A Day in the Life of a Breast Cancer Survivor

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!

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.

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

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.

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