Consider the chocolate covered peanut. Brittle outer candy coated shell, soft inner rich sumptuous layer and finally the firm center core. As God is my witness I am that nut.
Told dear sister-in-law yesterday that I am depressed because I am fat. She countered very firmly, "No you are fat because you are depressed." Great, one more thing to think about.
Hope you all had a nice Christmas. I did. Can you believe it? Christmas morning I got out of bed and the depression fell off of me onto the floor. I stepped smartly over it and went to open my presents. I felt great all day and have felt fineish for the past few days. I even rearranged the living room.
What the heck is happening to me? I am worn out from emoting. I am also worn out with the food battle. Those of us with a food problem should be able to go into hibernation for the months of November and December. Maybe I am just exhausted and depressed from the exertion of fighting off fudge. Hey I made a joke. Progress.
But seriously, am I hopeless because I am fat or fat because I am hopeless? I have always assumed the former. I think I have a food problem by which I feel helplessly engulfed, and that depresses me. Any thoughts?
Take care and thanks. Just thanks. Love Bea
Saturday, January 2, 2010
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
Christmas "Crap"
I said that the other week. In loud ringing tones I said, "I can't wait until all this Christmas crap is over." I meant it. In spades. Turns out I am one of the people who gets depressed at Christmas. Not just a little blue but full out clinically depressed. Who knew? Not me.
I thought I was a person who was irritated by, but basically enjoyed the Holiday Season. Took a bout of immobility and my husband's fear to open my eyes. I have been going down hill for a while now. After Socks died I felt better. Why you ask? I had a reason to cry. But you can't sit around on your duff crying all the time and get any work done. So I got up to get back to work. Only I couldn't. You all know this condition so I won't describe it. Seven days ago I finally got up.
Husband and I were having a cold breakfast. I couldn't dredge up enough oomph to do more than put cold cereal and milk on the table. Mark said something, I don't remember what, and I lashed out at him. He, bless him, just sighed and said, "You get like this every Christmas. I wish I would get used to it." Shocked the jingle bells right out of me. "What do you mean 'Every Christmas'" I inquired in dulcet tones. "Every Christmas you get more depressed" he said. "Every Christmas?" "Yup, every Christmas for twenty years." "And what do you mean by 'more?'"
I got out my journals. Yup, every Christmas for twenty years. I apparently hate Christmas. I thought I was just stressed getting it all done. Turns out it goes much deeper than that. The journals outline the slow gentle spiral downward to my present condition, with a sharp decline noted each Christmas. In a nutshell this is what I am learning.
1. Striving for the "perfect" Christmas kills my spirit.
2. No family/friends close to hand kills.
3. Regret kills.
4. Spending money on crap kills.
5. The food fest kills.
6. Guilt kills.
7. Envy kills.
8. Not having a Christmas sweater that fits kills.
9. Fear kills.
10. Denial kills.
I am dubbing my current contingent of major depressive symptoms the Holiday Panic Flu.
I feel some better. Just knowing I am sick has helped. I have stopped scourging myself for not "doing" Christmas "right" and have begun to drink hot nourishing drinks and take healthy naps. I also take tears as needed.
Mark took the past week off to take care for me. That scared and helped me. I hadn't taken to a corner with a blanket over my head like my mother but I was close. I have had to fight off depression all my life and have been fairly successful, but since we moved up here I seem to be losing the battle. I am no longer able to hide my "shameful, weak, irresponsible" condition as well. At this Season of Cheer people are beginning to suspect. (smile)
I have resisted learning about depression. I research everything else like a fiend but know next to nothing about depression. I bought a book. If my pride will allow it I will read the darn thing. Yes I know, I probably need medication. But not yet. Maybe I can cure myself. Fat chance. Ho Ho Ha Ha. You get it.
Thanks for listening. Stop trying to be Martha Stewart and appreciate your blessings. Merry Christmas. Love Lynn
I thought I was a person who was irritated by, but basically enjoyed the Holiday Season. Took a bout of immobility and my husband's fear to open my eyes. I have been going down hill for a while now. After Socks died I felt better. Why you ask? I had a reason to cry. But you can't sit around on your duff crying all the time and get any work done. So I got up to get back to work. Only I couldn't. You all know this condition so I won't describe it. Seven days ago I finally got up.
Husband and I were having a cold breakfast. I couldn't dredge up enough oomph to do more than put cold cereal and milk on the table. Mark said something, I don't remember what, and I lashed out at him. He, bless him, just sighed and said, "You get like this every Christmas. I wish I would get used to it." Shocked the jingle bells right out of me. "What do you mean 'Every Christmas'" I inquired in dulcet tones. "Every Christmas you get more depressed" he said. "Every Christmas?" "Yup, every Christmas for twenty years." "And what do you mean by 'more?'"
I got out my journals. Yup, every Christmas for twenty years. I apparently hate Christmas. I thought I was just stressed getting it all done. Turns out it goes much deeper than that. The journals outline the slow gentle spiral downward to my present condition, with a sharp decline noted each Christmas. In a nutshell this is what I am learning.
1. Striving for the "perfect" Christmas kills my spirit.
2. No family/friends close to hand kills.
3. Regret kills.
4. Spending money on crap kills.
5. The food fest kills.
6. Guilt kills.
7. Envy kills.
8. Not having a Christmas sweater that fits kills.
9. Fear kills.
10. Denial kills.
I am dubbing my current contingent of major depressive symptoms the Holiday Panic Flu.
I feel some better. Just knowing I am sick has helped. I have stopped scourging myself for not "doing" Christmas "right" and have begun to drink hot nourishing drinks and take healthy naps. I also take tears as needed.
Mark took the past week off to take care for me. That scared and helped me. I hadn't taken to a corner with a blanket over my head like my mother but I was close. I have had to fight off depression all my life and have been fairly successful, but since we moved up here I seem to be losing the battle. I am no longer able to hide my "shameful, weak, irresponsible" condition as well. At this Season of Cheer people are beginning to suspect. (smile)
I have resisted learning about depression. I research everything else like a fiend but know next to nothing about depression. I bought a book. If my pride will allow it I will read the darn thing. Yes I know, I probably need medication. But not yet. Maybe I can cure myself. Fat chance. Ho Ho Ha Ha. You get it.
Thanks for listening. Stop trying to be Martha Stewart and appreciate your blessings. Merry Christmas. Love Lynn
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
Mouse Hunt
This is going to be short as I am supposed to be up here ordering a shirt from Cabella's for Mark.
I miss Socks something fierce. We have a mouse. It must have moved in the day after she died. It is in the kitchen wall behind the stove. I HATE MICE. I grew up with them in our hundred year old house and I can't stand the filthy little beasts. Socks loved mice. We never had one in the eleven years she was with us. Whomper Dinky could care less about them. I put her in front of the stove to at least put the fear of God in the mouse, and she will listen for a minute and then walk off. I am going to have to trap it. Of course I have no traps. It is the first of the month so we are flush again for awhile and the first thing on my shopping list is traps. I hope I can find some of those cardboard live traps. I don't like the old fashioned snap ones. But, if that is all I can find in our hardware store that is what I am buying.
Beautiful weather here. Cold as snot, but beautiful. We went for a hike Thanksgiving day. Was wonderful. The snow was getting pretty deep so we stopped after a couple of miles and just admired the view. We hiked up and down a canyon with a stream beside us. Thank God for my hiking stick. I slipped on the path and it was the only thing that saved me from sliding straight down hill into the water. I think of my self as a sedentary coward. I wonder why?
Okay back to ordering Christmas presents. Thank you all for your condolence messages and stories about the deaths of your own pets. I needed them. It is comforting to know other people know how bad I feel.
Hope you all had a nice Thanksgiving. Now comes the mad race to Christmas. Happy running.
Love Lynn
I miss Socks something fierce. We have a mouse. It must have moved in the day after she died. It is in the kitchen wall behind the stove. I HATE MICE. I grew up with them in our hundred year old house and I can't stand the filthy little beasts. Socks loved mice. We never had one in the eleven years she was with us. Whomper Dinky could care less about them. I put her in front of the stove to at least put the fear of God in the mouse, and she will listen for a minute and then walk off. I am going to have to trap it. Of course I have no traps. It is the first of the month so we are flush again for awhile and the first thing on my shopping list is traps. I hope I can find some of those cardboard live traps. I don't like the old fashioned snap ones. But, if that is all I can find in our hardware store that is what I am buying.
Beautiful weather here. Cold as snot, but beautiful. We went for a hike Thanksgiving day. Was wonderful. The snow was getting pretty deep so we stopped after a couple of miles and just admired the view. We hiked up and down a canyon with a stream beside us. Thank God for my hiking stick. I slipped on the path and it was the only thing that saved me from sliding straight down hill into the water. I think of my self as a sedentary coward. I wonder why?
Okay back to ordering Christmas presents. Thank you all for your condolence messages and stories about the deaths of your own pets. I needed them. It is comforting to know other people know how bad I feel.
Hope you all had a nice Thanksgiving. Now comes the mad race to Christmas. Happy running.
Love Lynn
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Gopher Girl
Rocket Socks died Friday the 20th. She did not go gently into that good night. Her behavior began to change Thursday evening at about 8pm. I knew she was dying and I stayed with her. As she died she became increasingly debilitated and wild. Was awful to watch my gentle cat fight to live. I wanted her to die at home without the stress of going to the vet again. I couldn't do it. We took her to the vet as soon as they opened in the morning. Mark had to put on leather work gloves to pick her up and put her in her carrier. She could no longer walk but her teeth were working big time. She yowled and drooled the whole ten miles to the vet's office. I held the carrier and cried.
The vet and her assistant were wonderful. Kind, caring and very practical. They sedated Socks and then took her out of the carrier. I am not quite sure how, but we all ended up sitting on the floor around her as she slowly relaxed into the bed they brought for her. I petted her and cried. Not just a few tears but sobs and snot. Believe me when I tell you NO ONE ever hears me cry. I might shed a few tears in public but I never make a sound. When I could talk again the vet asked, "Now?" Mark said yes and the vet found the vein and injected my Socket Set. It finished quickly, from gentle breathing to no breathing. Death is peace. I always forget the silence. Dying takes tremendous energy. When it finally occurs there is relief and rest for the first few seconds/minutes afterward. We all just sat there.
Mark was the first to move. In a strangled voice he said, "I'll go get her basket." He was gone a fair bit of time. When he returned we put her in her basket. I tucked her blue rat under her chin between her paws and straightened her collar and bell. The vet wrapped her long fuzzy tail around her. She looked like she was ready for a long nap. Mark covered her with the towel in the basket. We all got up. I still had on my coat. I'd never taken it off. I put on my gloves and picked up the basket. The familiarness of the warm weight in my arms was such a comfort. I blew my nose and tried to look normal. There were kids in the lobby.
The drive home was way too short. I held her and cried. Mollie sniffed her and then sat quietly in the backseat. I wanted those ten miles to be a hundred. I wanted to hold my kitty and never let her go. But all to soon we arrived home. Mark pulled into the garage and turned off the car. More silence. I couldn't move. So we four just sat in the cooling car. I began to pray. I thanked God for love. My love. My ability to love. My opportunity to love. My Rocket Socks who was love. I was and am so blessed by the cheerful long haired tuxedo cat who wandered into my life one fall day, collapsed in ecstasy into the leaves at my feet, and then stayed for eleven bliss filled years.
After the prayer, of which I remember not the words but the feeling, I got out of the car and took Socks inside. I put her basket in its normal place in front of the heater. Whomper immediately went over and sniffed her. She then walked off and did not look back. I sat on the edge of the sofa in my coat and gloves and cried. Mark went outside to take the plastic bags of dirt out of the hole we had dug behind the rose bush. The bags of dirt were frozen so this took some time. I finished crying and picked up Socks and took her outside. I sat on a cold bench and let the sun shine on her while Mark finished enlarging the hole. Socks loved sunshine. She would lay on her back in a sunbeam and I would sing the first verse of "You Are My Sunshine," and she would meow the second verse. We were a big hit at daytime parties. When the hole was large enough I went over and placed her at the bottom. I then got a big trash can and filled it with leaves. I took them to the hole and let them fall over and cover her. Mark cried. We took turns gently putting the earth back into her grave. When we had made a little mound we patted it smooth and went to look for rocks. The ground is frozen so it took a little time to find and dig out the right size and amount of rocks. I cried while I pried out the rocks. Oddly enough there was no one around. In our little hamlet there is always someone out and about doing something. But not that day. Just us in the cold clear sunshine. When we found enough rocks we covered her small grave to make a perfect oval. We moved the shovels, brushed the dirt off ourselves and stood one on either side of the grave. We held hands. Mark said a prayer and thanked God for "Our friend Socks." We cried some more. We were finished.
Grief is hard today. It was hard the past three days. I imagine it will be hard for the next few weeks/months. Friend Kim who just lost her beloved Peg suggested I get out pictures of Socks. This I have done. I have one in every room so I don't feel so alone. Before Mollie this cat was my dog. She followed me everywhere. When I sat down she was on or near me. TV watching is no fun without her. Doing my devotions in the morning is agony. Everyday we would have a fight over my Bible. She loved the feel of the thin pages and would lay on it and lick the corners. Very hard to read something with a ten pound cat right in the center of it. Phooey. I believe there are animals in Heaven. If God worries about sparrows surely cats HAVE to be included. I will see her fuzzy little self again.
But right this minute, I miss my cat. It snowed five inches shortly after we finished her grave. I can't even see it. I want her to come back to me. Phooey. Guess I will cry some more.
Take care. Love Bea
P.S. Gopher Girl: A cat who sits up on her hind legs with her front paws at her chest and waits patiently to be petted.
The vet and her assistant were wonderful. Kind, caring and very practical. They sedated Socks and then took her out of the carrier. I am not quite sure how, but we all ended up sitting on the floor around her as she slowly relaxed into the bed they brought for her. I petted her and cried. Not just a few tears but sobs and snot. Believe me when I tell you NO ONE ever hears me cry. I might shed a few tears in public but I never make a sound. When I could talk again the vet asked, "Now?" Mark said yes and the vet found the vein and injected my Socket Set. It finished quickly, from gentle breathing to no breathing. Death is peace. I always forget the silence. Dying takes tremendous energy. When it finally occurs there is relief and rest for the first few seconds/minutes afterward. We all just sat there.
Mark was the first to move. In a strangled voice he said, "I'll go get her basket." He was gone a fair bit of time. When he returned we put her in her basket. I tucked her blue rat under her chin between her paws and straightened her collar and bell. The vet wrapped her long fuzzy tail around her. She looked like she was ready for a long nap. Mark covered her with the towel in the basket. We all got up. I still had on my coat. I'd never taken it off. I put on my gloves and picked up the basket. The familiarness of the warm weight in my arms was such a comfort. I blew my nose and tried to look normal. There were kids in the lobby.
The drive home was way too short. I held her and cried. Mollie sniffed her and then sat quietly in the backseat. I wanted those ten miles to be a hundred. I wanted to hold my kitty and never let her go. But all to soon we arrived home. Mark pulled into the garage and turned off the car. More silence. I couldn't move. So we four just sat in the cooling car. I began to pray. I thanked God for love. My love. My ability to love. My opportunity to love. My Rocket Socks who was love. I was and am so blessed by the cheerful long haired tuxedo cat who wandered into my life one fall day, collapsed in ecstasy into the leaves at my feet, and then stayed for eleven bliss filled years.
After the prayer, of which I remember not the words but the feeling, I got out of the car and took Socks inside. I put her basket in its normal place in front of the heater. Whomper immediately went over and sniffed her. She then walked off and did not look back. I sat on the edge of the sofa in my coat and gloves and cried. Mark went outside to take the plastic bags of dirt out of the hole we had dug behind the rose bush. The bags of dirt were frozen so this took some time. I finished crying and picked up Socks and took her outside. I sat on a cold bench and let the sun shine on her while Mark finished enlarging the hole. Socks loved sunshine. She would lay on her back in a sunbeam and I would sing the first verse of "You Are My Sunshine," and she would meow the second verse. We were a big hit at daytime parties. When the hole was large enough I went over and placed her at the bottom. I then got a big trash can and filled it with leaves. I took them to the hole and let them fall over and cover her. Mark cried. We took turns gently putting the earth back into her grave. When we had made a little mound we patted it smooth and went to look for rocks. The ground is frozen so it took a little time to find and dig out the right size and amount of rocks. I cried while I pried out the rocks. Oddly enough there was no one around. In our little hamlet there is always someone out and about doing something. But not that day. Just us in the cold clear sunshine. When we found enough rocks we covered her small grave to make a perfect oval. We moved the shovels, brushed the dirt off ourselves and stood one on either side of the grave. We held hands. Mark said a prayer and thanked God for "Our friend Socks." We cried some more. We were finished.
Grief is hard today. It was hard the past three days. I imagine it will be hard for the next few weeks/months. Friend Kim who just lost her beloved Peg suggested I get out pictures of Socks. This I have done. I have one in every room so I don't feel so alone. Before Mollie this cat was my dog. She followed me everywhere. When I sat down she was on or near me. TV watching is no fun without her. Doing my devotions in the morning is agony. Everyday we would have a fight over my Bible. She loved the feel of the thin pages and would lay on it and lick the corners. Very hard to read something with a ten pound cat right in the center of it. Phooey. I believe there are animals in Heaven. If God worries about sparrows surely cats HAVE to be included. I will see her fuzzy little self again.
But right this minute, I miss my cat. It snowed five inches shortly after we finished her grave. I can't even see it. I want her to come back to me. Phooey. Guess I will cry some more.
Take care. Love Bea
P.S. Gopher Girl: A cat who sits up on her hind legs with her front paws at her chest and waits patiently to be petted.
Friday, November 13, 2009
Atillita
I wasn't going to write about this but what the heck. I ain't getting any younger. I am being marginalized in society and it has nothing to do with my fat. I am a traditional Christian Republican. And I am increasingly hated. Hated by those who preach tolerance and acceptance. Go figure.
At friend Kim's wedding reception I was seated with some fun people and we were having a fun conversation. Being a group of mature nurses, we were discussing the good old days of health care and decrying the loss of compassion and concern in our chosen profession. This led to a discussion about the decline of civility in the culture in general. This reminded me of something I had heard on the radio so I said, "That reminds me of something Rush Limbaugh said yesterday." Well...the general intake of breath sucked the flowers off the center piece and put out the candles. The shocked looks of all and sundry was something to see. And this from a group of women who routinely discuss excrement and body fluids during lunch. The woman seated next to me scooted away, and a huge silence filled the air. Finally one of these ladies said, and I quote, "Anyone who listens to Rush Limbaugh is a stupid homophobic, racist, Nazi, fascist." Silence on my part. Then she smiled and offered me cream for my coffee. With this offer the conversation resumed around me as though I hadn't spoken. But I was marked.
Now I don't listen to Rush on a daily basis but when you are trapped in a car for two days with a broken CD player, no Ipod, and you have run out of conversation, you want to listen to something. Mark listens daily and has for years so it was no stretch for us to tune in and listen. I kind of like Rush. He's smart, sassy and his struggle with addictions (pain killers, food) is a sometime uplifting topic of conversation that I can relate too. But, I am by no means a political wonk and all that in depth stuff about Congress and the President just bores me. Or at least it has in the past. I find I am getting more political by the day. Each time some perfectly normal nice person calls me a "stupid homophobic racist Nazi" and seems to take pride in the rude idiocy of the comment I drift a little more to the right. I am not yet a total Conservative but I am heading in that direction.
One of the songs we listened to on our journey to Nevada was "Life's Been Good to Me So Far." I love rock. The louder the better. I love this song. The louder the better. A favorite line in the song is, "Every body's so different but I haven't changed." This is what is happening to me. The culture shifted and I haven't. I have what used to be pretty run of the mill Protestant and Patriotic beliefs. I was never very political, or if truth be told, very Christian. So it is still a shock when my formerly common place beliefs are now held to be way right of center and militant. Militant, me? Must be some other poor fool who has the temerity to still believe in sin and self reliance. And to voice those beliefs in the land of free.
God Bless America. Love Lynn
At friend Kim's wedding reception I was seated with some fun people and we were having a fun conversation. Being a group of mature nurses, we were discussing the good old days of health care and decrying the loss of compassion and concern in our chosen profession. This led to a discussion about the decline of civility in the culture in general. This reminded me of something I had heard on the radio so I said, "That reminds me of something Rush Limbaugh said yesterday." Well...the general intake of breath sucked the flowers off the center piece and put out the candles. The shocked looks of all and sundry was something to see. And this from a group of women who routinely discuss excrement and body fluids during lunch. The woman seated next to me scooted away, and a huge silence filled the air. Finally one of these ladies said, and I quote, "Anyone who listens to Rush Limbaugh is a stupid homophobic, racist, Nazi, fascist." Silence on my part. Then she smiled and offered me cream for my coffee. With this offer the conversation resumed around me as though I hadn't spoken. But I was marked.
Now I don't listen to Rush on a daily basis but when you are trapped in a car for two days with a broken CD player, no Ipod, and you have run out of conversation, you want to listen to something. Mark listens daily and has for years so it was no stretch for us to tune in and listen. I kind of like Rush. He's smart, sassy and his struggle with addictions (pain killers, food) is a sometime uplifting topic of conversation that I can relate too. But, I am by no means a political wonk and all that in depth stuff about Congress and the President just bores me. Or at least it has in the past. I find I am getting more political by the day. Each time some perfectly normal nice person calls me a "stupid homophobic racist Nazi" and seems to take pride in the rude idiocy of the comment I drift a little more to the right. I am not yet a total Conservative but I am heading in that direction.
One of the songs we listened to on our journey to Nevada was "Life's Been Good to Me So Far." I love rock. The louder the better. I love this song. The louder the better. A favorite line in the song is, "Every body's so different but I haven't changed." This is what is happening to me. The culture shifted and I haven't. I have what used to be pretty run of the mill Protestant and Patriotic beliefs. I was never very political, or if truth be told, very Christian. So it is still a shock when my formerly common place beliefs are now held to be way right of center and militant. Militant, me? Must be some other poor fool who has the temerity to still believe in sin and self reliance. And to voice those beliefs in the land of free.
God Bless America. Love Lynn
Thursday, November 5, 2009
10 Lives
Rocket Socks is still hanging in there. She is thin and doesn't eat/drink or eliminate much but is up and around and annoying the heck out of the dog. I am giving her subcutaneous IV fluids as needed. The antibiotics are finished and we are both relieved. She goes outside and stalks around the yard like her old self for a few minutes, then is pooped and comes in and sleeps. She seems happy enough. I guess I will know when the time is right to let her go.
Life here is returning to normal after the hubbub of the summer. I am glad. We bought a snow blower so I won't have to kill myself shoveling this winter. I washed the windows and we put up the storms. We have been having some nice days so I washed all the blankets and rugs and dried them on the line. I am back to teaching adult Sunday school, and choir practise starts tonight. I am thinking about volunteering at the Senior Center one day a week delivering meal-on-wheels. I went for a ride along yesterday. Threw me into an unexpected emotional tailspin. Too much like nursing I suspect. I am not sure I want to start driving around in blizzards and fending off dogs again to visit people in their homes. But I have to do something. I am seldom out of my comfort zone anymore. I do not think that to be a healthy situation. (The neighbor's four ducks just strolled by, Huey, Duey, Louey and Donald. Three black and one white. They walk upright like penguins, chatting up a storm the whole time.) I love being at home but I am losing touch with the wide world. It worries me.
I was counting on the new computer to pull me out of my backwater and into the river of life. No money for computer. Snow blower and vet bills took our stash. Phooey. Mark has screwed this old computer up so much I now can't get to one of my email accounts. He broke another printer so I can't print off anything, and the mouse pad has gone missing. I am currently using a piece of cardboard for a mouse pad. Like Virginia Woolf, I HAVE GOT TO HAVE A COMPUTER OF MY OWN.
Okay rant finished. About the comfort zone thing. What do you think, is being content at home worth the trade off of letting "life" pass me by?
I want to stay at home and be a sheltered housewife and write. I love being able to see the ducks walk by and hear the pigs snore. I love the silence of the house. I love hanging clothes on the line and seeing the mountains. I love doing the dishes and gazing down the valley through my kitchen window. I love being at home with this silly dog. I love not being responsible for anyone but myself and my immediate family. I do not love not having current marketable skills and being out of touch with the times. I still write letters and send them snail mail for God's sake. I do not love not contributing anything to anyone. Phooey. I fear I am becoming an anachronism.
Okay whine over. Take Care. Love Bea
Life here is returning to normal after the hubbub of the summer. I am glad. We bought a snow blower so I won't have to kill myself shoveling this winter. I washed the windows and we put up the storms. We have been having some nice days so I washed all the blankets and rugs and dried them on the line. I am back to teaching adult Sunday school, and choir practise starts tonight. I am thinking about volunteering at the Senior Center one day a week delivering meal-on-wheels. I went for a ride along yesterday. Threw me into an unexpected emotional tailspin. Too much like nursing I suspect. I am not sure I want to start driving around in blizzards and fending off dogs again to visit people in their homes. But I have to do something. I am seldom out of my comfort zone anymore. I do not think that to be a healthy situation. (The neighbor's four ducks just strolled by, Huey, Duey, Louey and Donald. Three black and one white. They walk upright like penguins, chatting up a storm the whole time.) I love being at home but I am losing touch with the wide world. It worries me.
I was counting on the new computer to pull me out of my backwater and into the river of life. No money for computer. Snow blower and vet bills took our stash. Phooey. Mark has screwed this old computer up so much I now can't get to one of my email accounts. He broke another printer so I can't print off anything, and the mouse pad has gone missing. I am currently using a piece of cardboard for a mouse pad. Like Virginia Woolf, I HAVE GOT TO HAVE A COMPUTER OF MY OWN.
Okay rant finished. About the comfort zone thing. What do you think, is being content at home worth the trade off of letting "life" pass me by?
I want to stay at home and be a sheltered housewife and write. I love being able to see the ducks walk by and hear the pigs snore. I love the silence of the house. I love hanging clothes on the line and seeing the mountains. I love doing the dishes and gazing down the valley through my kitchen window. I love being at home with this silly dog. I love not being responsible for anyone but myself and my immediate family. I do not love not having current marketable skills and being out of touch with the times. I still write letters and send them snail mail for God's sake. I do not love not contributing anything to anyone. Phooey. I fear I am becoming an anachronism.
Okay whine over. Take Care. Love Bea
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Perspective
My Rocket Socks is dying. We have had her for ten years. As she was a starving stray when we took her in I have no idea how old she is. In dog years my cat is probably ancient. Anyway she is coming to the end of her long and sweet life. I cry all the time.
I knew she was not well when we left for the wedding. She was a bit lethargic and her breath smelled awful. She has had bad teeth for years. I kept putting off getting them all pulled as I didn't want her to be without teeth. As she was still eating like a horse and drinking like a fire engine I figured she was fine and I would take her to the vet and get the teeth attended to when we got home. I checked on her during the week we were gone and her caretaker said she was about the same. I was not worried in the slightest.
She had lost two pounds by the time we returned home. She was so dehydrated her skin was tenting up. The whole house stank of her foul breath. I rushed her to the vet. You guessed it. Renal failure. I should have guessed it too only I was so focused on her teeth kidney failure never occurred to me. I felt pole axed when the nice young vet told me she was dying. I couldn't think. He kept gently asking me to make a decision about putting her to sleep vs. treatment. I was unable to process what he was saying. Finally he left me alone and let me sit down and hold her and think. Eventually he came back into the room and talked to me. He said although her lab work was "off the chart" he thought she had a good chance of "coming out" of "this episode." She was still eating and drinking and eliminating. She did not seem to be in any pain. She was still alert. After much conversation I decided to opt for treatment. I was not ready to lose her.
She spent two days at the vet. They gave her two bags of IV fluid. A bag of IV fluid is almost the same size as a cat. They put her on antibiotics for her teeth. They let me bring her her rat. She curled up around it and slept. I spent the two days holding her basket and howling like another sick animal. Grief like I have never experienced it. I think I have lived in a house of grief my whole life but have never ventured beyond the foyer. Her death is allowing me to finally enter all the rooms and wash them clear. One more blessing she is giving me.
We brought her home. I am giving her oral antibiotics daily and irrigating her mouth with peroxide and salt water every few hours. She hates it all. Me too. She perked right up after all that fluid. Was almost like her old self for four days. But it was not to last. In the past twenty-four hours her eating, drinking and eliminating have slowed way down. We are going to the vet in the morning. I hope it will be for more IV fluid and a return home, but I am not counting on it.
When we were at the vet's the first time he told us how they dispose of their dead animals. They take them to the dump and throw them on the pile of all the road kill and untagged wild animals found during the past month. Then they burn them. I was so grateful he told us that. We will bring her home. I have picked out her favorite basket and blanket. We will wrap her in her blanket, put her in her basket with her blue rat, put all of that in a big garbage bag and then bury her beside the rose bush. It has been getting below zero here at night. Mark dug the hole a couple of days ago while the ground was still soft.
I intend to spend the evening holding and petting my kitty whom I love. Tomorrow will take care of itself.
Take care of yourselves. Love Lynn
I knew she was not well when we left for the wedding. She was a bit lethargic and her breath smelled awful. She has had bad teeth for years. I kept putting off getting them all pulled as I didn't want her to be without teeth. As she was still eating like a horse and drinking like a fire engine I figured she was fine and I would take her to the vet and get the teeth attended to when we got home. I checked on her during the week we were gone and her caretaker said she was about the same. I was not worried in the slightest.
She had lost two pounds by the time we returned home. She was so dehydrated her skin was tenting up. The whole house stank of her foul breath. I rushed her to the vet. You guessed it. Renal failure. I should have guessed it too only I was so focused on her teeth kidney failure never occurred to me. I felt pole axed when the nice young vet told me she was dying. I couldn't think. He kept gently asking me to make a decision about putting her to sleep vs. treatment. I was unable to process what he was saying. Finally he left me alone and let me sit down and hold her and think. Eventually he came back into the room and talked to me. He said although her lab work was "off the chart" he thought she had a good chance of "coming out" of "this episode." She was still eating and drinking and eliminating. She did not seem to be in any pain. She was still alert. After much conversation I decided to opt for treatment. I was not ready to lose her.
She spent two days at the vet. They gave her two bags of IV fluid. A bag of IV fluid is almost the same size as a cat. They put her on antibiotics for her teeth. They let me bring her her rat. She curled up around it and slept. I spent the two days holding her basket and howling like another sick animal. Grief like I have never experienced it. I think I have lived in a house of grief my whole life but have never ventured beyond the foyer. Her death is allowing me to finally enter all the rooms and wash them clear. One more blessing she is giving me.
We brought her home. I am giving her oral antibiotics daily and irrigating her mouth with peroxide and salt water every few hours. She hates it all. Me too. She perked right up after all that fluid. Was almost like her old self for four days. But it was not to last. In the past twenty-four hours her eating, drinking and eliminating have slowed way down. We are going to the vet in the morning. I hope it will be for more IV fluid and a return home, but I am not counting on it.
When we were at the vet's the first time he told us how they dispose of their dead animals. They take them to the dump and throw them on the pile of all the road kill and untagged wild animals found during the past month. Then they burn them. I was so grateful he told us that. We will bring her home. I have picked out her favorite basket and blanket. We will wrap her in her blanket, put her in her basket with her blue rat, put all of that in a big garbage bag and then bury her beside the rose bush. It has been getting below zero here at night. Mark dug the hole a couple of days ago while the ground was still soft.
I intend to spend the evening holding and petting my kitty whom I love. Tomorrow will take care of itself.
Take care of yourselves. Love Lynn
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