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. Catch up on all of 

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, 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 the pictures turned out nice anyway.

Coping with emotions before, during, and after breast cancer is 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.

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Articles

Breast cancer is a multifaceted journey, encompassing both physical and emotional challenges. The narrative highlights the personal experience of a breast cancer survivor who navigated treatment decisions, emotional turmoil, and self-acceptance. The survivor chose a non-traditional treatment path, valuing personal autonomy over medical advice. The story underscores the importance of self-compassion and individual choice in coping with cancer's impact. The symbolic use of a wig reflects the survivor's journey towards acceptance and resilience, emphasizing the significance of personal agency and grace in overcoming adversity.

Cancer memories often sneak up on me when I least expect them to. 

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

I don't know when my love of art began, but I would have to say more than likely it was when I was in elementary school. When I opened my first box of Crayola crayons and saw the myriads of colors, I was astounded. They were so pretty! Immediately, I took a piece of paper and began to draw. As I worked, I felt peaceful watching the colors glide across the paper. Not only was I being productive, but I was learning the power of creativity to express myself.

As I grew older, I began to dabble in other mediums — acrylic paints, oil paints, mixed media, assemblage, and other artistic materials. Though I've never had a formal class, I've taught myself various techniques by watching others, watching YouTube videos, and experimenting on my own. As I watched, I learned what I liked and disliked. What I found surprised me. Of course, realistic art impressed me, but abstract art did, too. I loved that each piece of art conveyed a message. I wanted mine to do that, too.

When I was diagnosed with cancer, I found art to be wonderful therapy. Picking up a brush and wielding it against a canvas, I could express myself freely. Some days I painted realistically, and other days I painted abstractly. My mood dictated the technique for the day. Friends and family members soon became recipients of my art. Often, they would exclaim they had received a clear vision of how I was feeling from my work. Happy days were normally filled with brilliant colors, while sad days were dark and moody.

I entered several art contests in our community and won prizes for my work. One of my paintings was even selected to be used in a cancer magazine, and I was so proud. I wanted my work to speak to the lives of other women going through breast cancer.

Though I still paint, I find myself writing more than ever. It has been a very cathartic release since my diagnosis. I've had the honor of writing for several publications focusing on cancer in women. As I've written, I've tried to give a very clear picture of my breast cancer journey. I haven't wanted to sugarcoat anything, but I haven't wanted to scare anyone to death either.

Over the years, I've found many cancer publications choose to paint a breast cancer journey in a very positive light. While I understand they want to give patients with cancer hope, I also feel it's important to share the negative aspects of the disease. Real life isn’t always easy, and it should never be portrayed as such, especially regarding health issues.

Artists use both positive and negative spaces in their paintings. These different values can help draw the eye to a specific point in a work of art. Without the negatives, the positives don't shine. I feel it's the same when survivors paint their experiences with breast cancer.

If I were using art to explain where I am on my cancer journey today, you’d see a canvas filled with muted tones. There would be no dark spaces and no bright-colored spaces. Instead, there would be soft, gentle tones blended abstractly. The reason I feel this way is because I’ve finally come to a point of acceptance along my breast cancer journey.

In March, I will be returning to the cancer treatment center for an annual checkup. No longer do I go to my appointment with fear and dread. I am expecting the visit to be routine, thus the muted tones. In the past, if I were to paint a piece of art to portray the beginning of my journey, it would be splattered with dark blobs overshadowing bright colors. The dark would overpower the light, but not so now.

As a breast cancer survivor, I don’t think I can give an accurate representation of my life if I don't let others see what I’m feeling. The only way they can do that is to stand before my canvas, study it, and come to their own interpretation.

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder and though there have been many dark, depressing days along my cancer path, there have been glorious days as well.

I have a canvas on my easel right now and have been working on it for days. Though it’s been cold and dreary outside, I’m not feeling that way on the inside. As I lift my brush to the canvas, wet paint slides easily. I feel powerful as I carefully place each stroke. No longer do I work on a painting for hours at a time and finish it; instead, I work in quick increments and then step away to reassess. I think that's the same thing we have to do with our lives, especially after having been diagnosed with cancer. It’s important to experience, feel, understand, and accept our lives much in the same way an art connoisseur would do.

Cancer is not a clear black-and-white picture. In the beginning, it's often a muddled mess, but as days go by, and feelings change and grow, a clearer picture often presents itself.

The muted tones of my life and my canvas have melded together over the years. I've watched gentle, soft greens push into heavenly shades of blue. I've watched rosy pinks wade into majestic purples. It’s been interesting to see my work evolve, just as my outlook toward breast cancer has over the years. No longer does it possess the power it once had over me. Now I wield the brush and paint what I want others to see.

I read somewhere that our purpose is to leave the world a better place than when we found it. For me, leaving a true and accurate picture of my life as a survivor is one of the best ways to do that. More importantly, I want my life’s work to convey a very specific message — that fear loses power in the face of someone who’s known courage. Cancer forced me to be courageous. I never expected that to happen, but perhaps that’s part of the masterpiece breast cancer created in me.

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Art has been a therapeutic outlet for a breast cancer survivor, allowing her to express emotions and experiences through various mediums. Initially captivated by colors in childhood, she explored different artistic techniques, finding solace in painting during her cancer journey. Her work, reflecting her emotional state, has been recognized in contests and publications. Writing has also become a cathartic release, offering an honest portrayal of her cancer experience. Acceptance has brought a sense of peace, with her art now embodying muted tones, symbolizing her journey's evolution and newfound courage.

As a breast cancer survivor, I feel it is incumbent upon me to give an accurate picture of cancer to others, particularly newly diagnosed patients. 

Painting an Accurate Portrait of Breast Cancer Survivorship

There’s a term I heard often after I was diagnosed with breast cancer — “Get ready to face your new normal.” I wasn’t sure what that meant and wasn’t sure I wanted to find out. Why did I need to face a new normal? I was perfectly happy with the normal I had before cancer. I had no idea how much my life would change after cancer, but over the years, I’ve found out.

Before cancer, I lived an uncomplicated life. I took the day as it came and did my best to make the most of it. I tried my best to eat healthy, to exercise, to manage my stress. I knew the general things I needed to do to survive and did them. I didn’t give much thought to how those things might affect my future; now I do.

This is my eleventh year of survival. When I say that, I’m almost overcome with emotion. I never expected to live this long post-diagnosis. In the back of my mind, after I heard “You have cancer,” I assumed that was it. That was what was going to take me out. Since childhood, I’ve often wondered how I’d die. I imagined different scenarios — car crash, drowning, gunshot… I wasn’t trying to be morbid; it was just a curiosity. So, when I was given a bad certificate of health, I thought, “OK. Now I have my answer. I’ll die from an uncurable disease.” And that was that.

Somewhere along the way, my perspective changed. Maybe it was the inner will to survive that gripped my heart. Right after the clock struck midnight and we moved from 2024 into 2025, I had a revelation. This year I needed to create a new version of me. I needed to become version 2.0.

About three days before the end of the year, I’d gotten notice that I needed to renew Microsoft Windows 365 on my computer. When I’d purchased a new computer last year, the company I bought from said I’d need to add on a subscription for Windows. The annual fee was under a hundred dollars, and since I used Windows daily, I told the salesperson to go ahead and tack it on to my bill.

I’ve been working on computers since I was 15, and back then, computers were the size of a small room. They used a type of ticker tape to feed information into them, and they’d spit it back out on command. We didn’t have Windows programs back then, but when Windows 1.0 came out, I was all in. I loved computers and still do today.

Getting that prompt to renew my subscription was the catalyst that pushed me forward. In order to update myself to be a better version, I was going to need to make some changes. I made a list of three things for the start of my renewal program:

I will exercise daily. When I exercise, I feel good. Exercising releases endorphins, and I need all of those I can get. I’m not going to limit myself to one type of program. While I enjoy walking most of all, I’m going to incorporate weight training, swimming and some form of freestyle dance into my routine. Changing it up will help me stay out of the rut I fall into by doing the same things repeatedly.

I will guard my heart and mind against stress. Stress is detrimental to my health, and I will do whatever necessary to avoid it. I will unplug, set boundaries and spend time finding ways to celebrate relaxing each day. I’m getting close to 70. It’s too bad it’s taken me this long to realize it’s OK to chill now and then.

I will learn something new every day. Perhaps I’ll study a new language, take an online class, or learn new cooking techniques. I won’t go one more day without choosing to upgrade myself.

Version 2.0 will be new and unfamiliar. The build will be gradual, but I’m excited to see it grow. And who knows, next year, if this improvement goes as well as I think it will, I’ll start working on version 3.0!

A breast cancer survivor reflects on the concept of a "new normal" and the transformative journey post-diagnosis. Initially resistant to change, the survivor embraces a new perspective, inspired by a routine software update, to create a better version of themselves. This involves committing to daily exercise, stress management, and continuous learning. The survivor's journey highlights the importance of adaptability and self-improvement in the face of life-altering challenges, with a focus on personal growth and resilience as they approach their 70s.

A revelation has given me perspective for the New Year, inspiring me to embrace change, set new goals and upgrade myself to a better version in 2025.

Becoming a Better Version of Me After Breast Cancer

onnie 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 

Breast cancer alters a woman’s appearance and can cause her self-esteem to suffer. Sometimes, all it takes is a little boost to bring back self-confidence. That boost can be very tiny or extremely large. In my case, I learned that big things, like feeling pretty, can come in little packages.

There’s a line from the movie “Steel Magnolias,” that hit me hard a few years back. The scene takes place in the hair salon owned by the character Truvy, played by Dolly Parton. In that scene, the main character Shelby, played by actress Julia Roberts, is getting her hair done for her upcoming wedding. Truvy asks Shelby about her plans and asks what colors she’ll use. Shelby talks excitedly and says, “My colors are blush and bashful.” The conversation continues with input from Sally Fields, who plays Shelby’s mother. Sally Fields’ character, Malin, argues that the wedding colors are pink and pink, then comes the line that hit me square between the eyes… “I like pink, pink is my signature color.”

After I was diagnosed with breast cancer, everyone I knew sent me pink things. I guess they thought I’d appreciate them since pink is the most widely known color to represent breast cancer, but I didn’t. I never liked pink before or after cancer; my collection of pink things was getting out of hand. Whenever I’d go to the mailbox, there would be another gift — usually some trinket with a breast cancer ribbon on it. I’d toss it in the drawer with the rest of the cancer-related items I’d received, but one day, as I went to get the mail, I found a very small box had been delivered.

I wondered what was inside. The return address label was that of a long-time friend. She knew me well. Quickly, I opened the box and found a pretty gold lipstick tube inside. How interesting, I thought. At least she’d sent me something practical. I liked that. As I removed the security seal around the tube and slid the top off, I found a bright red lipstick inside. Wow! I’d never worn red lipstick in my life. I’d always thought it too daring, yet here was the thoughtful gift from my friend. I’d have to at least put it on and snap a picture to send it to her.

I went into the bathroom and pulled out my magnifying mirror. Very carefully, I applied the lipstick. I wanted to make sure I kept it on my lips and not on my skin, as I assumed the bright red cosmetic would stain.

When the lipstick was applied, I took a tissue and blotted the excess off, then looked in the mirror. The red was bright, but it really wasn’t that bad. In fact, the longer I looked at it, the more I liked it. Hmmm… maybe red could be my new signature color.

The following day, my husband and I got ready to go shopping. I needed some new mastectomy bras, and he’d promised to drive me into town to get them. Just before walking out the door, I pulled out the red lipstick. Should I, or shouldn’t I? Questioning myself did no good, so I asked my husband, “What do you think about this lipstick? Do you think it’d be too much to wear?” He replied that he thought it’d look nice, so I put it on and off we went.

At the specialty shop where I buy my mastectomy supplies, the cashier commented on my lip color, saying, “I love that color on you! It really makes you look pretty.” She had no idea how I needed that boost of confidence that day. Buying mastectomy products was difficult for me. Each time I entered the store, I felt the overwhelming sadness of losing my breasts.

After making my purchases, we left and went to a nearby restaurant for lunch. We slipped into a quiet booth and waited to order our food. When the waitress appeared, she smiled and said, “Ooh, I love that color lipstick! Where’d you get it? I’d like to get some.” I explained that it was a gift, and she said, “It sure looks nice on you.” I thanked her, and that’s when I was reminded of the movie line. In my head, I could hear Julia Roberts saying, “Pink is my signature color” in her pronounced southern drawl. And I followed up that thought with this one: “Red is my signature color, or at least it is now.”

I never thought such a tiny gift would make such a huge impact on me, but it did. Since the day that gift arrived, I’ve worn red lipstick everywhere, and I’ll continue to wear it until I can no longer lift my hand to put it on.

When you have breast cancer, it does something to you. It steals a little portion of your femininity. You may not recognize it right away, but you will, and that’s when you’ll need a reminder that you’re still a woman, even when you may not feel like one.

So, I say, wear the red lipstick! Love your new wig! Buy that wild and crazy headdress or blouse. Do whatever it takes, no matter how tiny, to make yourself look and feel good again. And if you find a particular color that pleases you or brings you joy, claim it! Make it your signature color and don’t ever apologize for it. You deserve it, so own it!

Breast cancer can significantly impact a woman's self-esteem and sense of femininity. Small gestures, like a thoughtful gift, can help restore confidence. A personal anecdote illustrates how a red lipstick gift transformed the author's self-perception, shifting her signature color from pink to red. This change symbolized reclaiming her identity and femininity post-cancer. The narrative encourages embracing personal choices that enhance self-worth, such as wearing bold colors or accessories, to counteract the emotional toll of cancer and celebrate individuality.

Breast cancer affected my looks and self-esteem, but I found small things could make a big difference in feeling pretty again.

Bonnie Annis

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

Painting an Accurate Portrait of Breast Cancer Survivorship

Becoming a Better Version of Me After Breast Cancer

Breast Cancer Sucks But Sometimes Thoughtfulness Can Make It Better

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