The healing power of touch

Have you ever received a hug during a time where you felt stressed? Perhaps you received a handshake after an important meeting or just cuddled with your spouse at the end of the day. How did you feel? Were you able to let go of some stress? Did you find yourself starting to unwind and relax a little? Could you feel the negativity and worry in your day start to slip away? If you did, you experienced the healing power of touch. 

Did you know that researchers are investigating whether this feel-good energy, the kind we experience during gentle touch, has an impact on our well-being. They have discovered when we experience friendly, affectionate touch, our bodies release Oxytocin. Oxytocin is sometimes called the love hormone. This hormone can help lower blood pressure, decrease the stress-related hormone Cortisol and increasing pain tolerance. 

One of my favorite ways to show love to my family was through the power of physical touch. In my office, I set up a massage table. Beside it, I placed a portable CD player and some massage oils. Whenever my husband or children were feeling stressed, I'd offer to give them a massage. Quietly I would set up my room by dimming the light or closing the blinds. I'd put some soft instrumental music into the CD player and warm the massage oils. I wanted their experience to be as pleasant as possible. 

When I began to massage my first "client," I could feel the tension and stress in the muscles. I always began with a soft, gentle touch and then used more firm pressure as I went along. I could see the muscles begin to lengthen and stretch as they were gently massaged. Talking in low, soothing tones, I would ask for guidance in problem areas. After about an hour, I had completed the massage and my "client" was either sound asleep or so relaxed he/she could hardly move off the table. I enjoyed giving the gift of my touch to them but I never received a massage in return. 

After my surgery, I was unable to give massages any longer due to the Lymphedema in my arms so I gave my massage table away. The kids were disappointed and I was too. No longer would I be able to give them free stress relieving massages. They'd have to go elsewhere. And as I was healing from surgery, I began to realize how much my body ached...and then, it dawned on me! I had never even had a massage myself!

While I was healing, my family members knew to be very gentle with me. Hugs, when  given, were extremely light - barely even felt. My body longed for physical touch but while my surgical scars were mending, I didn't receive any. 

The first time I felt like having a back rub was about 6 months after surgery. The muscles in my back were screaming out in agony and I begged my husband for a mini massage. He was so afraid he was going to hurt me. Gently, he applied lotion between my shoulder blades. As he began smoothing the lotion into my skin, I began to cry. Immediately, he asked, "am I hurting you?" I shook my head, no, as he continued to work. I explained to him that I was crying because the physical touch felt so soothing and it had been so long since I'd had anyone touch me at all. It was at that point that I realized how very powerful touch can be. 

Studies have been done on infants who were deprived of physical touch. Those infants became lonely, isolated and troublesome children. This lack of physical affection often led to emotional disturbances, hyperactivity, aggressive behavior and conduct disorder problems while infants who received daily touch thrived. There have also been studies performed on the elderly and infirm. The same types of behaviors were noted in the elderly as in the deprived infants. Hospitals and nursing homes where the older patients did not receive regular physical touch withdrew, isolated themselves, or became aggressive. 

The skin is the biggest, most important organ of our bodies. It contains millions of sensory nerve endings and those nerve endings help protect us as they indicate sensations like heat, cold, and touch. It seems that as we experience touch, we focus on the feeling, warmth and relaxation it provides instead of focusing on any worries, anxieties or pain. Any time we can refocus our mind to a relaxing place it has a positive effect on the body. 

AT&T used to have a slogan, "reach out and touch someone." While their catchy slogan seems to indicate physical touch, instead, it was referring to communication via telephone. Their slogan, is an important one with regard to physical touch too! Our bodies desire physical touch. Have you ever been standing face to face with someone, while having a nice conversation, and the person lightly reached out and touched your arm? What did you do? Did you recoil in disgust? Did you do nothing and continue talking? The way you responded speaks volumes about your reaction to touch. 

There are both good and bad touches in our world today. Physical and sexual abuse are forms of bad touches. But the touches our bodies crave are those touches that are filled with love and concern....caring touches. Are you a touch-y feel-y kind of person? Do you find yourself placing your hand on someone's shoulder as you console them? Do you extend your hand in greeting? Explore adding more touch to your day. You can do this by reaching out to friends and family members as you talk or greet each other. If you feel comfortable, add a little touch to the arm or a short hug as you first see them. Hold your grandchildren in your lap or snuggle close while you read together. Hold hands or walk arm in arm with the one you love — it all makes such a difference. 

There is healing power in touch...it's a kind of magical power. God has given us the desire to touch and be touched. To those experiencing physical pain, a light, gentle touch can often convey so much without the addition of words. I know for myself, physical touch is one of my love languages. It's one of the ways I receive and express love to others. 

When extending the gift of touch to someone with cancer, be aware that many times their bodies are hypersensitive. This hypersensitivity can come from cancer treatments like chemotherapy or radiation. Be attentive to what they say as well as to what you observe. It is best to ask before touching. The patient may have fresh scars or burns from radiation. Being sensitive to their physical and emotional needs, you can discern whether physical touch would be welcomed or best left to a family member's attentive hands. Many cancer wellness centers offer healing touch therapy. A licensed massage therapist has been specifically trained in dealing with cancer patients and their physical limitations. Specific treatments for manual lymphatic drainage and other specialized massage techniques are best left to the professionals. 

Remember, physical touch can be a blessing when shared at the proper time. Light, gentle touches are best. Don't be afraid to touch, but if in doubt, as permission first! 

© bonnie annis all rights reserved

The fight continues

If you've been following my blog since its inception, you'll remember that I was diagnosed with Stage 2B Invasive Ductal Carcinoma on June 5, 2014. On July 9, 2014, I had both breasts removed as well as 6 lymph nodes (because the cancer had traveled from my breast into my lymphatic system through one sentinel node) - 4 in the right arm and 2 in the left. The type cancer I had was fed by both Estrogen and Progesterone and was not fed by the Her2Neu hormone. (If you are familiar with medical staging, my diagnosis is listed as pT2, pN1a, MX, ER/PR+/Her2Neu-  (That, in a nutshell, means exactly what I told you from the first sentence to the last.)

After my surgery, I went through therapy which consisted of 28 rounds of radiation. My Oncotype DX, the test used to determined the probability of recurrence, was a 7 out of 100 which indicated a very low recurrence rate although my cancer was very agressive. I took that specific number, the number 7, as a sign from God that my dealings with cancer were complete (because 7 is the Biblical number of completion) and I was sure that my medical treatments were over and God had completely healed my body.

My Oncologist wanted me to start on the routine post surgical chemo treatment and prescribed Arimidex to be taken daily. Although I believed my cancer to be already completely gone, in order to be proactive, I followed doctor's orders and started taking the medication. I took it for 2 weeks and became extremely ill. Every bone and joint in my body felt like they were on fire and I could barely walk across the room. I instantly knew that medication was not going to work for me and told the doctor. He promptly prescribed the old tried and true breast cancer drug, Tamoxifen, and asked me to take it for a while. (I was told I'd be on chemo meds for the next 10 years. In the past, treatment was only given for 5 years but recent research, it was found that 10 years offered more protection from recurrence.) Once again, I followed doctor's orders and took the Tamoxifen. After two weeks and countless side effects, I decided to stop taking the Tamoxifen and take a more natural route to proactive treatment for healing. I told my oncologist about my decision and cringed awaiting his response. Instead of berating me and telling me to find a new physician, he smiled and said he'd support me in whatever I decided to do. Thus my quest for natural ways to combat cancer began.

I began pouring over internet articles, medical journals, and holistic healing manuals. I read countless blogs and real life accounts of other breast cancer survivors. I took every bit of information I could and recorded those various tidbits in a journal. One by one, I researched them. I discarded the "off the wall, way out in left field" treatment suggestions, and I've kept the documented, "proven" options.

In March, after completing the trials of chemo drugs, I began my journey to better health by also making drastic changes to my diet. After reading "Beating Cancer with Nutrition" by Dr. Patrick Quillen, I discovered many documented nutritional supplements that not only promoted good health, but possessed cancer fighting properties. I'd like to share those with you in hopes that they will bless someone else as they begin their own cancer journey.

One of the main things I learned from reading Dr. Quillen's book is that SUGAR FEEDS CANCER CELLS. Oh how I hated to learn that fact. My oncologist agreed with Dr. Quillen's research and said since the cancer I was diagnosed with was fed by Estrogen, I would have to be diligent in losing as much weight as possible. When I asked him why, he told me that fat cells produced Estrogen and Estrogen fed the cancer. And where do you think fat cells come from??? Fat cells are formed when we ingest TOO MUCH SUGAR! The body stores that extra sugar or glucose in our cells and those expanded cells show up on our bodies as, you guessed it, FAT. So, as much as I love ice cream and brownies, they were going to have to disappear from my diet.

When I returned to see my oncologist the following month, he sat down with me and we discussed what I was doing to stay healthy. I watched his face as I rattled off each supplement, each nutrient, and each weapon I was using in my fight. I think he was impressed that I'd done extensive research. Many of the tools I'd chosen were ones he was very familiar with but then, there were a few he was unfamiliar with and wanted more information on.

Some of my family members were concerned that I'd chosen to "go natural" in my approach to fighting cancer and others were behind me 100%. For me, it only made sense to follow a holistic approach. I'm a firm believer that God has given us everything we need for healing of any disease or malady through His gifts in nature.

Below, you'll find a list of things currently in my arsenal. While these things are currently working for me, I want to add a disclaimer here and encourage you to discuss any natural healing therapies with your physician should you wish to include any of these in your own health regimen.

My daily cancer fighting regimen:

• Organic Matcha green tea (green tea has been used for centuries in China and Japan for fighting cancer)
• Supplements - Vitamin C (tricks the cancer cells into thinking they're getting glucose but helps destroy the cells instead of feeding them), Vitamin B 12 (for energy), Vitamin D and Calcium, Fish oil (helps line the cell membranes and lower blood glucose by making insulin more effective) Probiotics and Greek Yogurt (helps create and maintain healthy bacteria in the stomach and intestines), Chlorophyll capsules, Ashwaghanda capsules
• Water and lots of it! (filtered of course) Lemon added helps flush toxins from the body
• Protein (60-100 grams of lean protein a day)
• Deep colored fruits and vegetables (if not organic, I wash them well in a vinegar/water solution and try to eat all with outer skin intact instead of removed because this is where the nutrients and vitamins are located.)
• Cinnamon added to foods helps stabilize blood sugar levels 
• Exercise (walking is my exercise of choice but anything that allows your body to take in more oxygen the better. Cancer cells are anaerobic so the more oxygen you can pump into your system, the more the cancer cells don't like it!)
• Tomatoes (they contain Lycopene which helps suppress cancer growth.)
• Berries like blueberries, raspberries, and blackberries (they contain Ellagic acid which helps kill cancer cells)
• No sugar! Instead, I use Stevia which comes from a natural plant. Honey and even Raw Cane Sugar turn into glucose in your body.
• Fiber (I try to eat as much fiber as I can naturally but when I can't, I take a daily supplement like Citrucel or Metamucil.)
• Garlic (it contains natural antibiotic properties so I use it in most of my cooking and even eat it raw)
• Spices that help fight cancer: Curry, Ginger, Mustard
• Good oils: Olive Oil, Coconut Oil, Evening Primrose Oil
• Eliminate stress (if you can't remove the stress from your life, remove yourself from the stressful situation! Stress is a cancer instigator!)
• Detox (I try to Detox my body by fasting at least one day a week or if not for a full day, for at least 2 meals of the day.)
• And last, but by no means least, prayer. Praying and focusing on God are my number one weapon against cancer, but I listed them last so you'd be sure to remember them. 

I have to give you a little science/history lesson before I end my blog post today. Hippocrates was a Greek physician of the Age of Pericles, and is considered one of the most outstanding figures in the history of medicine. He is referred to as the "Father of Western Medicine," and is famous for the "Hippocratic Oath." He learned medicine from both his father and his grandfather. He believed doctors should analyze symptoms on a case-by-case basis, instead of having blanket causes and/or cures for each disease. Hippocrates is known for many famous quotations. Among them are these two: "It is necessary for a physician to know about nature, and be very eager to know, if he is going to perform any of his duties... what man is in relation to what he eats and drinks, and in relation to his habits generally, and what will be the effect of each upon each individual" and “Let food be thy medicine and medicine be thy food.”

My great Aunt was a Naturopath so I guess the study of natural healing is just in my blood. Doesn't it just make sense to use food to heal our bodies? After all, God made our bodies complex, with all of the wonderful, marvelous systems in place, so we would be able to process and digest food while taking in all of the valuable nutrients from what we ingested. If we lived back in Biblical times, when people lived as hunter/gatherers, we'd have the most natural form of fruits, vegetables, and the most organic forms of meats and fish. But today, with all the chemicals and pesticides that smother our produce and poison our water sources, it's no wonder we face a myriad of diseases and illnesses. We must be responsible for our own health, to the extent we can be.

For the breast cancer survivor, it seems scary to step out of the regimented routine of medical advice and trek out into the world of natural healing. For some, it may seem impossible but for others, like me, it makes the most sense of all. As Cicero once said, "Suum Cuique." (Which means: to each his own.) Each patient/survivor must carefully consider his/her diagnosis and discuss options with his/her physician to make the most informed, best choice that can be made. I'd like to encourage those traveling the breast cancer journey to consider taking the natural route if it's at all possible for you. I am so thankful I realized I had a right to make the choice I made. You have a right, too. Do your research. Ask questions. Don't just feel like you have to accept the standard, routine method of treatment. It's your body. Once again, in the famous words of Hippocrates, "Let food be thy medicine and medicine be they food."

May you live long and prosper (thanks, Spock!)

©bonnie annis all rights reserved

Introspection

341 days. 491,040 minutes. Those are the units of time that have passed since my diagnosis and they've given me plenty of time for reflection...introspection...thinking. I've thought of so many things since that day. I thought my head might explode, but it didn't. Thinking for hours on end has kept me from sleeping and yet, as I've processed my thoughts, I think I've made great progress.

I've wondered a lot. I've questioned God over and over again...so much so, that when I pray, He probably shakes His head, rolls His eyes, and thinks to Himself, "oh no, not her again!" All I've wanted to understand was why I was allowed to have breast cancer enter my life. Was it used as a teaching tool? Was it a wake up call? Was it a genetic fluke? Was it from my own poor choices? None of these questions has been answered, but the one question that has been answered, "Why me?" was answered with another question several months ago. When I asked God, "Why me?" The reply I felt in my spirit from Him was, "why not you?" And that question, started my avalanche of thoughts once again.

When someone is diagnosed with a devastating disease, often medical professionals recommend counseling to help the patient understand and process their emotions. With breast cancer, at least in my case, I was offered nothing in the way of counseling or any type of mental support. I've had to deal with it on my own and that's okay...I've learned over the years how to handle things through my own determined strength and my faith in God.

The thoughts have changed since I was first diagnosed. In the beginning, I could only think about the next phase of treatment and how I was going to get through each one. When treatments ended, I began thinking about how I was going to survive in the days, weeks, and months that were approaching. Every once in a while, I'd think about the possibility of recurrence but I didn't linger on those thoughts for long. I didn't want to devote time to thinking about the "what if's." Currently, I think about the 1440 minutes I have in this day and what I'm going to do with them.

It's amazing to me how cancer has shifted my focus. Instead of always thinking ahead, I've learned to be in the moment. Realizing that I have 1440 moments in each day, I try to make the best of them. I'm more careful with them. I try not to let any of them slip away unused. I know I can't store them up for use another day...once they're gone...they're gone.

Each morning, when I wake, I thank God for the minutes ahead of me. The ones I've yet to use. I ask Him to give me wisdom to know how best to use them for they are like precious gems to me. I don't want to squander them, I want to spend them wisely.

The quiet solitude allows me to constantly think and question. As I think, I'm reminded of an old TV commercial that said, "a mind is a terrible thing to waste." How true that statement to be. Although my mind wanders and thoughts run rampant through it on a continual basis, I'm thankful I have a clear mind, one not ravaged by disease...a mind that is capable of thinking different thoughts every second of every minute of every day, and all the thoughts I think are all mine. I can share them if I choose to share them and keep them safely hidden inside if I choose not to share them.

I wonder how many thoughts I've "thunk" over the past 341 days? I'm sure, if I'd counted them, I would be amazed. I wonder how many minutes it's taken you to read this post. What could you have done with those minutes? Did they matter to you?

Cancer is a scary disease. It's a time thief but then again, it can help you realize just how very precious time is and then, when you realize those moments are priceless, you begin to count them and consider what to do with them. 1440 minutes in each and every day. How many have you wasted today? Maybe it's time for a little introspection on your part...

© bonnie annis all rights reserved

Psych exam

Yesterday I had an appointment for a psychological exam with the Social Security department. I don’t understand why they require a psych exam for disability benefits but, whatever. I’ve been jumping through hoops for the past 7 months in an effort to obtain acceptance into their disability program. I’ve filled out paper upon paper. I’ve submitted tons of medical documents and I’ve already been denied benefits once. After the last denial letter came, I decided to appeal it. A friend of mine told me that 99% of the applications are denied at least once. I was shocked to hear that.

I had no idea what to expect as I entered the Social Security Services building. There was a small counter directly across from the front door and as I went up to it, I saw a clipboard with some papers on it with a small webcam mounted in the corner of the room. Within a few minutes, a woman came to the counter and explained she’d be with me shortly. She asked me to take the clipboard and complete a list of medications I was currently taking.

I took the clipboard and pen and sat down in one of the black vinyl covered chairs. I surveyed the room noting the furnishings were sparse. This must be an office designated for use by multiple businesses, I thought to myself. As I sat filling out the list of my medications, my husband sat quietly in a chair beside me. He’d come along because the instructions on the disability exam notice said to bring someone who was able to explain my current health issues.

A few minutes passed and the psychologist came to take me back to her office. We walked down a narrow hallway into a small room. Inside the room was a tiny desk. On top of the desk was a laptop computer. There was a chair behind the desk and two chairs in front of the desk. The psychologist motioned for me to have a seat in one of the chairs in front of the desk. I wonder which one I should take…the one closest to the door or the one furthest away? Will she evaluate my decision on which chair I choose? I took the chair furthest from the door. I felt more comfortable against the wall. I sat there and watched as she began to type information into the computer. She glanced up and asked for my Social Security number and as I gave it to her, she quickly entered it into the system. Shouldn’t they already have that information? I’m sure they did. This must have just been a formality for her own program.

The psychologist, a petite woman of very slight build, was dressed in retro fashion. I was surprised to see she was not only wearing a sweater vest, but also cuffed, bell bottom, double knit pants. As she crossed her legs underneath the open desk, I could see she was wearing white hosiery with her clunky beige shoes. I wondered if she had purposely chosen this outfit or if she was trapped in a fashion time warp. I wanted to laugh as I stared at her pants. They reminded me of a pair of wide bottomed, cuffed pants I’d had back in the early 70’s. Those pants almost killed me! I remember coming down a set of stairs in them one day and my high heeled shoe got caught in one of the bell bottomed cuffs. I began to somersault down the stairs and landed with a thud hitting my head on the wall at the end of the landing. I hated those pants because of that scary fall and now, I was being reminded of it once again because of her pants. It’s funny the things that jog our memories, isn’t it?

She leaned across the desk and told me we were about to begin. She explained the exam would take about 50 minutes. Odd number, I thought. Why not just say, it will take about an hour? Maybe that was a psychological mind game. She began asking me questions and inputting my answers into the computer. To begin with, the questions were generic, name, age, marital status, number of children etc. Then we progressed on to work history. Next was medical history and then physical limitations. As I explained each item, she busily typed away. She rarely glanced up at me but when she did, I could see compassion in her eyes.

After the psychologist had completed the current information, she told me we were going to move into the mental part of the exam. We’d talk about my emotions and my mental status. Afterwards, she said we’d do some math problems and work on some memory tests. I wasn’t concerned about any of these because I felt confident I’d remained fairly healthy in my thinking over the past year. Sure, I’d faced many challenges and I’d had many emotional meltdowns, but I was doing pretty good under the circumstances in my personal opinion.

She asked me if I’d ever suffered any depression or had thoughts of suicide. I told her I did have some mild depression over having both breasts removed but I’d never thought of killing myself. I explained to her how devastated I was to have lost my femininity and she nodded her head in understanding. She moved on to a new subject and asked if I had any difficulty dressing and undressing myself. I explained to her that I was unable to put on or take off any blouses unless they buttoned up the front. She said, “so your husband has to dress you?” I smiled and said, “yes, pretty much.” She asked me to elaborate on this and I told her about the lymphedema in my arms and how the swelling prohibits me from having a complete range of motion. She asked if this was a temporary situation and I explained to her that it was permanent. As I went into a detailed description of how the lymphatic system works, she sat there and looked at me like a deer in headlights. I was surprised she wasn’t aware of this medical issue. She must have read my mind because immediately she said, “I’m not a medical doctor. I’m not trained in these types of things.” I smiled and completed my explanation.

When we’d finished the physical limitations aspect of the exam, she began giving me a battery of tests. She started out with memory tests. She told me she was going to give me 3 words and she wanted me to remember them because sometime down the road, she’d ask me to repeat them back to her. She said 3 words and then continued with her testing. About half an hour later, she said, “Now I want you to tell me the 3 words I told you to remember.” For the life of me, I could only remember 2 of those words! I was dumbfounded. She told me not to worry. She said, “Many of the breast cancer patients I work with have short term memory problems due to their treatment.” I couldn’t help but be bothered. I was downright scared, truth be told. I was afraid I was getting early onset Alzheimer’s or something. She conducted more memory tests and I don’t think I did well on them at all, although she said my long term memory was great. The short term, not so much. She began giving me mental math problems and I think I did well on those. She made a comment to that effect, anyway.

Finally, the exam was over. She abruptly closed her laptop and said, “We’re done here. I’ll submit this report and you’ll hear from the Social Security department shortly thereafter.” That was it. She motioned for me to exit her office and as I walked down the narrow hallway again, I felt my head pounding. I’d had a migraine headache since before I’d walked into this office and it was still with me. I’m sure it was stress related. I couldn’t wait to go home and take some Tylenol.

Now it’s a waiting game. I’m curious how this will turn out. Hopefully, I’ll be approved and begin to receive benefits soon. I think it’s a shame that we are required to pay into Social Security as soon as we start working and when we need to draw on those earnings, we have to fight for our right to our own money. It doesn’t make sense to me. Not only do cancer patients have to go through the trauma of dealing with physical and mental devastation, they also have to face financial devastation, too. The medical bills are astronomical and for those without any insurance whatsoever, bankruptcy seems to be the only option. There’s got to be a better way. I hope someday our government will change and make things just a little easier for those who need it most.

©bonnie annis all rights reserved

Reality hurts sometimes

I always hate going to the nursing home. It’s so taxing on my emotions. As we pull into the parking lot, my heart skips a beat. I know what’s coming next. Slowly, I walk across the parking lot with my bags of magazines and other items I’ve chosen to bring Mama today. When we approach the door to the building, I see my hand reach out to press the large black button that allows us instant access.

We walk into the entryway and I purposely avoid looking directly into any of the residents eyes…it’s too painful. I quickly survey the room with a sweeping glance and plaster on my huge “what a beautiful day” grin and we continue walking. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the heavyset African American woman, a double amputee, sitting in her wheelchair parked in front of the TV with the other residents. She seems strong and feisty. I know she sees me glance her way and I smile. She doesn’t smile back. I think she’s probably hardened herself to the glances of pity at her loss of limbs and she’s just learned to take it with a grain of salt.

The door to Mama’s room is closed. I stand in front of it and stare at the “please knock” sign for a few minutes before gently tapping on the door. There’s no answer but I know she’s inside because I can hear the TV blaring. I push the door open and peek around the corner catching her eye. She seems shocked to see us but happy at the same time. She doesn’t look away from the TV but just for a minute and we make ourselves at home in nearby chairs.

At first, we begin with the normal chit chat…how are you today? What’s been happening? Anything new with you? After a few pleasantries, and trying to talk over the TV, I ask if we can turn it off for a while. Reluctantly, Mama agrees and hands me the remote.

It’s nice to be able to talk without the constant noise from the television. As we talk, she mentions a recent trip that my sister made to Chile and as she’s talking about it, I pull up photos on my cellphone from my sister’s Facebook page to show my mother. She looks intently at the pictures analyzing each detail and committing them to memory. I continue pulling up various photos to show her and we talk about each one. We cover a myriad of topics and then the room becomes quiet. There’s nothing left to say to fill the void, so I try to think of a childhood memory that might help start up a new conversation.

Do you remember when you and Daddy took us to a sugar cane farm when we were younger? Where was that, Mama? She didn’t really remember but thought it might have been at a state fair. I had hoped to glean more details for my own memory bank but she doesn’t offer anything else and I let it drop.

A nurse’s aide comes in to bring the lunch tray. I get up to help Mama remove the lid and also to see what’s on the menu for today. There are chicken strips, pork and beans, coleslaw, potato soup and some sort of chopped fruit. There’s no color and it looks disgusting. I asked her if she ever gets fresh fruit and veggies and she tells me that it’s very rare to have those things. No wonder the people here have such sluggish movements. It’s not only because of their age but they’re not receiving vital nutrients they need either. I make a mental note to bring fresh fruit and veggies on my next visit.

As Mama picks at her lunch, I glance toward the end of her bed and notice her uncovered feet. Both of her feet are drawn into an unnatural position. Her toes are gnarled and curled under. While she’s eating, I ask if she can get out of bed. I would love to take her out into the garden on this beautiful, sunshiny day. She tells me she can’t. She has disks in her back that are very fragile and are in various stages of disintegration. How very sad, I think to myself, to be confined to a bed 24 hours a day 7 days a week. I don’t think I could stand it.

In just a few minutes, the TV comes back on. Mama wants to see a movie. Our conversation stops and she focuses on the actors on the screen. We sit and watch her as she watches her program. My husband is patient and understanding but I can tell, after a few hours, he’s ready to get back on the road. I send him a text and ask, “What time do you want to leave?” He responds and says, “Whenever you’re ready.”

We sit with Mama a little longer, watching the clock slowly tick the minutes away. I reach into my bag and pull out a Mother’s Day gift. I purchased a book I knew she’d wanted to read. Along with the book, I’d chosen a sentimental card. She thanks me for both and begins flipping through the pages of the book talking about the pictures inside. Her hands shake as she turns the page. I watch her eyes, intent on what she was reading and I realize time continues to march across her face as I count wrinkle upon wrinkle.

It’s time. I just feel it in my bones. It’s time for us to go. I lean down to kiss her and tell her goodbye. I try to come in close for a hug but I can’t get close because of the bedside railing. I try to maneuver around to the other side of the bed thinking I might have better luck there, but I still can’t get close enough. I manage to plant a wet kiss on her forehead and feel her do the same to my cheek. Oh how I wish I could get close to you, Mama. I long to be your little girl again.

We say our goodbyes and pack up our things. Mama is engrossed in her television show and barely seems to notice as we get ready to leave the room. The nurse comes in with some pills and before leaving, I ask about them. “What are they for?” I say. Mama explains that one pill is for nausea and the other is for pain. I ask if she’s hurting now and she says no but it helps to keep the pain she does suffer manageable.

As we back slowly toward the door, I look around the room. There are photos and family mementoes everywhere. My brother, sisters, and I have tried to make the room as pleasant as possible. We’ve tried to surround her with memories and love. Mama is content with her puffed corn and her movie. She doesn’t seem to mind being confined to bed at all. Just outside the window a cardinal flits by. I see the bright red brilliance and remember how very much Mama loves birds. I wish she could see it and I start to point it out to her but stop. I don’t want to interrupt her routine again. She’s settled and comfortable. We’ll just leave and maybe next time we can talk about birds.

My fingers press the exit code into the keypad. I try to use my knuckle to depress the numbers because of all the germs from previous users. We hear the door unlock and quickly make our exit. I wonder how many of the residents have tried to sneak out behind visitors when the door opens. As we depart, I look back and through the glass, I see the African American woman still sitting in her same spot, exactly where she was 3 hours ago. Two words cross my mind…stationary and still. How many hours do those residents sit in the exact same location without being moved? Do they sit there all day until some kind and caring staff member decides it’s time for a change? How do they survive their mundane existence? Many of them have already checked out through their gift of Alzheimer’s or Dementia but there are those sad few, the ones who are still of sound mind, who must struggle.

We pull out of the parking lot and I hang my head. My husband notices and says, “What’s wrong honey?” I tell him I am just so very sad…sad that things are the way they are for my mother and sad for all the residents who live there. I beg and plead with him to never, ever, put me in a nursing home. I tell him I can’t bear the thoughts of being held captive there. I make him promise me he’ll never put me in one and he does. He makes me promise the same.

We drive in silence over half the way home. I think we were both impacted by our visit today. When we arrive home, I am so thankful I can get out of the car and walk into my house. I’m thankful I can lock and unlock my door at will. I’m thankful I can get up and look out the windows whenever I choose to do so, and I’m thankful I only lie in bed when I’m ready to sleep or when I’m not feeling well.

Seeing a loved one’s health decline is not easy. The miniscule day to day changes are more evident when visits are infrequent. and seem to be magnified when viewed in their entirety. Geoffrey Chaucer said, “Time and tide wait for no man.” No matter how much I want to stop the hands of time, with regard to my mother’s aging process, I know I have no power to do so. It’s painful to watch her slowly decline but then again, “from the moment we are born, we begin to die,” says Janne Teller.

I guess the thing that makes it the hardest for me is knowing that one day she’ll be gone…and when she is, I won’t have my mother any more. But even though she’s still here, it’s almost like she’s already gone. She never asks me about me. She never seems to care what’s going on in my life. I know she still cares, but it would be nice if she would just ask. Even though I’m 57, I still need a mother.

There are so many days I want to pick up the phone and call her to ask advice or to just share a piece of news with her. When I do call, she doesn’t listen or perhaps she just can’t hear what I’m saying. She is either watching something on TV or is sleeping. At those moments, I realize, even though she’s still very much alive, my mother has checked out on her motherly duties. She’s no longer to be held responsible for offering motherly advice or fulfilling that role in my life. In the book, For One More Day, by Mitch Albom, his quote, while speaking of his own mother, explains exactly how I feel: ““But she wasn’t around, and that’s the thing when your parents die, you feel like instead of going in to every fight with backup, you are going into every fight alone.”

My father is gone. Both of my in-laws are gone. My mother is the only parental figure I have left in my life. I want to cling to her with all that is within me…but how selfish of me. I know she can’t shoulder my problems any longer. When I found out I had breast cancer, I wanted to run to her and hide in her skirt like a little girl and wrap my arms around her legs and cry, but she wasn’t there. When I called her and told her about my dilemma, she sympathized with me but offered no more. I needed her. I needed her to be there for me throughout my treatments and healing process. Instead, in the back of my mind, I kept hearing myself telling the little girl inside to grow up! To be an adult. To handle it. And so I did.

©bonnie annis all rights reserved

Canceritis

When I was first diagnosed with cancer, I immediately thought I'd been given a death sentence. I wondered how much time I had and I begin to become fearful. I went through all the motions, had the surgery, did all the treatments, and followed doctors' orders. I was a good patient. And now that my active treatment is officially over, I think I've developed a new malady...Canceritis.

It's common, they say, for breast cancer survivors to live in a constant fear of recurrence...after all, who wouldn't be scared to death that one of those random, rogue cancer cells might still be lurking around in your body? Surgeons can do amazing things but they never guarantee that they were able to "get it all." When treatment is over, it's difficult to go from being constantly proactive in fighting cancer, to allowing one's self to relax, let down the guard, and just get back to living life. Every new ache and pain causes a feeling of dread and a wondering of the big, "what if."

I was overcome by random pains yesterday. I hadn't felt anything like that since having my surgery. It was scary. Deep inside my right chest wall, there was a constant, nagging, very obvious pain. I reached up to touch the place where my breast once was and winced when my fingers brushed against my incision. As I felt along the surgical line, I noticed several places that were sensitive and enlarged. Had those been there before? Were these places of concern? Should I call my doctor?

I put some lotion on my hand and began to smooth it gently into my skin. I made a mental note of every lump and bump, every nook and cranny. I wanted to memorize what each place felt like so I could recheck in a day or two.

As I continued palpating my skin, I realized I have just a touch of Canceritis- a fear of the recurrence of cancer. While I don't want to admit that fact, it's definitely true. Canceritis has got to be one of the most common and least treatable side effects of breast cancer. There are so many remedies for other cancer side effects- nausea, hair loss, etc. The body heals, although it may often take some time, but the mind...that's another story. There's only one cure for that...faith.

How does a cancer patient learn to relax and let go of the fearfulness that a recurrence brings? The only way I know to combat that fear is by faith. Why should I allow fear of the unknown to have power and control over my life? I don't want to borrow trouble!

So instead of focusing on every little ache, every random pain, every new lump or bump I might feel, I'm going to leave the diagnosing to my medical staff. Of course, I will pay attention to my body and I will report anything that seems suspicious, but I'm not going to dwell on it and live in a constant state of Canceritis.

A couple of Tylenol knocked the edge off of the pains I was having in my chest. This morning, it's barely noticable. I'm thankful I don't have to walk in fear...that's a dangerous place to be. I'd rather think positively and realize I probably overdid it yesterday. I was quite busy and did lift several items I shouldn't have. Maybe I strained a muscle or maybe the scar tissue in that area was just loosening up a bit. In any case, I'm feeling better.

I never asked for cancer to come into my life. It was certainly an unwelcomed guest. There's a beautiful poem by Michael Hayes Samuelsen speaks so profoundly into the lives of Breast Cancer survivors and it has certainly meant a lot to me. I hope you'll enjoy it too.

Close the Door When You Leave

I never asked you to visit…at least I don’t believe I did
Maybe…I don’t know
It’s so confusing

At any rate, you’re a rude guest
You take my energy,
Rob my sleep, and with a stick

You swirl and distort my dreams
All right; You are here -- for now
But understand

There are two places
That are forever off limits

You may not tread on my spirit

You may not occupy my soul

I have heard of your visits to others
I know the damage you leave in your path
The wanton disregard for innocence, value, and what some would call fairness

Also, I hear that laughter confuses you; that good foods make you feel bad, and
That nothing causes you more distress than an autumn sunset, the forever blue of a summer sky,
Or the unconditional radiance of a child’s smile

Listen and understand
You might pilfer my closets, empty all the drawers, and trash my house
But there are two places forever off limits

You may not tread on my spirit

You may not occupy my soul

Do not mistake my nausea, weakness, and pain as signs of your victory
They are simply small dents in the armor I wear to fight you
Instead, look deeply into my eyes

They will once again remind you that there are two places forever off limits

You must not…

May not…

Will not tread on my spirit

You must not…

May not…

Will not occupy my soul

Canceritis may come and go. I'm sure in the days ahead I will experience more aches and pains that may lead me to become just a tiny bit fearful again. But those aches and pains along with that fear can only touch my body. It can't touch my spirit or my soul. I will not choose to walk in fear, but instead, choose to walk in faith. My days are numbered by my Heavenly Father and He is the only one who knows when He will call me home. Until that day, I've got a whole lot of living left to do!


©bonnie annis all rights reserved

Flying boobs

Well, today was an interesting day. Early this morning, I had a doctor's appointment. It was time for my yearly physical so I was thankful I wasn't going to another "-ologist." Since my husband and I had our appointments back to back, I figured what the heck, I don't even think I'm going to put my boobs on today. I'm finding that I'm getting more and more comfortable without them as long as I have a print blouse on that camouflages my flat chestedness just a little. So we jumped in the car and got on the road. When we arrived at the medical complex, there was only one other car in the parking lot. So far, so good. I didn't have to worry about hiding my chest.

Walking into the building, I was enjoying the cool breeze blowing through my hair. The weather had changed since yesterday and was cool enough for a jacket. Once inside the building, hubby and I chatted while waiting for the elevator to come down.

The waiting room was empty as we entered. We were the first ones at the desk and quickly got registered and seated. Soon we were each being called back for our appointments. I was taken back first and Phil waited to be called a few minutes later. The doctor diagnosed both of us with upper respiratory infections and prescribed medications. Next, we headed to the lab.

At the lab, I waited to be called back for blood work. I always have to remind the nurses they can't stick me anywhere but in my left hand and the tourniquet has to be placed near my wrist. They always look at me like I'm crazy until I explain that I have Lymphedema and that I've had both breasts removed as well as 6 Lymph nodes. You'd think they'd make a note of this in my chart since I've been to this same lab several times already, but they don't.

Finally we were done at the doctor's office and now it was time to find a quick place for breakfast. Fasting for blood work isn't fun when you're used to eating breakfast very early in the morning and we were both starving! Directly across the street from the doctor's office was another medical building that housed a small cafe. We grabbed some breakfast sandwiches and coffee and talked about our next appointment of the day.

After breakfast, we sped back to the house to change clothes for our next appointment. This one was much more important than the doctor's visit. Since we'd be going to downtown Atlanta, I decided to dress up a little and felt the need to wear my boobs. A high class office park would be full of business men and women. I didn't want to look like a frump, so I donned my camisole with the polyester fiberfill "poufs." They were so much lighter than the silicone breasts and I felt much more comfortable in them.

When we pulled out of the driveway, I glanced down at my chest. My boobs had migrated to the center of my chest and formed a "uniboob." I carefully separated the girls and patted them into position while I whispered, "stay" to them. On we drove and about twenty minutes later, I felt them rising up along my chest. They were just under my chin now. I told my husband that my boobs wouldn't stay put. He laughed and said, "take them off." So, I began trying to finagle the polyester forms out of the camisole without taking off my shirt.

After a lot of work, I finally got one of the boobs out. I was so glad! Now for the other one. The one on the left hand side was more difficult and try as I might, I couldn't get it out. We were driving down the road and I was lifting my shirt up trying to get the boob out. It was stuck on something! I asked my hubby if he could help but he said he couldn't because traffic was heavy and he had to keep his eyes on the road. I continued to pull and yank and tug. Finally, I was able to get the fiberfill form free of the camisole. I lay the two breast forms in the center of our captain's chairs and we drove on.

When we arrived at the office park, we had to valet park because there were no free parking spaces anywhere. I looked at my husband and said, "what am I going to do with my boobs?! I don't want the valet to see them!" He told me to hide them and I asked where. He said, "throw them in the back of the van!" So as we were pulling into the office park and circling into the valet parking area, I was madly pitching my boobs into the back of the van. The first one flew into the cargo hold perfectly, but the other one hit the window and bounced into the back seat. I scrambled to grab it and ditch it just as the valet came up to the window. Whew! Thankfully he didn't see them!

As we exited our car, a gust of cold wind blew into my face. I grabbed my jacket and held it up to my chest, not realizing I could have easily slipped it on. As we entered the building, I was clutching the jacket to my chest. I guess subconsciously I was trying to hide my booblessness from the elite business people walking to and fro in the common area.  At the base of the elevator, a huge smile came across my face. I couldn't help thinking about my flying boobs and wondering if the car behind us had seen those unidentified flying objects being hurled across the interior of our car. I wondered what in the world they must have thought if they did see me flinging something into the air. Flying boobs...what a concept!

© bonnie annis all rights reserved