are tools of darkness and are not to be dabbled with by Christians. I wish I'd never sat in the fortune teller's chair all those years ago, but we didn't know better back then. We thought it was just a part of the fair...something fun to do, but it was so much more.

Yes, a part of me died at 56, but the rest of me still lives! I may not be the same person any longer, but I'll be a better person...a changed person. I'll be different because of what I've experienced and hopefully, I'll have grown. I know that Jesus lives inside my heart and He wants me to live life to the fullest. I'm taking one day at a time. I'm so thankful He's patient with me. It's a process and He's guiding me into more Christlikeness.

I don't have to look at my palm to see how long I'm going to live! Only God knows the answer to that question. It's not for me to know and I'm thankful I don't! If I knew how long I had left to live, I would always be focusing on my expiration date instead of focusing on today. Living in the moment has become my new way of life and I think I like it that way. It's a short time frame to focus on and I can handle that.

©bonnie annis all rights reserved

 

2 Corinthians 6:13-15New King James Version (NKJV)

¹³ Now in return for the same (I speak as to children), you also be open.
¹⁴ Do not be unequally yoked together with unbelievers. For what fellowship has righteousness with lawlessness? And what communion has light with darkness? ¹⁵ And what accord has Christ with Belial? Or what part has a believer with an unbeliever?