The monster under the bed

When I was a young child, I was afraid of the dark. As daylight dimmed and I knew bedtime was approaching, I'd begin to get nervous. I'd beg my mother to let me leave the closet light on so my room wouldn't be completely dark. She'd chide me and tell me I wasn't a baby, but after a few terror filled nights, she realized I was deathly afraid of the dark and allowed me to leave the light on in the closet as long as I only cracked the door. That gave me some comfort, but I always had to check under the bed before I climbed in and even though I shared a room with my sister, I was terrified that something would reach out and grab my ankle in the middle of the night. Sometimes, I feel like cancer is the monster under my bed now. Though I know, in my heart, it's not there, it sure feels like it might pop out and take hold of me again.

Yesterday, I went to the cancer treatment center for a bone scan. My oncologist ordered it to make sure all was well. It's been almost 11 years since I was diagnosed, but I still return for periodic tests. I'm thankful my doctor is keeping a watchful eye on me. Walking into the center after a year, I felt nervous. Though I wasn't there for treatment this time, the memories of all I'd been through over the years haunted me. The sights, the sounds, the smells of sickness were everywhere. 

Living in fear is definitely not fun. You'd think, after all these years of being cancer free I could accept the fact that I'm out of danger, but that's not the case. I know there could be a rogue cancer cell roaming through my body and one day, it could start growing. Next time, I might not be blessed to find it as early as I did the first one. I hope I never have to find out, but I may have to face that fear head on in the future. 

It'd be great if surgery to remove cancer could completely eradicate it. It'd be even better if there was some sort of internal scanner that could prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that it was completely gone. PET scans, MRIs, CT scans and other tests do help, but I'm talking about a kind of internal high beam flashlight that is trained to look specifically for those deadly, wicked cells. 

Not long ago, I needed blood work. The technician had a hard time finding my veins because they're so tiny and she was limited to using only one arm due to my lymphedema. She tried several times and after missing again and again, went to get a lighted ultrasound scanner. Within seconds she'd found a vein and the needle was in. If we had a cancer cell finder like that, it'd be great but it would have to penetrate deep through tissues and muscles. I'd like it if it could work from the inside out, almost like radioactive dye works when having a thyroid scan. 

I imagine many have felt the overwhelming fear of a cancer recurrence like have. That fear has lessened over the years, but it's not completely gone. Some may think it silly to fear a possibility, but once you've experienced cancer, you don't ever want to meet that monster again. 

Though I'm grown now, I keep a nightlight on in my bathroom at night. It helps keep me from stubbing my toe or tripping over something. Sometimes, when I think back to my childhood, the feelings of those nighttime fears frightens me. It probably wouldn't have been so bad if my mother had talked with me and tried to soothe my fears or if she'd brought in a homemade bottle of colored water labeled "Monster Spray." It would have been great if she'd knelt with me and held the flashlight while I looked beneath the bed and fired away with the magic spray. At least then I would have felt like I had some sort of weapon to combat the evil. But cancer doesn't flee as quickly. Maybe that's why it scares me so. 

 

Breaking into Beautiful

Kim White

Recently, I watched a movie on the Angel network called Breaking into Beautiful. It's the extraordinary story of Kim White, a young woman faced with a rare, aggressive form of cancer called adrenocoritical carcinoma. It was both a heartbreaking and heartwarming story. As I watched the movie, I was dumbfounded at White's strength, courage, and determination. The movie documents her cancer fight through heartfelt videos and Instagram posts. Throughout her 6 year battle, Kim never gave up hope. She did everything in her power to beat the disease, including agreeing to try clinical trials and risky surgical procedures. The movie was raw and real. That's what made me want to watch it. 

When I was diagnosed with breast cancer in 2014, the same year as Kim, I did my best to share what I was going through with family and friends. I felt it important to present a true and accurate picture of what living life with cancer was like. I never wanted to hide what I was going through and though my cancer was very different from Kim's, I still faced many very challenging battles. 

I wrote a book about my journey and was surprised when some family and friends criticized me for being too open about my struggles. They felt some of the things I shared should've been kept behind closed doors, but I chose to share those intimate details in hopes of helping someone else. I felt it incumbent upon myself to do that. 

I don't find myself thinking much about cancer these days. It's been 11 years since the day I heard, "You have cancer," so it's not an integral part of my life anymore. I do, however, like to read books about survivors or watch movies that share their stories. It's been interesting to see how each individual chooses to face the challenge of fighting the disease. Some choose to give it all they've got, like Kim White did, and others resign themselves to the fact that they're going to die from the disease, so they don't put up much of a fight. Personally, I don't understand how someone wouldn't want to do everything in their power to fight. In my experience, cancer can't touch an indomitable spirit.  

Faith was a key element in my battle and also in Ms. White's. It seemed to be the secret key that powered our resolve. Knowing God and God alone knew the number of days allotted us, allowed us to come to a form of acceptance. In essence, whatever happened, whether we lived or died, was going to be okay. 

Right now, as I sit in my office, there's a large whiteboard on the wall. On it, I record daily prayer needs. Currently, there are a dozen specific needs, each shared with me via phone, text, or social media. Of those twelve requests, 7 are for people struggling with different types of cancer. The majority of those people fall into the 30-45 year old age group, and that makes me so sad. It seems they're in the prime of life and should be enjoying life with sheer abandon instead of fighting diligently each day to survive. 

Kim White only lived to be 32. She was a daughter, wife, and mother. In between her various treatments, the movie showed Kim's determination to grab every ounce of gusto she could from life. She wasn't about to just roll over and die. 

As the movie covered her cancer journey, the physical devastation to her body became more and more evident but each time she endured treatment, she seemed to rebound. During those times of recovery, she went hiking, rock climbing, snowboarding, and swimming. She was determined to squeeze every good moment out of every day she was given. In one scene of the movie, Kim is shown with a shorn head traveling down a slip and slide with her young daughter. Her frail body clings tightly to the love of her life as she squeals with glee. When I watched that scene, it did something to me. It made me realize, even on the best days of my life, when I'm not struggling with any health issues, I don't live like that. 

Health is something many take for granted and I'll admit, until I was diagnosed with cancer, I did the same. Cancer was a huge wakeup call for me. It made me realize life is short and I never know when my number will be up. 

Since watching the movie, Breaking into Beautiful, I've been reminded I'd better get busy living. Instead of letting each day pass in the typical mundane way, I want to live like Kim with exuberance and joy. I've realized cancer can only steal from you what you let it. If you allow it to steal your joy and hope, you have nothing left. 

I'm so thankful to still be here 11 years post diagnosis. Kim only got 6 years of life after finding out she had cancer. In March, I go back to the cancer treatment center for my annual checkup. As I watch the day draw nearer and nearer on the calendar, I start to get this niggling feeling in the back of my mind - what if I face a recurrence? How would I respond to that news? I'd like to think I could be as determined and strong willed as Kim was in her fight, but I'm not sure I would be. 

My first (and hopefully last) go round with cancer was difficult but not unbearable. Physically, I've pretty much recovered other than the challenge of lymphedema, an unexpected gift cancer left me after having lymph nodes removed. Mentally, I'm in a much better place now than I was 11 years ago, but there are still days I feel less than. Spiritually, I feel like I'm stronger now than I was back then and I can honestly say thank you to cancer for that, but it's been tough. No one can truly understand what it's like to fight cancer until they're in the midst of the battle, but watching real life stories like Kim's can surely provide a heaping dose of reality.  

Kim lived a remarkable life and her story will inspire many for years to come. I'm thankful she wanted to openly share her journey with the world. Who knows how many people, myself included, will change the way they face each day because of her example.

Cancer connections

In 2014, after being diagnosed with breast cancer, I went on a quest to find alternative ways of fighting the disease. I didn't want to go through traditional treatment - surgery, chemotherapy, radiation, and then anti-hormone pills for years afterward, so I started digging. I read any and everything I could find on holistic and non traditional means of combating the disease. There was a ton of information out there and at times, my research became overwhelming. I was determined to find a way to win the battle I'd been thrust into and I was willing to do whatever I could to do it on my terms. 

I found the most helpful information as I studied Chinese medicine. Some of the treatment options were pretty easy and others more difficult. I gleaned as much as I could and adopted many of the ideas hoping to extend my life for as long as possible. Some people laughed at me as I began drinking 3 or 4 glasses of organic Matcha green tea a day and they didn't understand the boundaries I put up to help reduce my stress, by I didn't care. It was my life and I was going to live it to the fullest. This July 9, I'll celebrate 11 years of being cancer free. I attribute that to the healthy methods I incorporated into my life, to my faith, and to stress reduction. 

I've never understood why so many of my friends decided to accept traditional treatment after being diagnosed with different forms of cancer. I wondered why they didn't do a little digging to try to find a better way. Of the friends I've made since my diagnosis, there are only one or two still living. I can only attribute those odds to the horrible devastation their bodies faced as they were pumped full of deadly chemicals in an effort to eradicate cancer cells. Did they know chemotherapy also killed their healthy cells? Probably not. I doubt seriously doctors told them. Another thing I've never understood is why doctors don't suggest to patients, as soon as they're diagnosed, there are other options. A good doctor, one seriously committed to the Hippocratic oath,"Do no harm," should say, "I'm so sorry to tell you that you indeed have cancer. I want you to go home and think about how you'd like to proceed. There are many treatment options available. Typically, we suggest the traditional route because we've had some good success with it, but the choice is yours. Do your homework and let me know what you decide. I'll help in any way I can and no matter what you choose, I'll support you. I want to see you live." But that's an unrealistic scenario, I know. 

Yesterday, a sweet friend reached out to tell me her cancer has returned with a vengeance. She's a young mother and more than likely won't make it to see the end of this year barring a miracle. I pray she gets it. She's done everything in her power to fight this horrid disease but no matter what she's done, it's continued to come after her, stalking her like a demon from the pits of hell. My heart breaks for her. 

Early this morning, in the wee hours, as I lay awake listening to a YouTube video, I got a text from another friend. We've known each other about 8 years but have never met in person. Breast cancer connected us through an article I'd written for a cancer publication. This woman had taken time to read it and reach out. After that initial contact, we've been kindred spirits. Getting a text from her about 5:46 A.M. made my heart sing. God knew I needed her message. It was filled with sweet memories we've shared over the past years and reminded me of the value of friendship. The funny thing is, we'll probably never meet in person. She lives many states away, but whenever God pricks one of our hearts, we reach out and connect. It kind of reminds me of the old AT&T/Bell South jingle from years ago, "Reach out and touch someone."

Tragically, one of the good things about cancer is it can definitely connect people in ways no other disease can, but it can also tear people apart. Cancer, in all forms, wields more power than many can fathom. It's a hateful, non discriminatory disease and loves to sneak up on the unsuspecting. My hope is that one day, before my grandchildren and great grandchildren are adults it will be completely gone, but I'm afraid that hope will remain unrealized. Why do I feel this way? It's partially due to all the bio engineered products they consume daily in convenience foods or from the many cancer causing chemicals surrounding them each day-  simple things like cleaning products, impurities in drinking water, etc. But I can still hope and maybe, just maybe my hope will become a reality. 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_ErNQ415s6A&t=44s

 

Oh how I hate cancer!

If I could kill something I would and that something would be cancer. I hate it with my entire being, especially when I learn, day after day, another friend has either been diagnosed with cancer or has found out a family member has been diagnosed. 

In my office, I have a whiteboard where I keep a list of prayer concerns. Daily I watch the concerns grow as I add one after another after another name and different type of cancer. Currently, I have 15 names on that board and that's just those who've shared their news with me since January of this year! It makes me physically ill every time I get a call, text, or email with a plea for prayer. Sometimes I'm so overwhelmed I want to run away and never come back. 

I've cried so many tears, I could never count them but I know God holds them all in a bottle because the Bible tells me He does. That makes me think He considers each one priceless, but tears don't fix the problem, they only relieve a little of my stress and soothe the cracks in my heart that have formed with each painful notification. 

I don't understand why I'm still here, after 11 years, and so many of my friends are not. I don't understand why my cancer seems to be dormant or perhaps completely cured, and theirs rage out of control. 

When I get to heaven, I'm going to have to sit down with God and ask all these questions. He may or may not give me the answers but I'm hoping He will. And if He doesn't, I pray He'll give me peace to accept the things He's allowed, because right now, I don't have it.

Snow, A Wig, and Remembering After My Breast Cancer Diagnosis

We were barely through with the first week of the New Year when the weather began to get ugly. Listening to weather reports, we were shocked to find we were in for the first snowfall of the year. In the South, we don’t get snow often so when weathermen say, “Get ready!” we do.

We bought a load of firewood, gathered oil lamps and oil, made sure we had some charcoal on hand in case our power went out and we needed a cooking source. Over the years, we’ve weathered several ice storms and even a blizzard or two. Though those aren’t regular occurrences in our area, they do come and when they do, people act crazy. They run to the store for bread and milk. They gas up their cars, just in case, and like us, many of them hunker down until the nasty, cold weather passes. But when it only snows here, it’s beautiful! Looking out the window at our yard covered in white is so peaceful and serene.

We weren’t expecting much snow, only a dusting, but instead we were surprised to get about 5 inches! Grabbing my coat, hat, gloves, and cell phone I practically shoved my husband outside to get a photo, but just as I was about to open the door, I realized my hair was a disheveled mess. I’d taken a shower the night before but had bed head hair and that wouldn’t make for a good photo. Rushing into my closet, I pulled down a pink box. Inside it was a beautiful, natural hair wig I’d purchased right after learning of my cancer diagnosis. From talking with other breast cancer survivors, I knew, with my stage and grade of cancer, I’d probably be going through chemotherapy and more than likely would lose my hair. I could hardly imagine what I’d look like without hair but knew it wouldn’t be pretty. So, I bought the wig. But I never used it.

After my initial diagnosis, I did a ton of research on treatment options – both traditional and non-traditional. I didn’t want to subject my body to more trauma than was necessary, so I spent a lot of time deciding what I was willing to do. After I’d made my decision, I shared it with my oncologist. He wasn’t very pleased with my decision, but that didn’t matter to me. I had to do what I thought best, after all, it was my body.

I shook out the wig and affixed it to the top of my head as best I could. Since I’d never worn it before, I wasn’t quite sure how to make it stay in place but kept it semi straight by plopping a knitted cap on top of it. My husband had already gone outside and was waiting for me. We’d planned a photo in front of our new house and the backdrop of the winter scene was perfect. Placing my cell phone into the selfie stick, I took several shots and then we were so cold, we ran back inside.

As I got ready to remove my winter attire, my husband said, “Is that a wig?” I laughed and replied in the affirmative. He asked where I got it and when, so I told him. He nodded and told me it looked nice.

I went into the bathroom to remove the wig and brush my real hair. Gently, I placed the wig back in its box for safekeeping and as I did, I was overcome with emotion. I was grateful I’d never needed the wig while undergoing treatment but knew several friends who’d opted for chemo and had either chosen to go bald or use head wraps. A couple of them had quite a collection of wigs and would wear them often, but some of them looked so fake I didn’t know how they did it.

Putting the wig box up on the shelf in my closet, I noticed my prostheses. I kept them in their storage boxes when I wasn’t using them. Another wave of emotion hit. I couldn’t help but remember when I’d first gone for a fitting for breast forms. I was utterly embarrassed and even a little ashamed. When I got home from that first appointment, I cried and cried. First, I was angry that breast cancer had entered my body and then, I mourned the loss of my breasts. They were part of me and though they’d never been large, I liked them. To me, they were my femininity.

It took a few minutes to collect myself and that’s when I realized how far I’d come since those first days, weeks, and months after diagnosis. I’d gone through a range of emotions and had finally come to a place of acceptance. Facing reality has taken a long time and if I’m honest, there are still some difficult days for me.

Breast cancer is not only a physical journey but an emotional one. My first thoughts, after hearing I had cancer, were those of fear and trepidation. I had no idea how things would go as I began treatment. I felt so unsure of my future. The next emotion was frustration as I did my best to make myself look normal. Without breasts, I often felt like a fake and a failure. I was so hard on myself thinking I should be stronger than I was. It was difficult to process all the ways cancer was changing my life, but over time, I think I’ve gotten to the point of being able to say I’ve finally made peace with the situation.

That wig will stay in my closet until I choose to bring it out again. It’s a beautiful one – a silvery gray shoulder length bob with bangs. It definitely is thicker than my thin hair and does make me look a few years younger than I actually do.

It might be nice to use the wig for special occasions. I should have worn it for my youngest daughter’s wedding last year, but I’d forgotten all about it. I’m sure I would have looked 100% better in the professional photos if I’d had it on, but they pictures turned out nice anyway.

Coping with emotions before, during, and after breast cancer are challenging. People deal with emotional turmoil in different ways. What I learned is that I had to take one emotion at a time and work through it. As I did, I realized many things about myself – that I was resilient, strong, determined, and eventually optimistic about my future.

Wearing the wig outside for the snow photo this morning was fun! None of the neighbors were out so they didn’t know I was wearing a wig under my hat. What I should have done is grab both the wig and the hat and thrown them into the air at the same time with an expression of glee on my face (just like Mary Tyler Moore used to do at the beginning of her television show -although she only threw a hat, not a wig.) And after tossing those into the air, I should have plopped down in the snow and made a snow angel. I haven’t done that since I was a kid, but I was afraid I’d managed to get down there I might not have been able to get back up. I’m a whole lot older now and my bones and joints don’t always want to do what I tell them to do.

A diagnosis of breast cancer is traumatic, challenging, frightening, and often unexpected. There’s no real way to prepare for a possible “what if” so I’d like to give one piece of advice as an 11-year survivor – give yourself grace. That’s the only way I’ve managed to get through each day. And it’s important to do things your way. If you want to buy a wig, do it! If you don’t, don’t. It’s okay. It really is okay.

2025 Note to Self

Dear Bonnie, 

This is the 7th day of the New Year and it's time to take a quick look back before marching forward. 

Do you remember when you had your first brush with death? The year was 1970 and your gallbladder burst. You were only 13. Gangrene was coursing through your body as the surgeon worked quickly to remove that organ. You were in the hospital for over a week and went through an entire year of medical treatment afterward to survive. During that time, you grew to understand what true physical pain felt like for the first time in your life.

In 1990, you had your second brush with death when you were involved in a serious motor vehicle accident. Your right leg was almost severed. After a radical surgery, a week in the hospital and treatment you went home in a wheelchair, physically and emotionally broken. Your marriage had fallen apart, you had 4 young children to raise alone, and you were devastated. You were unable to walk for over a year. The doctors thought they were going to have to amputate your leg due to multiple staph infections and lack of bone growth. But God intervened. When you reached out to the pastor of your little country church and asked the deacons to come anoint you with oil and pray over you, they did. It was the first time they'd ever done that and weren't quite sure how to go about it, but all of you had faith and God used that experience to draw you closer to Himself.

In 2014, you had your third brush with death. You were diagnosed with breast cancer. Quickly, you realized the seriousness of the situation and learned you had to make a lot of tough decisions. But your faith was strong, never did you doubt God had allowed the cancer into your life. You didn't know it then, but learned later He would use it for His glory. 

In the middle of August 2024, you had your fourth brush with death. Right after surgery to repair a hiatal hernia, your bowels shut down. You'd developed an ileus, a life threatening condition. You were rushed to the emergency room, kept overnight, and then transported to Atlanta for a week long hospital stay there as doctors worked hard to get you well enough to go home. 

A month later, you were rushed to the ER with tachycardia. Your blood pressure was sky high and your heart was beating out of rhythm. It was touch and go, but the doctors got you stabilized the following day and sent you home.  Then, the same thing happened again about 6 weeks later!

Over and over again, you've faced various trials but God has allowed you to live. Sometimes you've felt like a cat with 9 lives, wondering when the next event might take you out and this has caused extreme anxiety, but God's always been there. In your heart, you've known God must have a special purpose for not only allowing you to go through these things, but keeping you safe and letting you live through and past them! You have grown to understand His hand of favor is upon you.  

Bonnie, the Bible says our lives are like a vapor, here today and gone tomorrow. God created us for His glory. We have a job to do while we’re here and that’s to spread His love to others.
Every day as you wake, be sure and thank God for allowing you to see another day. Life is a gift, a very, very precious gift. 

As you go through the rest of this year, remember these things. Hide them in your heart and consider them carefully. No one knows what tomorrow holds, but you know WHO holds all your tomorrows. 

Many blessings to you, my sweet self. Keep your eyes toward the Son. He's got you.

One cuppa, that's all it took!

My stars, am I tired! This day has been so busy and to think, it started with one small cup of coffee. 

I don't know what it is, but caffeine gives me so much energy I shouldn't ever drink it. When I do, it's like I'm a 78 record spinning faster and faster on the turntable (yeh, I'm that old!) 

I didn't realize how tired I was until I sat down to post and now that I'm seated, my body is saying, "What the heck is wrong with you???!"
After making breakfast and having that cuppa this morning, I kicked it into overdrive. I mopped the floor, did a load of laundry and dishes, baked 3 loaves of bread, made Valentine's day cards, painted a canvas, took care of some business matters - scheduling doctors' appointments, checking on vacation plans, message some friends, wrote to my prisoners (I'm part of a prison ministry), took some photos, read my Bible and a devotional book, and as soon as I sat down to take a breather, a friend called and kept me on the phone for over an hour. 

When I looked at the clock, I realized my only goal on this cold, winter's day was to rest and read. Did that happen? No! I have so many books in my TBR pile (to be read) that I want to knock out this year and I'm finding that it's more difficult to do leisure reading than just about anything because I just don't sit still long enough to do it. 

Hubby tells me all the time that we're getting old and we can't keep pushing ourselves like I've done today, but ever since I was diagnosed with breast cancer in 2014, something inside my brain changed. Every day when I get up it's like I have to use up every minute of the day. Maybe I'm afraid to relax for fear of missing out on doing something I feel I need to do, I don't know. All I know is it's exhausting. 

My word for the year is surrender. (I used an app through Dayspring that helps you find your focus word each year.) When I got that word, I was like, "Really, Lord? Haven't I dealt with this in the past?" But I guess I haven't because everywhere I turn lately, I'm being reminded of the need to be still. Being still has always been hard for me. I don't know why unless I'm an undiagnosed person with ADD or ADHD. In either case, this is something I need to address this year because I've noticed I go pretty hard from 6:00 AM til about 4:00 PM and then I peter out. 

I guess the word surrender was perfect for me. But why is it so hard to do that? Why do I have work at surrendering? 

When I think of the word surrender, I think of old cowboy and indian movies. In those shoot 'em ups, when a group surrendered, they'd raise a white flag to indicate defeat or submission. I guess I'm still in the process of kicking against the goad, as the Bible says. I need help. 

Lord, please help me realize I don't always have to be going or doing. Please help me learn to surrender. Please show me how to do it and slow me down so I can actually find time in the day to enjoy myself. 

My husband has no problem at all sitting and watching something on TV. He never stresses or worries. On the other hand, I'm completely the opposite. I guess that's why God matched us up. My husband helps ground me. He encourages me to take breaks but he never demands it. He sees when I start to grow weary and reminds me it's time to quit whatever I'm doing and just be still, but I rarely listen. I push myself so hard until sometimes I get so stressed out I end the day in tears. 

I've found tears to be a wonderful emotional release. I don't like to cry but sometimes I do, especially when I'm overtired. 

And that's why I write so much. Writing is cathartic for me. It helps me process my emotions and feelings. It also helps me unwind and whether you believe it or not, it helps me relax. 

In my mind, I'm throwing up a white flag right now. I'm physically exhausted and mentally drained. So I'm going to go make myself a cup of tea (decaf!) and get my book. I'll plop down in the recliner and do my best to chill at least for one hour. Setting small goals may help me learn to rest for longer periods of time. 

Speaking of rest, I don't sleep well at night either. My brain never shuts off. That's why I have to take prescription medication to fight insomnia. This has been going on for the past 11 years. It's not something I enjoy admitting, but it's the truth. Oh woe is me...I need to learn to surrender. Indeed I do. 

I did take a few minutes to enjoy watching a flock of Red-winged blackbirds in our backyard earlier. While I stood at the window watching them look for food, I marveled at their quick movements. They were working hard and staying busy, just like me, but they were doing what they were designed to do - feast and fly. I love seeing them each winter, that flash of red on their wings as they fly excites me. I also love how they flock in large groups but as they fly away, I know sooner or later they'll land and rest. They'll do it because God wired them that way. I need to take a lesson from them and do the same. I know I'm not wired to go 90 mph all the time. Staying in the fast lane is tough, no it's ridiculous. If I don't take time to slow down, I'm going to burn out and the burn won't be slow. That scares me.

Will the health challenges ever end?

I wish I'd understood how age affects one's health. Even though I saw it first hand, I didn't grasp the concept as my in laws and my parents began to decline. I knew their stamina would wane, that's just part of life, but to fully understand the challenges of aging, I think one must have first hand experience. 

By today's standards, I'm not really old. Yes, I'm closer to 70 than 60, but to me, that's still pretty young. I don't necessarily feel my age. Perhaps that's because I push myself day in and day out. Since my cancer diagnosis back in 2014, I've pushed even harder than ever before. I've often asked myself why, but when I think about it, I believe the feeling I need to use up every minute of every day is rooted in the fear of wasting time that I am not guaranteed to have. Funny how a disease can impress that on you. 

This year has been extremely challenging. I've been hospitalized more times than I can count. Some of those hospitalizations were planned surgeries and others, complications of surgeries or unexpected issues that snuck up on me when I least expected them. 

I don't like hospitals but I will say I feel comfortable in them. I know, even in hospitals where the care isn't the greatest, I will receive some care. That gives me a weird form of security, but I have to say, the last few visits to the ER were definitely not good experiences. In fact, they were pretty bad and I'm not just talking about personnel, I'm talking about uncleanness and ineptitude. I never thought hospitals in our city would be that way. How naive of me! 

Today I had a CT scan on my knee. I wasn't expecting to do it so soon. On my last visit to the bone and joint center, I'd had a good many x-rays done. My poor left knee had been giving me problems for the past 2 years. I'd already had a lateral menisectomy and a condroplasty on it. I'd also had 4 cortisone shots. Those bought me some time, but the doc said we were now at a point of making the choice to better my quality of life or keep winging it with medical patches. He said the x-rays revealed my situation was now bone on bone. There was nothing left to do other than a complete knee replacement...OH JOY! 

I wondered why they wanted a CT scan after I'd received this news, but the medical assistant cleared it up for me. She said they needed the scan in order to make my prosthetic joint. When she said that, I became very quiet. 

My poor body has been through a lot. In fact, sometimes I wonder how I'm still alive with all the pieces and parts I have missing. You could say I'm a miracle, but I think God isn't done with me yet and that's why He keeps letting me go through one health trial after another. 

I keep hoping my kids will see and understand the things I didn't as my parents were aging. If they lived closer, I imagine they would. I don't ever want to have to need their help, but eventually it will come down to it. 

Aging joints, lack of strength, needing to rest more often, random aches and pains - I've got all of those, I'll admit. It sucks, to be honest. I'd love to have the strength from my youth again, but that won't ever happen. 

If this surgery can make me more mobile, I'll be thankful. I don't look forward to all it entails, but sometimes you do what you have to do to keep going. 

I've got my walker fitted with little gliding tennis balls and I'm psyching myself up for physical therapy. Just like the train in the Little Engine that Could, a story I used to read my children when they were small, I'm telling myself, "I think I can, I think I can, I think I can..." I sure hope I'm right. I don't ever want to be confined to a wheelchair again like I was after my awful car wreck in 1990. That was a time of excruciating pain and trauma. My right tibia and fibula were completely

crushed and it took almost 3 years for me to be able to walk without pain again. Thank goodness it's the left leg this time. Boy, I'm glad we only have 2 legs!

Who's the Dummy Now?

Have you ever had a movie line pop into your head at the most random time? I have. It happens often, especially since 2 of my kiddos love to watch movies and memorize lines. 

The day before yesterday, after a very uncomfortable situation, I had a line from the hilarious comedy, "Major Payne," pop into my head -  "Who's the dummy now?" And that line was absolutely appropriate for what happened. 

It was hot and when I say hot, think inferno, then add some major humidity top of it. My husband and I had been out working in the yard and had both come in red faced and drenched with sweat. I had the bright idea to cool down using a frozen gel pack. They don't really freeze all the way because of something they put in them (I'm not sure if it's alcohol or what, but it allows them to remain pliable.)

I unbuttoned my shirt and placed the ice pack on my upper chest, just above my stomach. Right after doing it, I wondered why I couldn't feel the coolness from the ice pack. Normally, they're extremely cold and I have to use a thin towel to protect my skin from the icy temps. "Oh, well," I thought as I leaned back in my recliner to enjoy a cold drink. 

I started reading a book and forgot all about having the ice pack on. About thirty minutes later, I remembered and took it off. 

When it was time for bed, I noticed a big red blob on my chest as I was changing into my pjs. Yikes! That's when I realized what I'd done. 

When I had surgery for breast cancer, they sliced me clear across my chest cutting through muscles and nerves. The doc told me I'd probably be numb in that area for years and years, possible for the rest of my life, and to be careful. 

Still feeling no pain, I went to bed but was awakened in the wee hours of the morning hurting. Walking into the bathroom, I lifted my shirt and looked. Huge, ugly blisters had formed on my chest. I had freezer burned my skin!

Who's the dummy now? It was definitely me! I should have thought to put a thin cloth between my skin and the ice pack. I didn't understand how I could be hurting now though. If I hadn't felt the cold from the pack, how was I feeling pain from the burn? 

My youngest daughter helped me figure it out. She said, "Mom, the nerves in your chest muscles were severed, but your skin (the epidermal layer) was still in tack. That's why you can feel the pain now." Great!! 

Digging through some beach stuff, I found a bottle of Aloe Vera and slathered in on my chest. Now I not only had a hideous scar but on top of that a red blobby burn with blisters and now, green tinted Aloe Vera gel. What a mess...

Google says a dummy is a stupid or foolish person, a person lacking intelligence and I'd have to agree. How could I be so dumb? 

It's been 10 years since I had surgery. I guess I'd all but forgotten about my chest trauma. I won't be doing that again! I can't fathom forgetting something like that, but I guess it's a good thing?!? Breast cancer has taken up so much of my life for the past decade. Finally, I've come to terms with all of it and have been living my life as normally as possible. 

Dummy, dummy, dummy! Yep that's me. And I'm the one who'll be suffering for it until this burn heals up. 

Note to self: Do not, I repeat, do not ever put an ice pack on your skin again without using a layer of protection. 

Another one dies from Breast Cancer

It's a sad day. I'd just recently posted on Cure Magazine about my happiness over celebrating my 10th cancerversary and then today, I read the news about another young woman passing away from breast cancer. 

I never was a huge fan of 90210, a TV drama about high school, but know many were familiar with actress,Shannen Doherty and enjoyed her character on the show. Even so, I'd seen it a few times and knew what it was about. If I'd been younger when it came out, I probably would have enjoyed it more.

Just 3 days after I celebrated 10 years of survival from breast cancer, Shannen lost her life. She was 53. I'm almost 67. It doesn't seem quite fair.

 She was first diagnosed with breast cancer in 2015, but she went into remission two years later. That reprieve wouldn’t last.Soon the cancer had spread to her lymph nodes, her brain, and her bones. 

It's hard to explain how survivors feel when we learn of another's death to cancer. Our hearts grieve desperately and we often wonder why we've managed to survive while others haven't been as blessed. 

Please keep her family in your prayers. And pray for those of us who are still in the process of surviving. We always struggle with a fear of recurrence, which could invade our lives at any time.

 

Real food? Really?!

Today was the first day in about 67 days that I've been able to have real food. It was a huge challenge and took a good while to get one sandwich down but I'm thankful. 

We found this cute little Panini press at Hobby Lobby on sale for $7.99. So I bought it thinking I would give it to one of the grandkids for Christmas but when the gastroenterologist told me I could try to eat some real food today, I pulled it out and made grilled cheese sandwiches for my husband and I. 

It's been so hard living on protein shakes for the past couple of months. After the hiatal hernia repair and the stay in the emergency section of the hospital, my appetite was completely gone. 

Yesterday I had my esophagus stretched for the fourth time in 2 years. I don't know what keeps causing it to close up but whatever it is causes a lot of problems. 

You don't realize how much you miss the taste of food and being able to chew until you're not able to do so. Though it took me half an hour to get that sandwich down, I was glad I was able to do it. It took a lot of teeny tiny bites and a lot of chewing but that grilled cheese never tasted so good! 

The doctor said it will take months for me to completely recover from the hiatal hernia repair and I won't be able to eat normally for a good while. He suggested I have several very small meals throughout the day, so I guess that's what I'll do. 

They did find a good many polyps when they were in there to do the esophageal stretch and that was concerning. My gastro took biopsies and sent them off but I won't know the results for about 10 days. 

10 seems like the number for me this year. 10 is the number of completion in the Bible, if you study Gematria. On July 9th, I will celebrate my 10th cancerversary, that's one reason I'm so concerned about the biopsies from these polyps. I would love to know before July 9th that I am still cancer-free. In the back of my mind I always have a gnawing feeling that cancer may come back again. It's especially concerning to me since my brother had esophageal cancer and we have a history of that in our family. Please keep me in your prayers in the days ahead. I will be most grateful.