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

For months, I’ve had one medical issue after another.

When I began to have weird headaches, I set up an appointment with primary care physician. When I was unable to swallow normally and food started to get stuck in my chest, I saw the gastroenterologist. When I felt a deep, throbbing pain in my legs, I saw an orthopedic specialist. When my blood pressure shot up and I began to feel pressure in my chest, I saw my cardiologist. 

I’ll admit it was a lot, not only for my pocketbook, but also for my psyche.

I’m not a hypochondriac, but those who don’t know me might beg to differ. If you saw my calendar, you’d cringe. It’s filled with past and future appointments, each recorded in bright-red marker.

Yesterday, I was scheduled for an abdominal CT scan, a follow up because of continued digestive issues. The gastroenterologist felt it wise to do further testing, especially since I’d had to have my esophagus stretched recently and since my brother died of esophageal cancer. 

I was afraid to have the test done. I didn’t want to admit it, but I was petrified they’d find cancer.

My husband took off work to go with me. I didn’t realize it until we pulled up to the building, but I’d been at this diagnostic imaging center before. Eight years earlier, I’d had a diagnostic mammogram there.

We went inside to register and that's when I saw it — the big, pink, lighted ribbon along the hallway in front of the desk. Memories came flooding back and my heart began to race. That day eight years ago, I’d been alone and had no idea what the future held.

Filling out the registration forms as quickly as I could, I glanced into the waiting room. People were coming and going. I tried not to stare. When I was through, my husband and I found seats and I pulled out a book to read. As I opened it, I looked up. Directly across from me were several women.

Since we were in close proximity, it wasn't difficult to overhear their conversations. One woman was there for her very first mammogram. She had her mother with her, lucky girl. Two middle-aged women, clearly good friends, sat together chatting about their last mammograms. An elderly lady was there for a 3D mammogram. My heart went out to her. I felt like she'd probably had a brush with cancer previously from the way she acted and the bits of conversation I overheard as she talked with her driver friend.

As I sat there, I began to feel strange as a wave of emotion washed over me. I knew the feeling well. It was fear, the ugly, nasty fiend that haunted my mind with words of despair: “Your cancer will come back one day.”

The constant fear of recurrence is a real thing and one I didn’t want to admit. But every pain my body felt reminded me of the possibility that cancer could be back.

Here’s How Cancer Survivors Cope With Fear of Recurrence

I did my best to be proactive. I wanted to catch any recurrence quickly in hopes of nipping it in the bud before it had a chance to take root and grow. That’s why I scheduled appointments without hesitation but seeing the number of appointments I’d already had and the ones still upcoming, prompted me to face reality.

Not only was I suffering from real physical issues, but I was also suffering from mental anguish caused by fear. That’s when I decided to do some research.

I found a form online, a short survey, for those who think they have a fear of cancer recurrence. I decided to take it and see where I fell on the spectrum. There were only nine questions and the ratings for each question ranged from 0 (no fear at all) to 4 (a great deal of fear of recurrence).

Some of the questions/statements posed on the survey were:

I'm worried or anxious about the possibility of cancer recurrence.

I believe I'm cured, and the cancer won't come back.

In your opinion, are you at risk of a cancer recurrence?

How much time a day do you think about cancer recurrence?

Out of the nine listed, after choosing my 0-4 range for each, I scored 29. I had no idea what a healthy score was because I couldn't find the scoring criteria or an evaluation of the "test." I felt like I was well within the moderate range — the range I assumed most survivors fall into — but I wasn’t sure. 

I did realize, after taking the questionnaire, the fear of recurrence was affecting my quality of life in a negative way, and I needed to figure out a way to correct that.

Since my cancer diagnosis, I’ve done a lot of self-talk. I’ve journaled. I’ve used 

. Anything I could do to keep my mind from going to that dark place in the past, I did.

Facing one’s on mortality is never easy. I knew I’d die one day, since we all do, but I wasn’t ready to go any time soon. I wanted to live a little longer and I wanted to live without being fearful.

In two weeks, I have an appointment with my oncologist for an annual exam. I’ve been experiencing a good deal of spinal pain so it will be the perfect time to discuss that with him. I imagine he'll want to do a PET scan since I haven't had one done in the past two years. While there, I'll talk with him about this test and get his feelings on ways to combat fear of cancer recurrence.

In the meantime, I'm going to cling tightly to this wise quotation:


"Fear keeps us focused on the past or worried about the future. If we can acknowledge our fear, we can realize that right now we are okay. Right now, today, we are still alive, and our bodies are working marvelously. Our eyes can still see the beautiful sky. Our ears can still hear the voices of our loved ones." —Thich Nhat Hanh

You can't see or touch fear, but you can certainly feel its power. Finding a way to strip it of that power can only be conquered by faith. And I have faith, even though it's just a little bit. 

The Bible says, "If you have faith the size of a mustard seed, you can say to a mountain be moved into the sea, and it will be moved!" I'm not sure I have that much faith, but I like to think I'm close.

I think fear is a huge component of post cancer PTSD. It affects people differently. Some struggle a lot and others may not struggle at all. But for those like me, who deal with it on a daily basis, admitting there is a problem is the first step to overcoming it.

For more news on cancer updates, research and education, don’t forget to 

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I never thought I’d admit experiencing fear of cancer recurrence, but at a recent medical appointment I realized that I struggle with this fear daily. 

A String of Medical Appointments Made Me Realize My Fear of Cancer Recurrence

There are so many celebrities who’ve been diagnosed with cancer. After the recent death of icon, 

, I wondered who might become the next celebrity face of cancer.

Newton-John was well loved and known all over the world for her smooth singing voice and wonderful acting skills. When she was diagnosed with breast cancer, she shared publicly about the disease and how it was affecting her life. I followed along with particular interest to her alternative health treatment choices.

Another well-known celebrity, actress Kathy Bates, also brought attention to the world of breast cancer when she shared her diagnosis. She also became an 

, a common side effect post cancer. She became my hero as she worked to legislate bills providing necessary medical equipment for those suffering from lymphedema. As a person whose lymphatic system has been compromised due to breast cancer surgery and treatment, I was thankful for her willingness to bring the condition to the public eye.

There have been many celebrities, both men and women, who’ve been diagnosed with cancer. Some have chosen to share their diagnoses publicly and some have kept their stories private. Of those who’ve opted to share, are some of my personal favorites: musician/singer/songwriter, Sheryl Crow; actress, Cynthia Nixon (“Sex and the City”); singer/songwriter, Carly Simon; comedienne, Wanda Sykes; and actor, Hugh Jackman. These are only a few of the many celebrities who’ve stepped forward, but these are ones I’ve followed.

Celebrities know, when their careers first begin, that the majority of their lives will come under public scrutiny, but they do it anyway. When a health crisis occurs, they have the choice to either share openly or keep the news hidden.

I respect them either way, but wonder if they realize the great responsibility that accompanies a public announcement of a cancer diagnosis?

I’ve often wondered, if I were in their shoes, how I would react? Would I want my fans to know every detail about my diagnosis, treatment and recovery periods or would I prefer to keep my health battle private?

In thinking about that, it might be a good idea to use my platform to bring awareness. But if I did, I’d have to be very careful in what I shared and when. I’d want to present a truthful representation of my fight against cancer instead of portraying it as another acting role — one where I could smile through every aspect of the disease and look great doing it!

On the other hand, I might choose to keep my news private. That way, I could control the intimate details of my life and not feel like it was an open book.

We can’t fault celebrities for their choices.

As a survivor of breast cancer, I feel it incumbent upon myself to support celebrities whether they choose to divulge their health information in public forums or if they choose to remain silent.

It would be difficult to imagine life as a celebrity and I’m thankful it’s not a life I’ve chosen. I don’t think I could manage to tolerate every second of my day being broadcast or filmed for constant scrutiny and criticisms.

Who will be the next celebrity face of cancer? It’s sad to say, but it seems we have a new one every year. Whoever it is, I pray they’ll be treated with kindness, love and respect. No one deserves to be disparaged over a very personal, painful, life-altering disease.

When celebrities are diagnosed with cancer, they wield great power to bring awareness to the disease but being in the public eye must be extremely challenging, especially when facing a personal health crisis. 

Who Will Be the Next Celebrity Face of Cancer?

I’ve always been a lover of shoes, and believe me when I say, I’ve had quite a collection over the years. I’ve had wooden-soled clogs, four-inch-high platform boots, Jesus-style sandals handcrafted from water buffalo hide and everything in between.

Shoes have been a practical way of expressing my personality. They’ve also provided extra height or extreme comfort when I’ve needed it. Although I don’t remember when my obsession with shoes began, I’ve never felt guilty over it, even when I ran out of space in my walk-in closet to house them.

But there’s one pair of shoes I’ve enjoyed more than all the others: my Vibram five-finger shoes. Yes, you read that right — five-finger shoes.

I’d never heard of five-finger shoes until a coworker wore a pair to work one day. As we stood talking in the hallway at a mega church in Atlanta, I couldn’t help but look down at his feet. He was much taller than I and it was more comfortable to look down at times than to look up at his face. When I caught sight of his oddly shaped shoes, I had to ask about them.

Immediately, he began to laugh. “I get that reaction a lot,” he said. Then, he went on to explain the concept behind the shoes. “Five-finger shoes are like gloves for your feet,” my friend shared “It’s kind of like going barefoot without the danger of injury.” How interesting, I thought, as I asked where he’d purchased them. After he gave me the information, I made a mental note to order some as soon as I returned to my office.

A few weeks later, the shoes arrived, and I quickly put them on. It took a few minutes to get used to putting my feet into the shoes as I had to maneuver each toe into proper position, just like you’d slide fingers into a glove. Once on, I walked around the house noticing how my feet felt. My friend had been right, it was just like walking barefoot without the threat of injury. I liked the way they felt and wondered how they might feel on grass instead of carpet.

Walking outside, in my funky-looking shoes, I walked across the grass noticing I barely felt anything at all. The shoes had a thick, rubber sole but since my toes were in their own separate compartments, I found myself gripping with them as I walked, much like I would if I hadn’t been wearing shoes at all. When I moved from the grass onto rocky terrain, I could feel the stones under my feet, but they weren’t burdensome, they were bearable. Instead of slipping on loose gravel, the shoes helped me stride easily across and I felt more connected to the earth than ever.

That’s when I remembered something I’d heard at the cancer treatment center.

Shortly after being diagnosed with breast cancer, I was asked to take part in some mindfulness classes. The naturopath explained they’d help me learn to be present as I went through treatment. I thought the classes would be a joke, but I went anyway to appease the staff.

In the first class, we journaled focusing on how we were feeling at that particular moment in time. We were asked to think about nothing other than the immediate time frame — we shouldn’t think about anything in the past or what might happen in the future.

It was more challenging than I thought. As I sat there with pen in hand, I realized I knew nothing about being present in the moment. Try as I might, I couldn’t help but think about what lay ahead: surgery, radiationand medication. While I wanted to be present, I didn’t know how.

The next class offered at the cancer treatment center focused on learning to be grounded. We listened as the leader talked about how we must let go of our desire to control life events, especially those over which we had no control.

“Easy for you to say,” I thought, “You’re not the one with cancer!” But as I listened, I had to agree with her. She said we would all face adversity at some point in our lives, and it was important to learn to not only submit to the storms that came our way, but to embrace them as learning experiences. Unless we learned to make the best of a bad situation, the storm would break us.

Standing at the base of the gravel trail in my five-finger shoes, I remembered what the teacher of the mindfulness class had shared. Looking down at my feet, I focused hard on where I was and what I was doing at that present moment. My feet were firmly planted on the ground, and I could feel it beneath me. I was upright, which was a good thing! It meant I was in control of my body at the moment. I could choose to walk forward or to stay put and stand still. The choice was mine. I was focused.

When I came back inside and slipped off the five fingered shoes, I looked down at my bare feet. My toes were wiggling and enjoying the freedom of no longer being confined to shoes. I liked the way the carpet beneath them tickled and comforted me at the same time. Standing, I walked across the floor. I didn’t want to put my shoes back on even though I enjoyed the five-fingered experience the Vibrams offered.

What did it really mean to be grounded, to be mindful, to be present in the moment? Those thoughts were rolling around in my head. If I had to lump them all together, especially as they related to cancer, I’d have told anyone it was like walking barefoot.

Yes, five-fingered shoes are nice and they’re definitely a talking point but being barefoot is much more natural.

The soles of my feet aren’t tough like they were when I was a kid running barefoot all summer long.They’ve gotten used to being indoors most of the time and I’ve become very tender footed, but I do know now what it means to be grounded.

Thanks to my five-fingered shoes, or lack thereof, I know having my feet firmly planted on a solid surface steadies me. It reminds me to slow down and take one moment at a time. It reminds me I can control whether to move forward or stay put. Most of all, it reminds me to pay attention to where I plant my feet.

I have the ability to stay grounded even in the midst of tumultuous situations. When life gets crazy and feels out of control, I can slip off my shoes and make the decision to be grounded. Then, and only then, can I choose to endure whatever comes my way, even if that something happens to be cancer.

I know I can’t control the future, but I can control what I do in the next moment. I can take the small action of moving ahead instead of constantly looking backward. I think that’s progress and a great way of taking care of myself. And to think, I learned all this from a pair of shoes that made my feet look like a gorilla’s!

Among the many lessons I’ve learned since my diagnosis with cancer, there’s one in particular that I refer to daily. It’s a lesson learned from wearing a pair of odd-looking shoes.  

A Cancer Lesson Learned from a Funky Pair of Shoes

death of one of my favorite singers, Olivia Newton-John

, I wasn’t prepared for the gamut of emotions I’d face. At first, I was shocked.

I knew she’d been fighting breast cancer for many years and had done my best to keep up with her story. I’d been interested in her 

 and had been surprised to learn she and her husband had been growing their own for medicinal use.

As I continued reading about her death, I became overcome with feelings of deep sadness. Newton-John had been initially diagnosed with breast cancer in 1992 and had faced a recurrence in 2012 when cancer was discovered in her shoulder, then in 2014, it had moved into her spine.

She’d spoken openly over the years about breast cancer and had seemed to stay positive and upbeat. I’d admired her tenacity.

I first fell in love with Olivia Newton-John in the early 70s when she released her song, “I honestly love you.” In fact, I had that song played at my wedding. It was such a sweet, heartfelt song and completely conveyed my feelings toward my husband.

When the movie, “Grease” came out, Newton-John became everyone’s sweetheart. As she sang and acted alongside heartthrob, John Travolta, audiences were captivated. She was portrayed the all-American girl. I wanted to be like her.

In 2014, when I was diagnosed with breast cancer, I scoured the internet for information and in those searches, Olivia Newton-John kept popping up. I read everything I could about her and learned about her life pre and post cancer. As I read about her use of marijuana, because of its CBD content, I spoke with my doctor about it. If it was good enough for Newton-John, it was good enough for me. He was on board when I mentioned wanting to try it and 

As more details were announced regarding Newton-John’s death, my emotions changed from sadness to fear. If her cancer could return many years after her initial diagnosis, mine could, too.

Standing in the kitchen, cellphone in hand, I began to weep. My husband came over to hold me and asked what was wrong. I began to explain about my superstar’s death and openly shared my fear of recurrence with him. “Don’t worry,” he said, “You’re going to be OK. You’re an eight-year survivor.” Though I heard the words he was saying, I didn’t believe them. Yes, I’m an eight-year survivor, but every day I live afraid.

Some days the fear is more prevalent than others. Most of the time, I can push it to the back of my mind, but when I experience a sudden illness, or an odd pain somewhere in my body, I wonder if the cancer has come back. I don’t want to live that way. Many survivors experience similar feelings. It’s a type of post-cancer PTSD.

As I write this post, something outside the window catches my eye. It’s a beautiful swallowtail butterfly on the butterfly bush. I can’t help but focus on it. I love butterflies. As I watch it flit among the flowers, I notice something – this butterfly has two broken wings! There’s a big chunk taken out of the lower left wing and a piece missing from the top right. Coincidental? I don’t think so.

I think God allowed me to see that specific butterfly today as a reminder. Butterflies with broken wings, can still fly. And I can still live without my breasts.

Should cancer recur in the next few days, months or years, I’ll do my best to get through it. If that broken butterfly can still fly, then why shouldn’t I try to thrive, even under difficult circumstances?

Newton-John was a beautiful soul with a tender heart. I’m thankful she’s no longer suffering, but I’m also sad she’s no longer with us.

The song, “Have You Never Been Mellow,” recorded by Newton-John in 1975, the year I graduated from high school, reminds me that life is precious. It’s worth treasuring and taking time to enjoy.

In honor of Olivia Newton-John, I’m going to take her advice to heart and try to remember to take one day at a time.

We will miss you, Olivia, but we’ll never forget you.

There was a time when I was in a hurry as you are
I was like you
There was a day when I just had to tell my point of view
I was like you
Now I don't mean to make you frown
No, I just want you to slow down

Have you never been mellow?
Have you never tried to find a comfort from inside you?
Have you never been happy just to hear your song?
Have you never let someone else be strong?

Running around as you do with your head up in the clouds
I was like you
Never had time to lay back kick your shoes off, close your eyes
I was like you

Now you're not hard to understand
You need someone to take your hand, hey

Hearing the news of Olivia Newton-John’s death shocked me. I’d loved this lady since the early 70s. But shock wasn’t the only emotion I faced — along with it came overwhelming sadness and fear. 

Bonnie Annis

A String of Medical Appointments Made Me Realize My Fear of Cancer Recurrence

Who Will Be the Next Celebrity Face of Cancer?

A Cancer Lesson Learned from a Funky Pair of Shoes

Honoring Olivia Newton-John, My Cancer Icon

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