Embracing Change in the Face of Aging and Breast Cancer

Bonnie Annis is a breast cancer survivor, diagnosed in 2014 with stage 2b invasive ductal carcinoma with metastasis to the lymph nodes. Catch up on all of Bonnie's blogs here!

As we age, health challenges may cause us to face a “difficult friendship” with our bodies, especially as we recognize that there are many factors which cannot control.

When I was diagnosed with breast cancer, I had no idea how it would impact my health for the rest of my life. I’m almost 67 and have been cancer free for the past 10 years. That statement would bring a round of applause from most of my family and friends but those closest to me know it wasn’t an easy road to travel. Since my diagnosis of cancer, it seems my body has decided it’s tired of working. It has revolted in one way or another and I’ve had to learn to become friends with it in a very different way. This year alone, I’ve endured three major surgeries and multiple trips to the emergency room. These experiences have been challenging.

It's a given that as we age, our bodies slowly begin to wear out. Wrinkles appear, our hair turns gray and we aren’t as chipper as we once were. Those are normal progressions as we prepare to leave this world and enter the next, but those bodily changes can leave a huge imprint on us. Minor illnesses can quickly become major. Injuries can become debilitating. Often, one thing can lead to another and another and another causing a “snowball” effect and if a person isn’t well grounded, these changes can cause feelings of hopelessness and helplessness.

When cancer entered my life, it caused me to change course as it altered my life map. I thought I knew where I was going and how I was going to get there, but as my internal compass shifted, I found it necessary to chart a new course. Unable to see the entire map, I was forced to travel turn by turn. And this has forced me to live by faith instead of by sight.

The younger, healthier me still lives inside my head. I make plans based on what she thinks I can do, but the older me, the one who faces reality, screams, “Are you crazy?! You can’t do that!” And I’ve learned to listen to her voice more than the other.

The seasons of my life seem to mirror those of nature. Right now, I look out the window and see brilliant-colored leaves falling. As they float gently to the ground, they shrivel and die. It seems to be a sad thing to watch as they lose their color and turn boring shades of brown, but their death brings nutrition to the soil. And next year, new leaves will begin to bud and grow as regeneration takes place.

I wish I hadn’t taken my health for granted when I was younger. Now, every day I wake up on this side of the ground, I’m thankful.

Cancer has taught me to appreciate the little things. When my back cries out in pain, from osteoarthritis, I must give thanks. If cancer had won, I wouldn’t be able to feel anything, even pain. I’m learning to think differently about my body. Yes, I’m breastless, have a bum knee, all sorts of aches and pains, and other maladies, but I’m still here.

I’d like to share an excerpt from Jane Kenyon’s poem, “Cages,” because she expresses so well what I can’t:

“And the body, what about the body? Sometimes it is my favorite child uncivilized…

And sometimes my body disgusts me, filling and emptying, it disgusts me…

This long struggle to be at home in the body, the difficult friendship.”

How do we learn to make friends with a body we don’t understand, one that’s betrayed us? I’m not quite sure. The only advice I can give is to combat fear with faith, to express gratitude daily and to accept the things we can’t change. Making friends with your body, though broken, battered and bruised, seems to be a much better option than becoming enemies with one another. Don’t you agree?

Come November, many will focus on gratitude. It seems odd that only one month out of 12 receives that gift. In order to help me gain ground, as I travel the difficult road of post-cancer life, I’ve chose to list three things each day for which I’m grateful. As I do this, I’m finding the difficult friendship I have with my body is becoming less challenging. And one day, I hope to put all the things cancer has taken from me behind so that I can be best friends with my body again.

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