Bonnie Annis is a breast cancer survivor, diagnosed in 2014 with stage 2b invasive ductal carcinoma with metastasis to the lymph nodes. She is an avid photographer, freelance writer/blogger, wife, mother and grandmother.

Bonnie Annis

Bonnie Annis is a breast cancer survivor, diagnosed in 2014 with stage 2b invasive ductal carcinoma with metastasis to the lymph nodes. 

Going through breast cancer has pushed me to do things I never thought I would. A significant part of that newfound freedom comes from the influence of a famous icon and fellow breast cancer survivor, Kathy Bates.

My youngest daughter has witnessed how drastically my life has changed since my breast cancer diagnosis. She has seen my struggles to find and accept this new season of life. Sometimes, she has had to witness moments I wish she hadn’t, like when I lie on the floor of my closet in tears because I can’t find a blouse that camouflages my breastlessness, or when I throw something across the room out of sheer frustration. Throughout it all, she has made it clear that I don’t have to pretend around her; I can be myself, and that’s what I’ve tried to do.

I cherish the moments when she finds YouTube videos she thinks will help lift my spirits. Occasionally, I discover something in my inbox from her, and I offer up a prayer of gratitude. She truly gets me. In contrast, my other children seem to struggle to understand what living past breast cancer is like. They adopt a more serious attitude and attempt to “sweep my outbursts under the rug,” pretending they don’t exist. However, the frustrations of dealing with breast cancer—both during and after treatment—are real, and survivors have every right to feel them.

Recently, my youngest sent me a message through Facebook Messenger that included a lip sync battle from Jimmy Kimmel’s Saturday Night Live spoofs. When I opened it, I immediately smiled. The star of the battle was Kathy Bates, one of my favorite actresses and a breast cancer icon. Although I had only seen one or two lip sync battles in the past, I always found them amusing as actors tried to “out-sing” the original artists. The skits provide a good dose of laughter and always brighten my day.

In this specific lip sync battle, Kathy Bates strides onto the stage wearing dark sunglasses, a fur coat, and a stylish fedora, exuding confidence. As Bruno Mars' song “That’s What I Like” starts playing, the audience erupts with excitement. The cheering reaches its peak as she sheds the coat, revealing a button-down leopard print shirt, a dazzling piece of jewelry, and her braless self. I must admit, my jaw dropped when I realized she had the courage to perform without prostheses! To this day, I still struggle with the confidence to go anywhere without my fake breasts. Yet Kathy owned the stage, dancing joyfully as the song played, while the crowd cheered her on.

While the song is undoubtedly uplifting, Kathy offered much more than just that. She brought her authentic self—warts and all, or in this case, breastlessness and everything cancer had taken from her.

Oh, to have the bravery that this wonderful woman displayed on stage! I would give anything to experience that kind of joy and carefree attitude in front of a crowd.

I’ve watched the video my daughter sent about ten times now, and each time, I smile even more than before. I can’t get enough of it.

Many may not realize all that Ms. Bates has been through in her life, but I do. I have followed her career closely for years. Not only have I enjoyed every one of her movies, but I’ve also admired how she has overcome one challenge after another.

As breast cancer survivors, we need icons like Ms. Bates to remind us that life is worth living, and that we can be brave in a world that often struggles to accept those of us who have chosen to forego breast reconstruction. Women can empower each other to do things we never thought we could achieve, and I must applaud Ms. Bates for reminding me that I have the power. As Glenda, the Good Witch, said to Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz, “…My dear, you’ve had the power all along.”

I hope that one day my granddaughters will look up to me the way I look up to Kathy Bates, and that a smile will spread across their faces with pride as they say, “That’s my grandma! Look at her go!” And if they happen to see me doing something without my prostheses, I hope they’ll appreciate it and applaud even louder, recognizing that it took immense courage to embrace such moments with sheer abandon.

This piece reflects the author’s personal experience and perspective. For medical advice, please consult your health care provider.

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Articles

Breast cancer has profoundly impacted the author's life, leading to newfound freedom and inspiration from fellow survivor Kathy Bates. The author shares the emotional journey of coping with breastlessness and the support received from her youngest daughter, who helps lift her spirits. Kathy Bates' fearless performance without prostheses serves as a powerful reminder of embracing authenticity and courage. The author aspires to embody similar bravery and hopes to inspire future generations. The narrative underscores the importance of role models in empowering breast cancer survivors to live boldly.

Going through breast cancer has pushed me to do things I never thought I would.

A Lighthearted Look at Breast Cancer Freedom   

Before getting out of bed, I can feel the warm sun shining through my window. It tells me I’ve received the gift of another day of life. Whispering thanks, I rise slowly. Sitting on the side of the bed, I wiggle my toes and stretch. I don’t want to miss a single thing the day has to offer. Smiling, I rise, realizing my husband is already up and has a pot of coffee going. I can smell the pungent aroma wafting from the kitchen.

Rubbing my eyes, I enter our breakfast nook, and he greets me. “Hi, sleepy head!” he says with a smile. “I made you coffee.” I watch as his strong hand pushes the cup toward me and receive it with gratitude. I’ve been having trouble sleeping, and medication has made me groggy. The coffee helps wake me up and get me going.

After a quick breakfast, we make the bed together and get dressed. Last night we planned to take a brisk walk early in the day. We wanted to be out before it got too hot. The clock says we’re already an hour past our planned time, so we need to hurry.

Jumping into the car, I put earbuds in and listen to an audio Bible recording as we drive to the nearest walking trail. I like to do two things at once. It gives me a sense of accomplishment.

We arrive at the trailhead just behind City of Hope, a beautiful facility where I’ve been going for cancer care. It feels odd parking behind the building and focusing on the trail instead of the treatment center. Though I see it from the corner of my eye, I whisper thanks. I’m glad I’m not going every few months like I used to. Now I’m under surveillance, and when early spring comes, I’ll enter the survivorship program.

At the beginning of the trail, I reach for my husband’s hand. He knows I’m unsteady since my recent knee replacement. I rely on his strength to keep me balanced. We start slowly and enjoy the beautiful flowering plants along the trail. Now and then, a butterfly flits by. Those little gifts help me realize how thankful I am to be alive. There was a time, not many years ago, when I wasn’t sure I’d make it.

When we hit the mile-and-a-half marker on the trail, we stop for a break. The sun is high, and it’s gotten warm. On a bench, to the side of the trail, we sit and discuss the future. Birds are singing high in the trees overhead, and my heart leaps for joy. Though I don’t speak it, I think to myself, I could have missed this glorious day.

We head back to the parking lot as the day becomes hotter. Before leaving, I ask if we can take a few minutes to go inside the treatment center. I need to reschedule my appointment due to a scheduling conflict. Though I dread going in, I do.

As we approach the entrance, I see patients in wheelchairs. Most of them are wearing masks and look frail. I can tell they’re in active treatment and are waiting for rides home. I breathe up a prayer of thanks as I squeeze my husband’s hand. He knows that squeeze means “I’m so glad that’s not me.”

We make our way to the scheduling desk and take care of business, then make a stop by the Cancer Fighters’ corner — a designated area for patients with cancer to enjoy arts and crafts. A staff member is there, and she greets us, asking if we’d like to participate in a yogurt tasting. We declined, and I grabbed a schedule of events from the wall. I peruse it to see if there are any events I might enjoy attending. Nothing caught my eye, so we left. I can’t wait to get out of there.

We pull away from the City of Hope building. In the rearview mirror, I watch asit gets smaller as we leave. I’m thankful for the doctors and nurses in the facility; they’ve been so instrumental in helping others in our city, and they will always hold a special place in my heart. When I needed them most, they were there.

At home, we finish some housework together and have lunch before heading outside for some fresh air and reading. It will be a laid-back day, and that’s okay. I’m enjoying the crisp feeling of fall in the air. Next month, we’ll be in the mountains for a week. We always go in October when the leaves change color. That special time reminds me that nothing stays the same.

We sit for hours reading and relaxing. Normally, the calendar would hold several appointments, but this week there are none.

I don’t look at the clock like I used to. Now I tell time by the sun. As it sinks lower in the sky, I realize it’s time to make dinner, so we go inside. After a hearty meal, we found a good movie to watch.

As the day winds down, I realize I’ve been safe, I’ve enjoyed time with my love and I’m at peace. Those little things mean so much. I hate to admit there was a time I took them for granted. It hasn’t been an eventful day;it’s just been normal, and that’s the way I like it.

Cancer taught me to savor the small things. No longer do I walk by a flower without stopping to admire its color or fragrance. No longer do I take for granted the ability to walk. No longer do I fail to thank my Creator for allowing me to be alive and be present. Life is such a gift, and I’m so glad I get to live it.

This piece reflects the author’s personal experience and perspective as a breast cancer survivor. For medical advice, please consult your health care provider.

A cancer survivor reflects on the profound appreciation for life and the small joys it brings, following a journey through treatment and recovery. The narrative highlights the importance of gratitude, the support of loved ones, and the transition from active treatment to survivorship. The survivor's day is filled with simple pleasures, such as a morning walk, time spent with a spouse, and the beauty of nature. This newfound perspective emphasizes the value of everyday moments and the significance of living in the present.

Since being diagnosed with breast cancer, my life has drastically changed. Time has helped each day become more precious and has caused me to become more grateful.  

A Day in the Life of a Breast Cancer Survivor 

This year, I’ll be 68. As I realize that I may have more years behind me than ahead, I want to create a legacy for my children. One of the best ways I can achieve this is by helping them understand my life. There are so many things they don’t know about me.

I’ve started recording some of my childhood memories in hopes of helping them understand how I became the person I am today. As I relive these memories, they bring both smiles and tears. I’ve experienced many happier times than sad, and I certainly prefer that they remember the good things. However, to truly grasp how I arrived at this point in my life, I must also share the sorrowful times — and the most significant of those was my journey through breast cancer. 

When I was diagnosed with breast cancer, I wanted to document everything. I began writing a blog because I knew my children and grandchildren, being part of the digital age, would be more inclined to read an online journal rather than the paper ones I had previously kept. Day by day, I recorded my thoughts as I grappled with what cancer would mean for me. Writing turned out to be therapeutic, allowing me to process my feelings in ways I hadn’t expected. 

I took pictures whenever I went for tests or treatments. I wanted to provide my family with an accurate representation of my experience. I also aimed to prepare the female members of my family for news I hoped they would never have to hear. I wish I had received such a gift before I listened to the words, “You have cancer.” Sadly, the only person related to me who could have shared this was my mother-in-law, who belonged to a generation that kept these issues quiet. It wasn’t until she asked me to accompany her to a breast ultrasound that I truly understood the magnitude of what she was facing. Little did I know my personal journey would begin just a few years later. 

While cleaning out her house after her passing, I found one of her breast forms in the top drawer of a dresser. Holding it in my hands made me cry. My mother-in-law, a brave woman, never let on how devastated she felt after receiving her diagnosis. She didn’t discuss how Tamoxifen turned her into an emotional wreck; instead, she endured it and did her best to protect us from the ugliness of cancer. She was a kind and caring person. I know that if she had thought to do so, she would have recorded essential memories for my husband and me. Rather than writing them in a journal or documenting them online, she lived her life with cancer the best way she knew how. That was the beautiful legacy we will always cherish. 

I’ve tried to do the same with my life, but I’ve taken it a step further. I’ve chosen to document my cancer journey by participating in breast cancer awareness projects, joining walks, contributing to research, writing letters, participating in scientific studies, creating art, donating to cancer research, and doing my best to provide a sense of meaning and connection to future generations.

One of the main ways I’ve worked to provide a lasting cancer legacy is to make sure our family’s breast cancer history has been documented. I’ve also done my best to advocate for breast cancer testing.

Each year, as Breast Cancer Awareness Month rolls around, I push hard to remind my daughters to have their breasts checked. Being proactive in breast healthcare is a crucial part of the legacy I want to leave behind.

Another part of my breast cancer legacy involves fundraising. Each year, I participate in raising financial support for those who may otherwise be unable to afford medical testing. I’m especially concerned for female college students.

Breast cancer legacy projects can give a sense of value and purpose. They can also help determine what I can provide future generations. It’s so important to create a sense of hope during challenging times. Leaving a legacy is one way I can make a lasting impact on others.

Reflecting on the desire to leave a meaningful legacy, the narrative explores the author's journey through breast cancer and the importance of sharing personal experiences with family. By documenting her cancer journey through blogs, photos, and participation in awareness projects, she aims to provide her children with a comprehensive understanding of her life. The author emphasizes the significance of proactive breast healthcare and fundraising for medical testing, particularly for vulnerable groups. Her efforts underscore the value of creating a legacy that offers hope and connection to future generations.

Leaving a legacy is essential for many, especially for those who have faced cancer. We long for our friends and family to understand how cancer impacts our lives.  

Why Leaving a Breast Cancer Legacy Matters to Me

I love it when the seasons change, and the weather begins to cool down. I’ve found that the changing seasons affect both my energy and outlook. As the weather turns crisp and cool, I feel more energetic. During this time, I’m reminded I’m still alive and I’m grateful.

As I sat at my computer this morning, I gazed out over my wooded lot and marveled at the evidence of the changing seasons. Leaves on the trees are turning from a deep shade of green into various hues of orange, red, and brown. There is a brisk, cool breeze blowing and an air of anticipation in the wind. I can feel it. Autumn is here! My favorite time of year is when the mornings are cool, and the nights are scintillating. When fires in the fireplace and cups of hot chocolate are so very near, seasons — how I love them!

The Bible says, "For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven a time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up what is planted; a time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up; a time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance; a time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing; a time to seek, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away; a time to tear, and a time to sew; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak; a time to love, and a time to hate; a time for war, and a time for peace." Ecclesiastes 3:1-8

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

My life has been so rich and so full. For 68 years, I've lived every single day to the fullest. I've made goals and dreamed dreams. I've grown and changed many times. First from childhood into adolescence, then from adolescence into adulthood. I've enjoyed being a wife, a mother, and a friend. I've experienced life as it's come full circle. I've watched grandchildren be born and older family members die. There have been seasons of joy and pain, but one isn't complete without the other. Seasons. Life keeps going. Cancer has helped change me and continues to refine me. I'm no longer the person I used to be. I am different now, but in a good way. I’ve realized this one life I’ve been given is truly magical, and if I let one day slip by without savoring it, I’ve done it a great injustice.

The seasons of life are just as important as seasons in nature. Spring brings a time of renewal and growth. Summer is a time for basking and playing, enjoying life with wild abandon. Fall is a time for shedding negativity and sloughing off unmet expectations, dropping old hurts, bitterness, and unforgiveness. It's a time of letting go. And Winter is a time of rest and renewal as we wait for the seasons to circle around again.

As a cancer survivor, it’s important to remember that nothing stays the same. Seasons change, and so do we. Each season brings gifts of its own; we must look for and unwrap them.

The changing seasons serve as a metaphor for the author's life journey, particularly as a breast cancer survivor. The transition from summer to autumn symbolizes a shift from youthful vibrancy to a period of reflection and transformation. This phase, while challenging, is embraced as an opportunity for growth and renewal. The author reflects on the richness of life experiences, acknowledging the interplay of joy and pain. Emphasizing the importance of savoring each moment, the narrative underscores the inevitability of change and the unique gifts each life season offers.

The shift in seasons reminds me I’m alive, grateful, and still changing as a cancer survivor embracing life’s new chapters.

Bonnie Annis

A Lighthearted Look at Breast Cancer Freedom

A Day in the Life of a Breast Cancer Survivor

Why Leaving a Breast Cancer Legacy Matters to Me

Changing Seasons Can Affect A Survivor’s Outlook After Cancer

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