pets
Lost.
Mister is ill - 3 days gone with bronchitis and a wretched cough, poor thing. He’s slept precious little and aches all over. Sleeping with him and the dog is an exercise in patient compassion. He coughs, wakes up, rolls over, groans because he aches, the dog is displaced from his snuggle spot amongst Mister’s legs (under the covers), the dog then rolls over and groans because he’s arthritic. So…it goes something like this:
Mister: *hack*
Mister: *wriggle* *moan* *rolls over* *groans* *hack* *cough*
Taz: *smacking noise* *wriggle* *wrigglewriggle* *flop* *groan*
Bless their hearts. That’s about all I can say, because my man, he is sick, and not just with the man-flu. (OK, I admit it. In his words, as well as mine, he feels like ass. In fact, yesterday he was sitting down, looking like he felt just horrid, and I looked over and said “Ass?” He replied “Yeah.”
Now see, for us, that’s funny as heck. An entire conversation in just two words, and nothing more needed to be said. My poor darling. I hate that he feels, well…. like ass.
The Book of Eli turned out nicely. I do enjoy Denzel Washington. The man can act, and he’s handsome, to boot. Why can’t he run for president? Oh, wait.. because he doesn’t have decent political experience, and he’s a good actor? Well heck! Apparently that’s all you need to get elected these days. Bleargh. Whatever. I joined a FB group along with lines of “I hate it when I get up in the m0rning and 0bama is president.” Again with the bleargh.
Argh. I would love to go see Legion, but must save money. Phooey. Will do next week.
Started back on the hand-written journal a few nights ago. (Dear God, I actually just wrote “a few night’s ago” - WTH is wrong with me?) I have always adored writing somewhat like the journal reads in that Bridget Jones movie. Y’know, all “am v. displeased with weight. Hair vile today. Must have this bushy shag snipped soonest.”
No, seriously…I tend to be more real, I suppose. I don’t know why. There’s a much bigger chance of someone finding my actual journal than this site, and no, it’s not because I’m a complete dolt and think all this is OMG private; it’s because Mister couldn’t be arsed to look for it, and that’s not a bad thing. I don’t say anything in either one that I wouldn’t say to him, so…meh.
Taz is snuggled beside me, curled up in a white blanket older than I am. Abigai1’s on her bed, snuggled up in a pink blanket, again, older than I am. What is up with my natty blankets? Ah well, they’re in good shape, and they belong to the dogs.
God, I’ve written about nothing, haven’t I? Blathered on incessantly about essentially random stuff, which I hate to read, but apparently tend to write.
Mom’s out of the hospital - thank you, God. Thank you, thank you, thank you. Please keep her safe.
Dad’s feeling much better - thank you again, God. Thanks so much, because he felt truly wretched for several days, and is only now able to eat with some semblance of normalcy. Poor thing. =(
My aunt’s doing well in rehab. She broke her hip, and I still can’t believe it. Please be with her, Lord. I do love her dearly.
My other grandmother seems to be doing well with her hip replacement. I’m not close to her (and it’s her own doing), but I am glad she’s not in any pain.
Lord, please be with all those folks in Haiti. I know folks say there’s a purpose for everything, but I sure don’t understand what it is for that awful, awful tragedy.
Time for Mister’s cough syrup. (Thank you, codeine!)
Night!
Gratitude is the fairest blossom…
..which springs from the soul. - Henry Ward Beecher
It’s been a long month. More of the same, essentially, but I need to list my blessings if for no other reason than to remind myself of them.
Thank you, God, for my blessings.
- My parents. They are wonderful beyond words, and I am wholly and thoroughly blessed by having them in my life.
- My husband. His faults are few. His strengths are innumerable. How I love this precious, precious man.
- My animals. I love my two little dogs and my sweet, fat cat more than I can say. They’ve brought so much to my life.
- My mind. Thank you for blessing me with a quick wit and the ability to add without using my fingers.
- My job. Thank you for blessing me with the ability to work with wonderful people performing work that can be challenging, and that pushes me to learn new things every day.
- My car, because it gets me where I need to go, and allows me to see my family more often.
- My health insurance. I can’t imagine how I could make it, even a few months, without it.
- My faith. In this day and age, when so many think it is open season on anyone with a smidgen of belief, I am grateful that mine is not shaken. I love you, Lord, and I thank you for being in my life.
===
The problem has reared its monstrous head, once again, and I fear…no, I know, that I can’t keep it at bay this time. It’s time to pay the piper, and he’s apparently very proud of his wares. I don’t know that I can afford this, and I really do mean that. I’m scared. I’m not suicida1, by any means, but I wish I could lay down and sleep for five years, then wake to face the future, because surely the bad stuff would already be over.
I spent an afternoon at an auction. My parents, my grandmother and I had a good time, and I snagged a nice laptop case, replete with wheels (vroom!), and a ridiculously cute pair of kiddie umbrellas for two young cuties I know and ?.
I think I must head back home tomorrow. I’m glad we got to spend the holiday with my family (Mister had to head back early), but I miss the feeling of home. Being at home is like…proprioception. When I’m there, my heart knows I’m where I’m supposed to be, and it feels right. My life moves and flows in relation to the outside world, but I go forward from my origin; my home.
My sweet Abigail is relapsing again, and this time it’s worse. No seizures, but her hind legs are going, and I worry that soon, there will be no further remission. I don’t know what to do. Is this the beginning of her end? I can’t imagine my life without this precious creature. Please, God. Tell me what to do.
Tell me how I can fix her. Tell me how I can fix me.
Worried
I scheduled this past Friday off, just so I could have a ‘me’ day. I had great plans, beginning with getting up very early, and going to eat breakfast at this great breakfast, lunch -n- brunch place right down the road. I did this, and feasted with glee on a plate of crab benedict as I joyfully made a list of my errands for the day. 2 hours later, I was about a mile from the house when my SUV started to make a weird noise. I made it home, pulled into the garage, then thought perhaps I should just take it on to the mechanic, who was only down the road a 1/2 mile or so. I put the car into reverse……and nothing.
My transmission is dead.
$3200 for a rebuilt one/$4500 for a new one.
I haven’t cried yet, but my supposedly wonderful day off went completely to hell, and I’m so upset. Between Abigail’s procedures and medication, my savings isn’t what I want it to be, and I don’t want to have to dip into my 401K to fix this effing car. (Pardon the language.)
It’s going to the shop tomorrow, but we’ve already started to look for another car.
Sigh.
Home
Abigail is home, and doing fine. She was so very glad to see us. I missed her dearly, and being at home felt just plain wrong without her.
Happy MLK day (for another 45 minutes). A wonderful person, indeed, who should definitely be honored.
Our three-day weekend is kaput. I did a minimal amount of laundry, cooked a bit, read a bit, WoW’d a ridiculously large amount, and slept now and then. All in all, it was enjoyable. =-)
Laughter
It’s been a long, long time since I laughed til I couldn’t breathe, but while watching Paul Blart: Mall Cop, I did just that. As my dear friend K. would say, it was Hi-LAR-ious! Kevin James has the most versatile face, and the expressions he makes are hysterical. It was a cute, feel-good movie, and I walked away smiling and entertained. Mister and I don’t expect every film to educate us about life, or be an academy award winner; we just want to be entertained. We were, and that’s what matters to me.
We wanted to go see something that would take our minds off the present dilemma:
Abigail has relapsed again, we think. Her back legs are becoming wobbly, for lack of a more sophisticated term. Upping her dosage has usually corrected the problem fairly quickly, and we’re then able to taper her back down. The vet, while I don’t want to say he insisted, felt strongly that she needed to see the surgeon again, and probably have another myelogram. I was really against this, for a variety of reasons to be detailed later, but in the end, I know that I’m not the one with the knowledge and experience regarding my beloved dog’s illness, and I went with what he suggested.
She had her myelogram this morning, and it was clean. Normal. Fine, as in the CSF looks clear, and her spine is fine. So.. I just put my poor dog through a painful and invasive procedure for nothing. OK, not for nothing - at least now we know that her symptoms are related either to her illness or the treatment. But… still. I’m up at 0432 in the freaking morning because they wanted to keep her overnight for observation after the test, and I can’t stand the thought that she’s not here with me, in the bed, snuggled up beside me. I’ve damn near dehydrated myself with bouts of tears, and I would give much just to be there with her, or to have her here with me. Yes, I know the reality and facts of the situation. Yes, I know I’m being an emotional, rambling, irritating family member. I just can’t stop worrying that she’s not sleeping, because I forgot to bring a blanket or something that smells like home, and are they checking on her frequently enough, or is she hurting, and my God, I’ve got to stop this, because here we go again with the tears.
The surgery center she’s at is clean and professional, and the people there have never, ever been anything but kind. I know this. My rational half knows this.
Please just let the time pass. I can pick her up in 4 hours, and bring my sweet baby home - after I pay the $1200 for the test, the CSF send-off, the consult and the overnight fee. TWELVE HUNDRED DOLLARS! And she went through needles and dye! In her spine! So we could see that it’s completely unchanged from the one she had 1 year ago!
Ranting again…must stop.
I know, emotionally, intellectually, and professionally, that a test or procedure with a negative finding can have just as much diagnostic importance as one with a positive finding. I know that the outcome of this test - the fact that she has no spinal issues - is important to know at this time, in that it affects her treatment regime. If it was a spine issue, then the GME meds would change, and visa versa. I know this. Her ataxia could be due to prolonged steroid treatment, as this can cause relaxation of the tendons/ligaments. At least, I think that’s what can happen. I’m tired and upset, and am running on fumes at the moment. I’ll verify my thinking later. Verify…clarify. Something like that.
I just want her home. It feels like a part of me is missing. How cliche. How true.
Praying, and counting the minutes. A post entitled “Laughter” that is mainly about sadness. Sheesh!
Dog’s-Eye View
My sweet Abigail. She sprawls, and I fall in love all over again. She’s doing about the same, mayhap a little better. It took me forever to get this photo, because she kept wanting to get up and come to me. I finally lay on the carpet with my camera, directly in front of her. She calmed down a bit, and finally nodded off. Inch by inch, I moved the camera into position, thinking I was oh-so-surrepticious. At the last second, her eyes popped open, and I snapped the pic. I just love it. Love!
A good day
I jumped out of bed this morning, frantic because I’d forgotten to pick up the refill for Abigail’s prednisone. Gack. Thankfully, the Walgreens is less than 5 minutes away, so - problem solved. She was soon happily downing her meds with a tad of peanut butter. (Her internal med vet said to give her meds with something with some fat in it, hence the peanut butter.) It’s just a little, but enough to keep her happy. Then again, IMO, it’s easy to keep a dachshund happy. They are such lovable, adorable creatures. Yes, I know there are ones that are grumpy and downright mean, but this is my 7th dachshund (1st one of my own; others I grew up with), and they’ve all been downright precious. Funny, dorky, inquisitive, brave and stubborn.
Abigail 08-11-08
We spent a good chunk of change on the pets today. $18 for cat food (high-protein, low carb, because her butt is the size of a tank), $25 for dog food (high-fiber, low fat, because Abigail’s been on steroids for a year now, and they pork you out), cat litter, and a cyclosporine refill (Abigail). CVS changed the company they get the cyclosporine from, and her small capsules are now these gigantic gelcaps. I wasn’t impressed at all, especially after seeing that the price went UP ($48 for 2 weeks worth), -and- they’re manufactured in Canada. Prescription drugs are cheaper in Canada, no? The pharmacist kindly offered to get the old kind of capsule the next time we get a refill, which mollified me greatly. Abi-girl has enough problems to deal with, and she does so with flawless grace. I just want to make everything as easy and comfortable as I can. GME sucks. I hate the very thought of it, and I know it’s fatal, but I’m going to love and enjoy every moment I have with my darling Abigail.
Snagged Twilight, New Moon and Eclipse (Stephenie Meyer) and I am Legend on my iPod tonight. Yay for audio books at work!
Taz
Too cute for words!
Meet Taz. He’s 11 years old, and I can’t imagine life without him.
He came into my life, and has been my sweet little man ever since. He’s alternately grumpy and completely darling, but we try to chalk it up to age. I was excited when Abigail joined the family, because I thought Taz would have a playmate. )The cat isn’t that active anymore.) No such luck. While I’d never say that he hates Abigail, as there’s no animosity or fighting between them, he definitely has very little use for her. If she jumps up on the couch, Taz jumps down. If Taz is in my lap and Abigail comes around, Taz leaves. He doesn’t snarl or bark at her, but does go out of his way not to be near her at any time (other than naptime). I don’t really understand this, because Abigirl (pet name. Pun!) has a sweet disposition, and none of our three pets are dominant. Basically, Taz is a snob. During his chewing phase, he made Lancôme a great deal of money, because the little demon chewed up every single eyeliner pencil I owned. He chewed up my bible, an end table, and half a dozen - no, make that a dozen - books. I tell him I’m going to warm his behind the next time he (insert bad habit), but it never happens. He’s too cute, and I’m a sucker. Cesar Milan would be disgusted, indeed. Taz also has just a few teeth left, but he still manages to tag you with them if you play too rough. Just ask the Mister. *snicker*
Ah, Payday Friday, how I love thee.
Let me count the…bills.
I’m heading out to the new home of a dear friend for a house-warming/pool party. Most of my work friends will be there, and I’ve been hesitant to commit because of my sick doggie, but Abigail is doing loads better, and Mister will be home to watch her. He gets off work a couple of hours after I do, and though I just know he’d love to schmooze with my work forks, I’m going to go and pop over myself for an hour or two, then head back to my sweeties.
Reading: A Monk in the World: Cultivating a Spiritual Life (Wayne Teasdale)
Hearing: The intermittent and pitiful sniffles of the folks still at work with me on a Friday afternoon.
Watching: Probably going to go see Journey to the Center of the Earth tonight.
Tah.
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