Giving thanks in all things

Waiting is so hard! I have no idea whether I'm going to get good news or bad news. I know sometime around the first of this week, I'll receive a call with information about the results of my recent ultrasound. My breast surgeon thought it would be a good idea to check out a suspicious area. I'm glad she is keeping me under close scrutiny but I wasn't expecting her to find anything concerning at my last appointment. But she did. And now I'm waiting to hear the results. It would be so easy to give thanks if I get good news but would it be just as easy to give thanks if I don't? Listen to what the Bible says in 1 Thessalonians 5:18: "Give thanks in all circumstances; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you." Wow! That's powerful! Learning to give thanks in all things isn't only what I'm supposed to do, it's what I'm commanded to do. As I thought about this verse today, I realized I haven't done a very good job at giving thanks in all things. I've done some mumbling and grumbling recently about things I didn't quite like. I've questioned God about some things He's allowed in my life and griped how they were out of my control. It's tough to thank God for the hard things, but I want to do better. I want to try harder to grasp this verse and apply it to all aspects of my life.

I want to live a life that is supernatural. I want it to be a life that is hard to explain to those who don't understand what it is to live under grace. I want God to do a deep work in me where I can learn to give thanks in everything, no matter what...whether it's good or bad. I want my family to see me changed...that my roots have grown down deep into Jesus. I want them to see me turning my heart back to praise and adoration of my Father instead of focusing inwardly on myself and my situation. I want to become so intentional about gratitude that I look hard for it every. single. day.

So today starts the first day of my new lease on life...my journey with God in learning to give thanks in ALL things. I'm asking God to shift my focus and help me see that even in the hard things, He's always good.

Another ultrasound...

It all started with a scheduled visit to the breast surgeon. I've progressed from the regular 3 month visits to the periodic 6 month visits now. (All of my doctors are in this same rotation pattern. Thank goodness for my trusty iPhone. Without my iCalendar, I'd never be able to keep up with every appointment. It helps me remember who I'm supposed to see and when I'm supposed to see them.) Since this was a routine visit, I wasn't overly concerned. I figured I'd breeze in and breeze out. I love going to see my breast surgeon. She's a very kind and caring physician. She never makes me feel hurried. When she comes into the exam room, she sits down on her stool and begins talking to me like I'm her best friend. She shares news about her family and asks about mine. We have a good rapport. After a few pleasantries, we get down to business. She starts palpating my chest and comments on my scar. She says, "I did good work on you! Just look at that beautiful pink scar! It's almost perfect and I even worked hard to save your tattoo." I smile a big smile and she does, too. I like her. A lot. She continues talking and feeling my chest. Her fingers are steady and sure. She knows exactly what she's looking for and I can tell by the way she moves her hands. She never stops talking but as she talks, she pauses for a minute over one area. I blurt out a strong "ouch" and she asks if that really bothered me. I explain to her that the area she just touched if very sensitive. She tells me it felt spongy and she wanted to check it out a little further. She tells me to sit up and I tie the ends of the white linen robe so my bare chest isn't exposed to the scribe she calls in to take notes. "I'd like to order an ultrasound for you so we can't see what this is," she says. In the same breath, she tells me not to worry. Right. I've already started. When we're through talking, I ask if she'd mind taking a selfie with me. I tell her I'm documenting every step of my journey for my daughters. She doesn't mind and the scribe does the honors. I watch as she walks out the door, on to her next patient, and thank God for my sweet doctor.

On the way home from the appointment, I text my husband telling him the doctor has ordered a test. He responds immediately and voices his concerns. Although I can't hear the inflection in his words, I can read he's worried. I reassure him and try to sound upbeat. As I drive home, I feel numb. I wasn't expecting this.

When my husband arrives home from work, he instantly comes to me and gives me a big bear hug. As he smothers me, he begins to cry. I pull away from him so I can see his face. I ask why he's crying and he tells me he doesn't want to lose me. I wasn't expecting his reaction but I understood it. It felt like we were beginning at the beginning again. We'd already been here and done that with the first round of cancer. Neither of us wanted to be there again.

When the doctor's office called to confirm the appointment, the scheduler said they wanted to get me in quickly. I was surprised when she asked if I'd be okay to have the ultrasound performed the following day. I was glad it was going to be done so soon and that way I wouldn't have to spend days worrying. I didn't sleep well that night. I tossed and turned wondering what I'd do if the test revealed the cancer had returned.

As I drove to the appointment, I tried not to think about the numerous trips I'd made to hospitals, labs, or doctor's offices over the past 2 years. When I pulled up to the outpatient clinic, I was overcome with emotion. I could feel the pressure building. It felt like I had a volcano brewing inside me. All of a sudden, tears came spewing forth and they did not stop. Waves of grief overtook me. I felt so out of control. I didn't know how I'd be able to face another diagnosis of cancer. It had taken over 2 years to get past the first diagnosis. I just had gotten to a point of feeling like my life was returning to normal again. But here I was again at the same location where it all began. I cried a few more minutes and then decided it was time to suck it up. My appointment was at 11:15 a.m. I looked at my watch and saw I only had a few more minutes. I worked hard to regain my composure and when I felt ready, I made myself get out of the car and go inside.

I only had to wait a few minutes before being called back. I was thankful I didn't have to wait long. A volunteer took me to the dressing area and I was told to undress from the waist up. She handed me a gown and told me to put it on with the ties in the back. I looked at her and said, "Are you sure?" I could tell she was new when she said adamantly, "Yes, please put it on with the ties in the back." I knew every doctor or technician previously had asked for the gowns to be tied in the front for easy access to the chest, but I did as I was told. After my gown was on, the volunteer helped me put my belongings in a locker. We sat in the waiting area together and chatted. As I talked with her, I found out she'd just been diagnosed with Stage 0 breast cancer the week before. As I listened, I could hear the trepidation in her voice. She explained she'd hoped for a lumpectomy but her doctors said it wasn't an option. She'd have to have a mastectomy. My heart went out to her and I asked if she'd had time to process it yet. She said she hadn't and I advised her to really take some time to do that. I shared a little about my experience and her countenance seemed to improve slightly.

The radiation tech came to get me and take me for my test. She laughed as we were walking down the hall and commented on my gown. I shook my head and said, "Yep. I tried to tell her but she wouldn't listen." The tech said I could turn the gown around when we got into the testing room. After getting my gown turned around, I was asked to lie down on the table. The warm conducting jelly felt soothing to my skin as the technician applied it and within minutes, she was gliding the ultrasound wand over my chest. She asked if I knew where the area of concern was located and I pointed to an area just underneath my incision. She made several passes over that area and I watched the monitor to see if I could tell what lie beneath the surface of my skin. I know she wasn't supposed to comment but she said, "It looks like a lot of fluid." I didn't respond knowing the Radiologist would review the films later that day. 

The diagnosis on my ultrasound order

I was told I'd know the results in 3 to 4 days. I'm hoping for the best but preparing for the worst. I can't tell you how much fear and dread came over me when I was told by the breast surgeon she'd found a suspicious area. Instantly, I was transported to that fateful day in June 2014 when my cancer was first discovered. At that point, I felt like my life was over and I'd been handed a death sentence. Now, after having lived a little over 2 years since that date, I know that feeling wasn't necessarily true. I do wonder how long a fear of recurrence will have power over me. Will it totally disappear after I reach the miraculous 5 year mark or will it haunt me the rest of my days? I have a feeling I'll always be looking over my shoulder to see if cancer is lurking somewhere deep in the shadows but hopefully, if it is, it won't catch up to me again anytime in the future. I'm trying my best to be optimistic. When and if I ever have to face a recurrence again, I'll deal with it then. I don't want to waste any more time today thinking about it.

Post cancer fatigue and Getting Back My "Want To...."

Today's been a difficult day. It seems I'm having more of those types of days than I should. I've been suffering from extreme fatigue. I don't know if I should be concerned about this or if it's just post cancer fatigue but it surely is frustrating.

My days start pretty early. I'm usually up between 5:00 a.m. and 6:00 a.m. I don't get up that early because I have to, but because I want to seize the day. I've always been a morning person. The mornings have always seemed to be the best part of the day. There's nothing like rising early to catch a glimpse of the sunrise as the beautiful pinks and purples fill the sky. I love hearing the birds sing as they greet the day. Their joyful tunes fill the air with heartfelt hope. Rising early is a pleasure.

While the house is quiet and still, I can focus on tasks ahead of me and since cancer, I've learned to slow down just a bit and enjoy the time even more. A wise friend told me life is lived in minutes not years and boy, was he right. One of the most important gifts cancer gave me was helping me understand this concept. This year, I've truly learned to live in the moment savoring each precious one and holding it dear.

After breakfast, I began to conquer menial tasks around the house. I was full of energy and full of joy. As I went about my duties, I was thankful for the ability to perform the daily chores. Last year, it hadn't been easy to carry the laundry basket full of clothes or lug the vacuum cleaner around the house. My body was still healing and I was forced to take it slowly. Since my incisions had healed, I had begun to pick up where I left off. Instead of asking for help when a task was difficult, I managed to do it myself. I was stubborn. I cherished my independence. My husband never minded giving a helping hand when I'd ask, but I was finding I didn't need to ask quite as often as I had in the past. That felt good.

Before I realized it, the clock struck noon. Where had the morning gone? It seemed like I'd just gotten started! After stopping to enjoy a salad, I looked at my list of things to do. I had a few errands to run in town so I gathered my things and headed out. While shopping, I noticed my energy level had begun to wane. I pushed through my tiredness and kept going. Just a few more errands to run and I'd be done. Two hours later, I was on my way home. Sitting behind the wheel of the car, I yawned. It was almost 3:00 p.m.

For the past few weeks, I had noticed a trend in my circadian rhythm. My most energetic time of the day was early morning between the hours of 5:00 a.m. and 8:00 a.m. Mid morning I slowed a little but still had enough steam to do the things I wanted to do. By lunch, I could feel a marked difference and after 3:00 p.m., I noticed a huge change. Was this early afternoon fatigue due to age or was it an after effect of cancer's effects on my body? I wasn't exactly sure. Maybe it was both.

I've never been one to take naps during the day. No matter how tired I was, I always kept going. Lately however, I'd found myself becoming increasingly exhausted and felt the need to close my eyes. Leaning back in my recliner and enjoying a power nap had proved to be very useful and gave me the strength to make it to bedtime. Learning to listen to my body has been hard for me. I don't like admitting I'm tired. My husband has no problem taking a nap whenever he feels the need to take one, but not me! I've always been like the Energizer Bunny and kept on going and going and going.

Since my energy level has become so low, I've begun to let my mind wander to the land of "what if." Is my Vitamin D level low again? It has been several times in the past and I've needed to be put on an extremely high dosage of the supplement to correct the deficiency. The oncologist told me it was fairly common for cancer patients to suffer from low Vitamin D because of their lack of exposure to the sun during and after treatment. I hadn't wanted to be outside much lately because I'd been so tired. I could see a vicious circle developing. I didn't want to go out and do things because I was too tired to do them but I needed to be out in the sun because it helped my body have more energy. I also wondered if possibly something more was going on inside my body. I'd opted to forego traditional medical treatments for cancer and was following a more holistic approach. I wondered if perhaps it was no longer working.

It was concerning to be experiencing such fatigue. I don't see my oncologist for a checkup until next month. When he does blood work, will a problem be indicated? Am I being overly concerned for no reason? Should I continue to make myself do the things I need to do even when I'm exhausted? The answer to all of these questions is "I don't know." What I do know is that post cancer fatigue is a very real thing and it affects many women for various periods of time after diagnosis and treatment. Will it ever go away completely? I have no idea. I'm inclined to think I'm probably going to be stuck with some level of fatigue for the rest of my life.

I'd like to be able to do the things I did before cancer with the same amount of enthusiasm and gusto but things are different now. I guess learning to accept my current energy level goes hand in hand with learning to accept my "new normal." There are so many things cancer has changed about my life but the most significant for me, being a constant mover and shaker, has been the limitations it's placed on my physical energy level. For now, I'll continue to push through when I'm tired and make myself do the things I need to do but on days like today, it's awfully hard.

Sometimes it's good to just rest. It's important to listen as my body tells me what it can and cannot do. I'm hearing it a little more clearly now than I have in the past few months. I've taken a few naps on occasion and haven't felt guilty. I guess that's a good thing. I'm still learning how to "get through" this journey. A lot of people don't understand even after treatment ends, the side effects of cancer don't. I'm trying my best to get my "want to" back but my "get up and go" feels like it got up and went.

Since I know the earliest part of the day is best for me, I try to schedule important projects or appointments during that time. I'm learning to readjust my schedule and be okay with limitations. I'm not the same as I used to be before cancer and I never will be again. Cancer has drastically changed me.

This is what breast cancer looks like

My courageous friend

This is what breast cancer looks like. What you see are two very different aspects of cancer. In the black and white photo, you'll see a woman who's had surgery to remove her cancer and the surgeon has prepared her body for a followup reconstructive surgery. She still has her drains in place (look at those thin plastic tubes running along her sides. Those are to drain away accumulated fluid and blood. They are very painful and sometimes blood clots or seromas develop around the incision site. They usually stay in place for several weeks. The fluid has to be measured and recorded so the doctor can gauge when they're ready to come out.) What you don't see in the photo is her face. She's a vibrant and beautiful young woman. She's strong and brave. She's a friend of mine and I'm honored to call her friend.

Me 

The color photo is a picture of me after surgery was completely healed and my drains had been removed. I chose not to have reconstructive surgery so I'll be forever flat chested. See those pretty colorful sleeves? Those aren't just for making a style statement. They're to combat Lymphedema. It's a side effect many breast cancer patients get after having lymph nodes removed. When the lymphatic system is disrupted, the fluid builds up in the arms or chest area and causes swelling and discomfort. It's a lifelong condition and will never go away. The sleeves help keep it under control. They're made of strong elastic material that squeeze the tissue tight preventing an accumulation. See that long horizontal scar across my chest? It's where my breasts used to be. It took two surgeries to get all of my cancer. My surgeon was very skilled and worked hard to save my tattoo as she placed my incisions underneath it. She knew it was meaningful to me. A phoenix symbolizes rising from the ashes. Mine symbolized rising from breast cancer. See that smile? I'm smiling because it's been a little over 2 years since I was diagnosed with Stage 2B Invasive Ductal Carcinoma with metastasis to the lymph nodes. I'm currently out of treatment but have to see the oncologist every 3 months. He's still keeping a close eye on me. They say most cancers recur within the first 5 years.

What you don't see in both photos is our resilience. We've been knocked down and kicked around by cancer but we've both fought to get back up again. We're determined and focused. We are optimistic and full of hope. We want to live and we want to thrive. We are friends, sisters, wives, mothers, career women, writers, dreamers, and lovers. Cancer didn't choose us by any criteria. It picks at random. So this, friends, is what cancer looks like and these photos are mild compared to many others. When you think of breast cancer and what it looks like, don't just think of the sparse haired woman who's just completed chemo and looks like she's at death's door...think of beautiful, strong women who were innocently living their lives when an uninvited guest came crashing in and totally changed their lives forever. This is what breast cancer looks like and it's not a pretty pink ribbon.#stupiddumbbreastcancer
Please feel free to share!
I'd like to thank my friend, Anne Marie Otis, for the use of her photo.

The lost is found!

Happy me!

First thing this morning, I received a video from my Aunt. It was an inspirational video on the topic of God still answers prayer. As I watched it, my heart skipped a few beats because I know firsthand God still answers prayer in my life and does so on a daily basis.

Weeks ago, I realized I'd lost my necklace. I turned my house upside down for the past couple of weeks looking frantically for this very sentimental piece of jewelry. I'd had the necklace made over twenty years ago when my first wedding ring (from my husband Phil) had been accidentally crushed leaving only the front of the ring and diamonds in tact. Before having the necklace made from my ring, I also wanted to incorporate a diamond my daughter Laura had won at the opening of a jewelry store about the same time my ring had been damaged. My intention was to leave this necklace as an heirloom to her one day. The diamonds in the necklace probably don't total more than a carat or so but the necklace was extremely valuable to me.

Right after watching the video from my aunt this morning, I kept feeling the need to walk into my closet. Standing in the middle of my big walk in closet amidst all the racks of clothing, I felt God speak to my heart and tell me to look up. As I looked up, my eyes instantly fell on a blouse hanging on a hanger. As I looked closer, I noticed something hanging around the top of the hanger. I took the blouse down from the rack and lo and behold...my necklace was there in all its glory!

I was so thankful to have my precious necklace back but more importantly, I was thankful God used that video to prompt me to remember my prayer request from over 2 weeks back. When I'd lost the necklace and couldn't find it, I told God I knew He knew where it was even though I didn't. I knew He knew how special it was to me and I asked Him to please allow me to find it. I'd left that prayer request at His feet and this morning, He answered it.

Some folks might think it's silly to pray for something as trivial as a lost necklace but I don't think so. I know God wants to bless us and He cares not only about our needs but also about our heart's desires. Jesus, in Luke chapter 15:3-6 of the Bible, says this: “Suppose one of you has a hundred sheep and loses one of them. Doesn’t he leave the ninety-nine in the open country and go after the lost sheep until he finds it? And when he finds it, he joyfully puts it on his shoulders and goes home. Then he calls his friends and neighbors together and says, ‘Rejoice with me; I have found my lost sheep.’

Now I know my necklace doesn't compare to a lost sheep, especially back in Biblical times when that was their livelihood, but that necklace was precious to me and God knew it. I'm sharing all this to say, Rejoice with me over God's faithfulness! He does still answer prayer and He does still hear those little bitty heartfelt cries we send up to Heaven. 19 days after I prayed and asked for Him to show me where the necklace was hidden, He did!

And by the way, Jesus, while sharing the parable about the lost sheep wasn't just wanting his disciples to focus on the found animal. He was using that analogy to help them understand He cares about lost souls. In verse 7 of that chapter, He says this: "I tell you that in the same way there will be more rejoicing in heaven over one sinner who repents than over ninety-nine righteous persons who do not need to repent."

Hopefully, I've given you something to smile about as you rejoice with me over my found necklace but more importantly, I hope I've given you some food for thought, too. God still hears and He still answers. Don't be afraid or embarrassed to voice your prayer needs to your Heavenly Father...no matter how small or insignificant they may seem to be. He cares about what we care about because He loves us unconditionally. And that's the best kind of love you can ever receive.

© bonnie annis all rights reserved

Dreading October already

We're coming up on the end of August. This year has been flying by. As I look at the calendar, I realize October is just behind September and that means, I only have a little over a month before PINKTOBER begins. For those of you who don't know what PINKTOBER is, it's the month dedicated to breast cancer awareness and just about every and anything you can think of becomes pink.

When I was first diagnosed with breast cancer, I was intrigued by the pinkness of breast cancer. I almost felt like I belonged to a secret sorority. Well meaning friends and family began to inundate me with all sorts of pink things and the infamous pink ribbon became symbolic to me. I was proud to sport anything with the big pink breast cancer ribbon on it. I felt it was my duty, afterall, I had cancer. As time wore on, I began to tire of all the pink and now that it's been a little over two years since I was diagnosed, I honestly hate pink.

I'm already dreading October and it used to be one of my favorite months. It signaled the arrival of the Fall season and all that comes with it. Hayrides, pumpkins, hot apple cider, cooler weather...all those things that make you feel so alive but then PINKTOBER had to come along and ruin it.

Those newly diagnosed with breast cancer may become enamored with pink as they begin their journey with cancer. It's easy to fall into that media trap. Signing up for those Susan G. Komen 5Ks and buying all that breast cancer paraphernalia just kind of seems like the right thing to do but is it really? I did a lot of research at the end of last year and found out not much money raised by those cancer organizations actually go toward cancer research. Most of the money raised goes toward salaries and administrative fees. As my naive little eyes were opened, I got upset. Why was something so traumatic being so commercialized? For those of us who've gone through the struggles breast cancer brings, we know there is nothing fun or light-hearted about cancer. The only thing good that comes from the color pink as it relates to cancer is the recognition it's received. Just about everyone knows pink symbolizes breast cancer.

According to the Susan G. Komen Foundation, " a pink ribbon symbolizes breast cancer awareness.
The merging of ribbon and symbolism in the United States came about in two huge leaps. The first occurred in 1979 when a wife of a hostage who had been taken in Iran was inspired to tie yellow ribbons around the trees in her front yard, signaling her desire to see her husband come home again. Step two occurred 11 years later, when AIDS activists looked at the yellow ribbons that had been resurrected for soldiers fighting the Gulf War and turned the ribbon bright red, looped it, spruced it up and sent it onto the national stage during the Tony awards to represent those affected by AIDS. The stage was set for the evolution of the breast cancer awareness ribbon. Susan G. Komen for the Cure® has used the color pink since its inception in 1982."

I understand the good things Susan G. Komen and other organizations are trying to do by bringing awareness to cancer's horrible and far reaching grasp on women all around the world, but I can't stomach any more pink. It's gone from good to bad to ugly now. There are pink shirts, hats, socks, underwear and even toilet seats.

Not all cancer survivors may feel as opposed to pink as I do to all of these random pink items and the illustrious PINKTOBER. Maybe I've become jaded as I've been plunged into this sea of pink but please (and I'm borrowing this slogan from the website by the same name) think before you pink, people. Not all of us like pink. In fact, some of us hate pink and for good reason.

Random thoughts

My hubby, Phil

Tomorrow is my husband's 62nd birthday. That means he'll be filling out the forms for Social Security, too. I'm looking forward to celebrating his special day but more importantly focusing more intently on our future together. We're planning to do a good bit of traveling and we've both been looking forward to it. As every day passes, I realize we're getting older. The aches and pains in our bodies scream it so loudly now we can't ignore it. But 60ish isn't really that old...if we were in our 90s, I could say we were really getting there and that's my hope...that one day we'll be able to reach our 90s and we'll still be happily married and alive! Being alive is much better than being dead or so they say...but is it really? Sometimes, I think I'd rather be dead. At least then, I'd be in the presence of the Lord. I wouldn't have any more aches or pains. I would never have to worry about the cancer coming back again. I would have no problems whatsoever! I'm not one to wish my life away though so I'll continue to live in the present day and focus on the moment at hand. I'm just so grateful to still be here because two years ago, I wasn't so sure that would be the case.

The year seems to be flying! The older you get, the faster they go. My grandmother always said that. When I was a kid, I never paid much attention to her but she was telling the truth. I feel like I blink and it's a new month. The holidays will soon be here and gone. Time never stands still. That's one reason I love photography so much...I can actually freeze time. I can save little moments of life forever. It's extremely rewarding and enjoyable. I haven't been shooting for several months though. It's been too hot outside to do anything, so I stay indoors. The heat isn't good for the swelling in my arms.

Speaking of arms, I've packed up the compression pump the insurance company sent for my Lymphedema. It wasn't doing a darn thing except stealing an hour of my time and making me look like the robot on Lost in Space...DANGER WILL ROBINSON, DANGER, DANGER, DANGER!!! Nothing is helping much. The compression sleeves are too hot and don't address the swelling in my chest area so I've got to talk with the breast surgeon once again when I go for my checkup next month. She's probably going to recommend some type of chest compression garment. We'll see. The most frustrating thing about my surgery has been the Lymphedema. I don't mind the long, horizontal scar at all. It doesn't hurt and if that was all I had to deal with it would be a piece of cake but this darn swelling is the pits! I can't tell you how frustrating it is and how much I wish I didn't have to deal with it. But how can I complain? I know God allowed it. I think of Paul and the thorn in his flesh given him to buffet him...some scholars say it was speech impediment, some say it was his short stature and physically weak body...no matter, it was something that frustrated him on a daily basis, moment by moment, reminding him of his dependence on God and I am TRYING to look at Lymphedema in the same light but it's difficult. And I still have the clothing challenges. There is nothing I can find to camouflage the HUGE size of my arms except shirts in size JUMBO or with butterfly sleeves, dolman sleeves, or those very out of style caftans we used to wear in the 70s.

I have a family reunion to attend this weekend and I'm not even looking forward to it. I don't want to sound shallow but I really don't relish people gawking at me. I'm trying to decide whether to wear my boobs or not...if I wear them I'll be extremely hot. If I don't, all the young ones will be looking at me and questioning their parents as to why that lady doesn't have any boobs. Decisions. And why do I care anyway? Why do I care what they think? Why do I care about making them uncomfortable about my breastlessness? Do I put my comfort on the back burner so I can look acceptable in public? Yes...pretty much and it sucks.

If you've read this far, you probably realize I'm in a weird mood today and you're right. I'm not depressed, hurt, angry, or moody I'm just being real. These are the thoughts that pop into my head and I just felt like sharing them today. I'm really doing okay. I'm staying focused and I'm living my life. I'm taking one moment at a time and I'm working hard to be honest with myself. I think I'm in a good place.

I had a good day today. I decided to turn off my cell phone for the majority of the day. (I've been suffering from a little sensory overload lately.) I've also spent a lot less time on the computer unless I've been writing for the cancer magazine. I made a carrot cake from scratch for my love's birthday tomorrow, I did the laundry and dishes. I fertilized my plants. I blew off the drive and walkway. I watched a show I DVR'd. I made myself a salad. I read some poetry and wrote this blog post. Those little mundane things meant a lot to me because they tell me life is good and I'm still around to write these random thoughts and that's just as it should be...just because.

The Power to Choose

Size c prosthesis and bra

Having both breasts removed was extremely difficult for me, but amid all the negatives accompanying breast cancer and surgery, there have also been some positives. I’d like to share one of those positives with you today. I’m hoping I won’t offend anyone. I’m sharing this with my tongue in my cheek because after all, we do need to look for some humor along our journey, don’t we? I don’t know about you, but I get tired of all the seriousness of breast cancer in my life. I’ve started looking for some more light hearted moments and today, I found one!

It was time for my check up with the oncologist. I’d made my appointment for the earliest part of the day because that’s when I’m most energetic. I wandered into my walk in closet and selected the clothing I’d wear to the appointment. I tried to find something lightweight and cool. After making my selections, I lay my clothing across the bed while I went into the bathroom to shower. I dried off and prepared to dress. Since having my surgery, I always start with the lower half of my body because the top half usually takes a little more time to get ready. Wiggling into my pants, I began to think about the day. I wondered what the Doc would have to say and what tests he might run. Finally, the bottom half of me was ready and I shifted my focus to the top half. I’d already picked out a blouse but hadn’t chosen a bra or prostheses yet. Smiling to myself, I suddenly realized I had the power to choose and not just the power to choose a bra, but the power to choose the size of my boobs!

The insurance company allows me to have a new set of prostheses every two years. When I chose my first pair of prostheses, I chose the smallest pair available. I’d always been small chested so why would I even think about choosing a bigger size, it would be unnatural…well, sort of. The fitter at the boutique advised me to remember my scars were fresh and my wounds were tender. She thought my choice of a smaller, lighter weight boobs was best. I was proud of my little size A fake boobs and took them home with care instructions. The majority of the time, I didn’t even wear them unless I was going out in public. It was more comfortable to remain flat chested at home. Two years passed quickly and I got excited when I found it was time for an upgrade. I returned to the boutique and asked the fitter to help me find a more substantial set of boobs. She asked my preference, B, C, D. I thought for a few minutes and picked a happy medium. I’d always wanted to be a C and now was my chance. After trying them on for size, I was overjoyed and left with my new bosoms.

In my chest of drawers were two sets of pink zippered cases. Inside each of these little round cases were my prostheses. In the top drawer were my little size A boobs. In the drawer just below it were my size Cs. Decisions, decisions. Did I want to wear the smaller, more comfortable boobs or did I want to really stand out and wear the heavier size Cs? I had the power to choose! I opened the cases for both sets of prostheses and lay them on my bed. I pulled out a size A bra and a size C bra. I stood staring at the boobs for a few minutes and decided today was a size C day! As I slid my C boobs into the bra a big ol’ Cheshire grin crossed my face. Cancer had taken so much away from me but now I got to choose. It was a really little choice, but it was mine nonetheless.

It’s so hard to deal with a post cancer body image. The scars and after effects of chemo and radiation leave such permanent marks on our bodies. Just knowing we have a tiny bit of power to choose how we look is amazing! I’m so thankful I was able to choose between two different sizes of prostheses and believe me, there’s a huge difference between size A and size C prostheses! HUGE!

PTSD the invisible foe

It happened again. I was folding a load of laundry and all of a sudden I was overcome with emotion. I felt the tears welling up inside me and then, with no warning, the dam burst. Sobbing uncontrollably, I tried to complete my task but couldn’t. My husband entered the room and found me curled in a ball on the end of the bed. He put his arm around me and tried to console me as he asked what was wrong. “I don’t know,” I explained through the tears. “I just feel so…so ugly,” I said. I explained I felt I’d lost my femininity. I was feeling fragile and unlovely. Without breasts, I felt less than other women. As I tried to help him understand why I was feeling so distraught, I wondered if I might be experiencing a little touch of PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.)

Since surgery, I’d noticed I was extremely sensitive to loud noises. I found myself jumping if a door slammed or some other type of sharp, loud noise occurred. I’d also noticed, in large groups of people, I felt like I was being overly stimulated. I couldn’t focus on multiple conversations occurring at the same time. When out in public, I’d have meltdowns in the most random places and at the most unexpected times. I’d burst into tears for no reason whatsoever. This wasn’t normal. This wasn’t me. But why, two years out from my initial surgery, was I still going through this? I wondered if other breast cancer patients/survivors suffered from these types of symptoms, too.

I’d heard about PTSD in relation to military personnel and how those on the front lines in active duty often came home with some of the same symptoms I’d been experiencing. Their cases were more severe and rightly so. Facing imminent death on a daily basis is certainly traumatic but why would PTSD be so prevalent in the lives of women with breast cancer? As I searched for answers to this question, I came across many articles on the internet. In one article published on Psych Central, I found some interesting information. The article was based on a study done in Germany and stated: “The findings reveal that receiving a breast cancer diagnosis often has a stronger psychological impact than experiencing other types of severe trauma, such as a serious accident or a violent assault. Over half of the breast cancer patients in the study still suffered from at least one symptom of PTSD one year after diagnosis. That the high level of stress should persist for such a long time is particularly striking,” said lead researcher Dr. Kerstin Hermelink of the Breast Cancer Center in the Department of Gynecology and Obstetrics at the LMU Medical Center. Indeed, the severity of the psychological and emotional impact of the cancer diagnosis is underlined by another result reported in the study. When patients who had already had a traumatic experience, such as a serious accident or a violent assault, prior to the development of malignancy, some 40 percent of them rated having breast cancer as the more severe traumatic event.”

Just knowing doctors consider PTSD to be a very real malady among breast cancer patients/survivors made me feel so much better. At least I knew I wasn’t alone. But PTSD comes with a certain type of shame and stigma, at least for women who’ve battled breast cancer. Do we really have a right to say we have PTSD? Is it okay to chalk those feelings of fear, insecurity, jumpiness, inadequacy, helplessness, and isolation up to the aftermath of a cancer experience? I think it is although some may not agree with me. PTSD isn’t a condition validated only by those who’ve faced mortar rounds and gunfire. Breast cancer immediately places women into a battle they never intended on fighting. We are ill equipped to march forward onto the front lines of our own personal war and when we think we’ve completed the battle…we find it isn’t over. PTSD plans a sneak attack. It springs up and catches us off guard.

I haven’t found a way to completely combat PTSD in my life but I’m working on it. When I start to feel overcome with emotion or feel overly stressed in any situation, I politely recuse myself to a more serene location. By learning to set some boundaries in my life, I can help keep the PTSD under control.

There’s no way to know when or if PTSD might affect a woman with breast cancer. Each case is different. Some women may never experience any dealings with PTSD while others find it debilitates their lives. I’m hoping the PTSD in my life will ease with time or in a best case scenario, completely disappear. It’s challenging to constantly be on guard against an invisible foe. Sometimes I feel like cancer is the gift that keeps on giving but the gifts aren’t always ones I welcome.

© bonnie annis all rights reserved

We're here to pump you up

Several years ago there was a funny Saturday night spoof featuring Arnold Schwarzenegger and Dana Carvey. It was a hilarious skit about two body builders and how they were going to help "pump up" people's muscles with their wonderful body building techniques. I thought about that silly skit this morning as I got out my compression pump and slipped on the compression sleeves. After the fiasco, the other day, where I got stuck in the sleeves and couldn't get out, I decided it would be best to only do one arm at a time when I'm alone in the house, so I slipped one arm out of the sleeve and lay it on the sofa.

As I got situated, the reality of my circumstances hit me square between the eyes. This wasn't going to be a once in a blue moon thing. This was going to be a daily, forever commitment. I don't know why I hadn't thought of that before, but I hadn't. Lymphedema doesn't ever go away. I'm stuck with it for the rest of my life and if I want to be able to function as normally as possible, I have to go through this therapy for an hour every single day. One hour. That doesn't sound like much. 60 minutes. No big deal, right? Wrong. When I'm hooked up to this pump, I'm immobile. I can't do anything I want to do. All I can do is sit and let the machine do it's thing. The sleeves compress tightly around my arms and begin working from fingertip to shoulder. As the sleeves compress, they move lymphatic fluid throughout my body.

I'm thankful someone invented this type of machinery for those of us who need it but I'm frustrated at having had my lymph glands removed in the first place. I understand why the sentinel node in my right arm had to be removed, because it had cancer in it, but the others...they didn't. And yes, my breast surgeon was taking precautions to insure no cancer cells were missed but if I'd known what the removal of my lymph nodes would have involved, I would have refused surgery. But there's nothing I can do now so I try my best to grin and bear it. I know the compression therapy is meant to help me even though it restricts my movements for an hour every single day.

The best way to counter all the negativity associated with lymphedema is to look for the positives. I'm thankful I still have my arms. I'm thankful the cancer had not spread to even more lymph nodes in my body. I'm thankful there are ways to help move the lymphatic fluid through my body and most of all, I'm thankful I'm still here.

Bottom line: lymphedema sucks. It really does. It's painful and irritating. My arms swell so much I can't wear 95% of my clothing but there are people suffering with worse cases than mine. So permit me to whine a little today. It makes me feel better even though it doesn't change my circumstances one tiny bit. And why is it that complaining makes us feel better? Isn't that weird? It should really make us feel worse. I really should be ashamed of myself for complaining at all.

© bonnie annis all rights reserved

Another terrible,horrible, no good, very bad day

Nobody likes Mondays. Mondays signal the end of weekend freedom. Mondays mean a return to the grind for those who remain enslaved in the workforce, but even for those who no longer do the typical 9 to 5 routine, Mondays aren't anything to look forward to...most people I know dread Mondays. I'm one of those Monday haters and let me tell you why.

This morning, when I woke up, I knew I had an appointment for physical therapy on my spine. For the past 2 weeks, I've been enduring challenging treatments to help remedy severe spinal pain. The first few treatments were difficult but as treatment continued, I decided enough was enough. I was tired of going in with my back hurting and coming home with it hurting even more than it did before I saw the therapist. I wasn't looking forward to my appointment and wanted desperately to call in and cancel it.

I got dressed and made myself go to the appointment. I knew Dr. K, my orthopedic spine specialist, had scheduled these therapy sessions to help me and I was determined to follow through with his plan of action. As much as I didn't want to, I got in the car and drove to the rehab center. When I arrived, I was taken back to the treatment area, asked to disrobe and lie on a therapy table. One of the assistants came over with a very large heating pad and placed it on my back. I lay there for 20 minutes before Russ came over to work on me. When he began the deep tissue massage, I realized how tight some of my muscles were. As he dug in deeper, I winced in pain but he continued. Next he used some kind of spinal manipulation tool to separate the vertebrae into the proper positions. It felt like a large metal file of some sort that he was pressing and sliding across my spine. It did NOT feel good and I told him so. I'd thought I was going to get the electronic stimulation next but he decided I needed to do a different type of therapy today. I was placed on top of a large foam roller and had to do various stretching exercises while the hard foam semi circle dug into my back. I did everything Russ (my therapist) asked me to do. I was thankful therapy was only 45 minutes today instead of an hour. As I got into my car, I bawled. What a great way to start the day...but wait, it gets even better.

My new lymphedema pump

When I got home, I noticed a large brown box on my front porch. When I went to open the box, I found the new compression pump and compression sleeves for my lymphedema treatment. For the past 2 months, I've been waiting for this unit to arrive. I've been fighting with my insurance company to get them to approve the equipment ordered by my oncologist but instead of giving me the specific unit he wanted me to have, they substituted another less powerful machine. They said the one my doc wants me to have isn't medically necessary but the representative from Tactile Medical (the company that makes these lymphedema treatment machines) told me they usually balk at first but give in after the patient tries the less powerful machine without good results. In a nutshell, I have to use this machine and document how it doesn't help me in order to get the original machine my oncologist ordered...doesn't make sense to me, but you have to play their games, I guess.

My cell phone rang as I was unboxing the equipment. It was my oldest daughter. She was calling to tell me about her weekend. As we talked, I got the compressor hooked up and finagled the compression sleeves onto my arms. I figured while we talked, I could have my one hour treatment and kill two birds with one stone. This was the first time using the equipment alone. The last two times I'd tried it, the rep had been with me and had shown me exactly what to do. She stayed with me during the entire treatment.

The hookup looked fairly simple according to the diagram. I unzipped the right compression sleeve and lay it on the sofa then unzipped the left one and lay it alongside the first sleeve. Then I connected the hoses to the compression pump. I continued talking with my daughter while I plugged it in and slipped the first sleeve onto my arm and zipped it up. Next I tried to put the second sleeve on and found it quite difficult since I already had one sleeve on my arm and had no free hand or fingers to zip up the zipper. I had to think for a minute and finally bent over and used my teeth to pull up the second zipper. So far, so good. As I listened to my daughter tell me about my youngest grandson cutting his two year molars, I switched on the pump and sat down on the sofa to enjoy a quiet, pumping massage to both of my arms.

Me in the compression sleeves

As the machine began to inflate the sleeves, they became quite tight and restrictive. Having both arms outstretched was uncomfortable. By scooting my outstretched arm over the sofa pillow and alongside it, I managed to move a cushion under one arm and then do the same for the next arm. Now I was all set and ready to let the pump do its thing. I was supposed to have an hour of treatment according to my doctor. I sat back with my elevated puffy arms and let the machine work. The compression pump was extremely quiet. I was thankful as Erin and I continued talking. Somehow, during our conversation, the call dropped and when she called back in, I wasn't able to answer because I couldn't move my arms. I couldn't get them out of the sleeves! What to do??? I managed to straddle the long hoses connecting the sleeves to the pump while staying attached to the machine and bend over just enough to use the tip of my nose to press on the green answer button on my Iphone. I wasn't able to hold the phone and I couldn't hear her talking so I spoke loudly asking her to wait a second while I used my nose once again to switch on the speaker button. When I had her where I could finally hear her, I told her what I'd just had to do. Although it sounded hilarious to her, it was a difficult challenge. I sat back down on the sofa to continue my compression therapy and pick up on the conversation where we'd left off.

After about thirty minutes, my arms were feeling very uncomfortable and I wanted to get out of the sleeves and turn off the machine. As I looked down at my arms I had no idea how I was going to manage. There were large fabric loops attached the zippers on both sleeves but I had no free fingers or hands to grasp the loops because both hands were encased in the compression sleeves. I tried bending my head at an angle to grasp the loop with my teeth, which I managed to do, but was unable to pull the zipper down toward my hand. Just knowing I couldn't remove the sleeves seemed to intensify the level of compression and I began to go into panic mode. My daughter could tell by my voice I was starting to freak out a bit. She told me to calm down and try to think what I could do to get out of the sleeves. Since she was 1700 miles away, she could do nothing to help other than try to calm me down and offer suggestions. When the anxiety began to escalate, I heard her call her little ones together to come pray with her. I listened as they softly asked God "to help Gigi figure out a way to get out of the compression sleeves."

I wiggled and twisted my body trying to find some way to be set free but nothing worked. After about 15 minutes, I told my daughter (who'd been so kind to stay on the phone with me the entire time) she needed to call my other daughter, Laura, and ask her to drive over and help me. (Laura lives about 45 minutes away so even if she'd been the one coming to my rescue, I'd have had to wait a good while before I was able to be out of the sleeves.) Erin told me she was going to call Laura and call me back. I asked her not to hang up because I didn't know if I could answer the phone again with my nose. She said okay and put me on hold as she called her sister and told her of my plight. A few minutes later, Erin came back on the phone and said Laura was in a neighboring town shopping. She wasn't going to be able to help me. I was feeling very helpless and then, to make matters worse, my nose started to itch! Have you ever had an itch you can't scratch? Well, it isn't a good feeling! I tried thinking about something else but it didn't work. My nose kept on itching and wasn't getting better. I leaned over from the waist and rubbed my nose on the compressor box. Ahhh...finally some relief! Now my nose was feeling better but the rest of me was still in a tight (pun intended) situation.

Entering total freak out mode and feeling like I was in a straight jacket, I put one arm between my legs and tried to pull. The compression on the sleeve was so tight it wasn't going to budge unless I could manage to squeeze some of the air out of that sleeve and manage to slide it off. I used my thighs to squeeze as tight as I could. As I squeezed on my right arm, my left arm inflated even more. (The air was transferring between the two sleeves.) And to make matters worse, the pump kept filling and refilling every few minutes as it was supposed to do with the compression therapy. Then it dawned on me...if I could manage to unplug the machine, it might stop inflating. Still, I had no hands free so I had to kick the pump off the coffee table and using my toes, unplug the adapter cord from the back of the compressor unit. After several attempts, I managed to unplug it. No longer was the pump forcing more air into the sleeves, thank God!

I stood up and put my right arm between my legs again and squeezed with all my might. As I continued squeezing, I tried to force the sleeve down my arm. It took 4 attempts before I was able to feel a tiny give in the compression sleeve and as soon as I felt that little bit of wiggle room, I was intent on getting that sleeve off! Erin kept talking to me the entire time and helped keep me calm. After all that struggle, I finally got one arm free and then was able to get the other free too.

I've never felt so happy in all my life! Getting out of those tight compression sleeves was a miracle! If there'd been a hidden camera recording the entire situation, I'm sure it would have made the top 10 of America's funniest home videos. While it is funny to think about now, it was the furthest thing from  being funny at the time.

Tonight I'm going to write the company and suggest they place warning label on the compression unit encouraging patients to make sure they are not alone when attempting to use both sleeves at the same time. I'd hate for someone else to go through what I went through today. So now you can understand why I don't like Mondays very much. Especially ones that end up like this one did - a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.

© bonnie annis all rights reserved