I saw Dr. R today and the CT scan results were fine. She referred to me as "healthy". I see her again in late January and as I understand it, we'll schedule another CT scan then to take place 3 months later. That would be April, a year after the end of the chemo. Wow. Time goes by. Better pay attention.
Next up: mammogram in early November and Dr. M at the end of November. Perhaps December will be a medical-appointment free month.
Thanks to all who sent kind words of support as I waited for CT scan results. Dr. R said next time, to call her the day following the scan, and she'll have results. No need to wait almost a week until I see her.
I am sitting here with a lovely image of Jessie dancing before my eyes. She is up there some where - or out there some where, as the case may be in a perfect universe - in doggie heaven. At last she is finally "socialized" appropriately and can now finally play with other dogs, one doggie pleasure she never had in this world. And there my other dear, dear dog friends, Emma and Sabrina, are waiting and greet her, saying, "Hey Jessie. Welcome to the next world. We have a chipmunk waiting with your name on it. Can you beat us to it?" And off they all bound, together, telling doggie tales out of school about life with Laurence Anne.
Peace.
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
Sunday, October 24, 2010
Sunday morning
I went to the park this morning, for the first time in ... I'm not sure ... years ... without Jessie. It was difficult, but good and I thought it was important as a sort of tribute to Jessie. It brought back deep and visceral memories of Jessie. The date is almost exactly one year after my cancer diagnosis and a little more since Jessie and I had begun walking in the park together on a very regular basis. Because the daylight savings time hasn't changed yet (or changed back, I always forget), it was dark when I arrived, despite being 6:30. I walked our regular path, eastern loop, then western loop. That one Canada goose that appears to have been left behind was on the large side of the pond. On my way back, the little duck family that inhabits the small side of the pond was there. Many birds calling out. But still dark, quiet, still. No one else there. I felt sad but also I felt Jessie's presence somehow.
H so kindly asked me if she and M could make a donation in Jessie's memory. We adopted Jessie from the Meriden Humane Society, in Meriden, CT. I tried to look them up on line, but they are a small place and don't seem to have a website. Their street address and phone number are: Meriden Humane Society, 311 Murdock Ave, Meriden, CT 06450-8310
(203) 238-3650
Another shelter I regularly donate to is the Atlanta Humane Society where I adopted Emma. Their website is: http://www.atlantahumane.org/donate/donate-to-animals.php
Of course, a donation to any organization that helps find homes for unwanted dogs or generally looks out for the non-human members of creation would be a wonderful memorial for Jessie.
Now to learn to live without that cold nose pushing under my arm, saying "Scratch my ears! Take me out! Feed me! Let's go for a ride in the car! Hurry I want to chase the squirrel I just saw outside!" Little by little, I guess.
Tuesday I see Dr. R for CT scan results. Thursday I fly to Nashville and start 11 days (including weekends) of vacation.
As if there were not enough suffering in the world, cholera in Haiti. A link to a Partners In Health website: http://www.pih.org/blog/entry/cholera-outbreak-on-the-ground-in-st-marc
Peace
H so kindly asked me if she and M could make a donation in Jessie's memory. We adopted Jessie from the Meriden Humane Society, in Meriden, CT. I tried to look them up on line, but they are a small place and don't seem to have a website. Their street address and phone number are: Meriden Humane Society, 311 Murdock Ave, Meriden, CT 06450-8310
(203) 238-3650
Another shelter I regularly donate to is the Atlanta Humane Society where I adopted Emma. Their website is: http://www.atlantahumane.org/donate/donate-to-animals.php
Of course, a donation to any organization that helps find homes for unwanted dogs or generally looks out for the non-human members of creation would be a wonderful memorial for Jessie.
Now to learn to live without that cold nose pushing under my arm, saying "Scratch my ears! Take me out! Feed me! Let's go for a ride in the car! Hurry I want to chase the squirrel I just saw outside!" Little by little, I guess.
Tuesday I see Dr. R for CT scan results. Thursday I fly to Nashville and start 11 days (including weekends) of vacation.
As if there were not enough suffering in the world, cholera in Haiti. A link to a Partners In Health website: http://www.pih.org/blog/entry/cholera-outbreak-on-the-ground-in-st-marc
Peace
Saturday, October 23, 2010
Saturday morning
She's gone. Jessie is gone. I will write more about the circumstances another time. May Jessie's memory be a blessing for each of us who knew her. She was a good creature who lived life according to her own path. She was a good loyal friend. I just realized that I have spent more hours with Jessie over the past years than with any other living being. In particular, over the past year, she was my constant companion and support. One year ago this past Thursday was my surgery and initial cancer diagnosis. I truly believe I wouldn't have made it through the year without Jessie. May she rest in peace and may I be blessed with the thought that she may run through the woods of another place, sniff the air of another world, chase squirrel-like critters and maybe even catch one. Jessie, Jessie, peace be upon you now and always.
Peace.
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
Wednesday night
CT scan done. To confess how screwed up we (okay, I should say... "I") get, when the CT scan was done and the technician was putting a band aid on my vein where the contrast dye had been inserted, she was "nice" to me resulting in me thinking, "Oh, she feels sorry for me because she saw something horrible on the scan." Of course, that's unlikely for many reasons. I don't know that the scan "results" were immediately available. I don't know that if they were available, they were available to her, I don't know if they were available to her, that she actually took time to look at them. The whole thing was very fast. But the point is, when she was nice to me, my immediate thought was, "Uh oh ..."
Last couple of days with Jessie up and down, trending down overall. Today she hasn't eaten, at least since this morning. Not good. Maybe tomorrow I will have to go to the vet and get a prescription of steroids and try those. My understanding is that is sort of a last resort, so I want to be sure this isn't another temporary downturn.
I'm glad the CT scan is behind me. Now waiting until 10/26 for the results. Difficult.
Peace, peace to far and near.
Last couple of days with Jessie up and down, trending down overall. Today she hasn't eaten, at least since this morning. Not good. Maybe tomorrow I will have to go to the vet and get a prescription of steroids and try those. My understanding is that is sort of a last resort, so I want to be sure this isn't another temporary downturn.
I'm glad the CT scan is behind me. Now waiting until 10/26 for the results. Difficult.
Peace, peace to far and near.
Monday, October 18, 2010
Monday morning
Things change, don't they?
Jessie took a turn for the worse on Friday and I feared the worst. She was very weak, had thrown up. I called and talked to her vet. We decided to take her in. Her vet was booked, but we could wait for the first available. She seemed a little better afterwards and I almost changed my mind about going in. In the end, we went in and waited and eventually saw Dr. R, a very nice young Hispanic vet. She took Jessie to the back, did blood tests, an x-ray, felt her abdomen looking for fluid. The bad news was that the "mass" appears a little bigger and possibly affecting her liver. The good news was no fluid (which I gather would be a bad sign). Also the vet said Jessie "fought" them when having the blood drawn, x-ray made, etc., which the vet said surprised her and was good sign. Jessie got a couple of shots to help with her vomiting and diarrhea and we were told to not feed that that night, then starting the next day, small meals 3-4 times a day of a bland diet - chicken and rice - and to give her Pepcid. So that;s what we've been doing all weekend.
She's definitely feeling worse than a week ago. All day Saturday and Sunday, she would not get up on the couch or bed, generally her favorite resting places. She had to be coaxed to go outside, and sometimes to eat. When she did go out, she didn't want to go far. At 1:30 a.m. last night she went out with David, but just in the yard, ate and he got her to get up on the couch. This morning I just fed her - and she ate with energy - and we walked around the entire block. I think it's a vicious cycle: she feels week so she doesn't want to give the effort to jump up on the couch. Then she gets stiff and sore from being on the floor, which reinforces not wanting to give the effort.... Anyway, when we got back from walking she jumped on the bed, where she is now resting (and David is snoozing - he was up from midnight until 6:00 a.m.)
Poor Jessie. It's hard to know what to do. The vet said on Friday that for what it was worth, she did not believe Jessie was in pain. Discomfort, yes, at times, but not pain. The vet also said that this is all "normal" with this type of sarcoma - bad days and better days and worse days. You would think I would understand this from my own experience, but it's different. I was going through "treatment" that did have cycles to it - ups and downs - but most important, an overall goal and end which was - thank God - not death. This is more like hospice care.
I remember sitting in the hospital with my mother about a month before she passed away, in the evening. I said I would stay with her and sent others home. I sat by her bed and held her hand. She shifted in uneasy sleep. She groaned. She was so thin, a skeleton wrapped in long stringy sinews covered by papery skin. I told her it was okay to let go, to rest. I thought as much as I didn't want her to die, I didn't want her to suffer and she so seemed to be suffering. And I remember thinking, "Let it be now." It would be a good time and a good way to die - in the quiet of the night, with someone who loved you holding you, talking to you, not alone, not with a stranger, not while medical personnel "worked on" you. But she did not die that night but a few weeks later after my brother and I, my kids had all gone home.
Anyway, I'm not suggesting Jessie is a human being, but she is a living creature and a loved soul. And I feel I have responsibility for ensuring she not suffer. And that's hard.
Peace.
Jessie took a turn for the worse on Friday and I feared the worst. She was very weak, had thrown up. I called and talked to her vet. We decided to take her in. Her vet was booked, but we could wait for the first available. She seemed a little better afterwards and I almost changed my mind about going in. In the end, we went in and waited and eventually saw Dr. R, a very nice young Hispanic vet. She took Jessie to the back, did blood tests, an x-ray, felt her abdomen looking for fluid. The bad news was that the "mass" appears a little bigger and possibly affecting her liver. The good news was no fluid (which I gather would be a bad sign). Also the vet said Jessie "fought" them when having the blood drawn, x-ray made, etc., which the vet said surprised her and was good sign. Jessie got a couple of shots to help with her vomiting and diarrhea and we were told to not feed that that night, then starting the next day, small meals 3-4 times a day of a bland diet - chicken and rice - and to give her Pepcid. So that;s what we've been doing all weekend.
She's definitely feeling worse than a week ago. All day Saturday and Sunday, she would not get up on the couch or bed, generally her favorite resting places. She had to be coaxed to go outside, and sometimes to eat. When she did go out, she didn't want to go far. At 1:30 a.m. last night she went out with David, but just in the yard, ate and he got her to get up on the couch. This morning I just fed her - and she ate with energy - and we walked around the entire block. I think it's a vicious cycle: she feels week so she doesn't want to give the effort to jump up on the couch. Then she gets stiff and sore from being on the floor, which reinforces not wanting to give the effort.... Anyway, when we got back from walking she jumped on the bed, where she is now resting (and David is snoozing - he was up from midnight until 6:00 a.m.)
Poor Jessie. It's hard to know what to do. The vet said on Friday that for what it was worth, she did not believe Jessie was in pain. Discomfort, yes, at times, but not pain. The vet also said that this is all "normal" with this type of sarcoma - bad days and better days and worse days. You would think I would understand this from my own experience, but it's different. I was going through "treatment" that did have cycles to it - ups and downs - but most important, an overall goal and end which was - thank God - not death. This is more like hospice care.
I remember sitting in the hospital with my mother about a month before she passed away, in the evening. I said I would stay with her and sent others home. I sat by her bed and held her hand. She shifted in uneasy sleep. She groaned. She was so thin, a skeleton wrapped in long stringy sinews covered by papery skin. I told her it was okay to let go, to rest. I thought as much as I didn't want her to die, I didn't want her to suffer and she so seemed to be suffering. And I remember thinking, "Let it be now." It would be a good time and a good way to die - in the quiet of the night, with someone who loved you holding you, talking to you, not alone, not with a stranger, not while medical personnel "worked on" you. But she did not die that night but a few weeks later after my brother and I, my kids had all gone home.
Anyway, I'm not suggesting Jessie is a human being, but she is a living creature and a loved soul. And I feel I have responsibility for ensuring she not suffer. And that's hard.
Peace.
Friday, October 15, 2010
Friday morning
it's the first day of my 4-day weekend. Nothing planned. David and I were going to go to Rhode Island, camp and kayak, but then his employer changed its mind about giving him today off. Then Jessie became ill and going away, even for a night over the weekend, didn't seem a good idea.
Jessie is ... hanging in there. I feel like late yesterday and this morning she was more subdued, perhaps more uncomfortable if not in pain. But she continues to eat her $2.50/can "Grannie's Pot Pie" dog food AND the boneless chicken thighs that I buy at Whole Foods, cook for her and give her pieces of as "treats". Sometimes she doesn't seem to feel like eating; but then a little later, she will eat. As long as she eats...
I met yesterday with my friend R, who is undergoing 12 weeks of chemo for breast cancer, to give her a supply of caps, hats, and scarves from my own chemo-baldness collection. She seems to be doing very well. It is hard to believe how scared she was when we met after her diagnosis and before she started treatment. She is now 7 weeks down, 5 to go. Then some sort of radiation. I had told her, back when she first told me about her diagnosis, that once she started treatment, she would actually feel better, that I thought the hardest thing to bear is the unknown. We make the things we worry about bigger than they can possibly be. Once we know what we actually face, facing it becomes not easy, but easier. R says that helped her. I'm glad. To be truthful, talking with her helps me, makes me find within me the kind of tendrils of strength that empathy, friendship and compassion water and bring forth. It gives me joy to see her facing the future with courage. To the extent that I helped her at all, in any way, I am the one enriched.
Now, less than a week until my CT scan. Following, thankfully, only 48 hours later by a plane ride to Nashville to see Aunt M and Cousin C, and hopefully Cousin D and Crazy L, and maybe even the other Cousin D. And then a drive - which I think I am actually looking forward to, as long as the weather is okay (don't like to drive in heavy rain over Mont Eagle between Tennessee and Georgia; not fun with the 18-wheelers zipping by) - and some lovely days with my growing grandson who will be 4 on October 31, and of course, with his mom and dad and with his uncle, my brother John. Knowing that trip is out there, waiting, gives me a focus past the CT scan. I have no idea why I am anxious, and actually, am not quite sure how anxious I am. I think, if I think about it, I get anxious. So I don't much think about it. It's not like there is anything I can DO about it; what happens, happens. It's out of my control. Why spend the hours I have between this moment right now and the moment I learn the results of the scan, worrying about the results. Worry won't change the results, which actually are likely to be - intellectually at least I recognize this - fine. On the other hand, worry could - would - screw up the time between now and then. So I choose to (try to) not worry.
It is hard sometimes to know when choosing not to worry about something is just avoiding something that needs to be faced. Like when all this started, and I put off going to the doctor longer than I should have. That was not a good "choice," that was avoidance. I guess the crux is the quesiton: is there sonething within your control that you can DO about the thing you are worried about? If I chose not to have the CT scan in the name of "not worrying" about the results, that would be stupid. I hope I'm past that type of choice.
But who knows? We face new challenges all the time, throughout life, don't we? Who can say what causes courage to rise up and support us, not just once, but over and over? I think courage may not so much be a permanent character trait as a renewable one. Each time a new test comes up and confronts us, we are tested again. Maybe having courage is like unfolding a solar panel in our soul. Whenever a challenge blazes down on us, the panel may light up, so long as in the meantime clouds haven't closed in, throwing down their shadows and making it hard for courage to shine through. Maybe finding courage is about keeping that place in our soul open and available, trying to grow it. But there's no guarantees. We just do the best we can, don't we?
Hurrah for the Chilean miners! Hurrah for Chile and its commitment to rescue them. I hope the world media cannibalizes itself except to the extent their interest permits these miners and their families to earn something that supports them and enables them never to have to go down to the bowels of the earth in the service of corporate profits again. I have to wonder if the US would have done the same for trapped miners here. In fact, I have to wonder whether mines in the US are so unsafe that trapped miners would not have been able to survive long enough to be rescued. Bah! A pox on all capitalist greed!
Peace. May all people everywhere know peace and rest today with the same sense of joy and homecoming as 33 Chilean miners are doing.
Jessie is ... hanging in there. I feel like late yesterday and this morning she was more subdued, perhaps more uncomfortable if not in pain. But she continues to eat her $2.50/can "Grannie's Pot Pie" dog food AND the boneless chicken thighs that I buy at Whole Foods, cook for her and give her pieces of as "treats". Sometimes she doesn't seem to feel like eating; but then a little later, she will eat. As long as she eats...
I met yesterday with my friend R, who is undergoing 12 weeks of chemo for breast cancer, to give her a supply of caps, hats, and scarves from my own chemo-baldness collection. She seems to be doing very well. It is hard to believe how scared she was when we met after her diagnosis and before she started treatment. She is now 7 weeks down, 5 to go. Then some sort of radiation. I had told her, back when she first told me about her diagnosis, that once she started treatment, she would actually feel better, that I thought the hardest thing to bear is the unknown. We make the things we worry about bigger than they can possibly be. Once we know what we actually face, facing it becomes not easy, but easier. R says that helped her. I'm glad. To be truthful, talking with her helps me, makes me find within me the kind of tendrils of strength that empathy, friendship and compassion water and bring forth. It gives me joy to see her facing the future with courage. To the extent that I helped her at all, in any way, I am the one enriched.
Now, less than a week until my CT scan. Following, thankfully, only 48 hours later by a plane ride to Nashville to see Aunt M and Cousin C, and hopefully Cousin D and Crazy L, and maybe even the other Cousin D. And then a drive - which I think I am actually looking forward to, as long as the weather is okay (don't like to drive in heavy rain over Mont Eagle between Tennessee and Georgia; not fun with the 18-wheelers zipping by) - and some lovely days with my growing grandson who will be 4 on October 31, and of course, with his mom and dad and with his uncle, my brother John. Knowing that trip is out there, waiting, gives me a focus past the CT scan. I have no idea why I am anxious, and actually, am not quite sure how anxious I am. I think, if I think about it, I get anxious. So I don't much think about it. It's not like there is anything I can DO about it; what happens, happens. It's out of my control. Why spend the hours I have between this moment right now and the moment I learn the results of the scan, worrying about the results. Worry won't change the results, which actually are likely to be - intellectually at least I recognize this - fine. On the other hand, worry could - would - screw up the time between now and then. So I choose to (try to) not worry.
It is hard sometimes to know when choosing not to worry about something is just avoiding something that needs to be faced. Like when all this started, and I put off going to the doctor longer than I should have. That was not a good "choice," that was avoidance. I guess the crux is the quesiton: is there sonething within your control that you can DO about the thing you are worried about? If I chose not to have the CT scan in the name of "not worrying" about the results, that would be stupid. I hope I'm past that type of choice.
But who knows? We face new challenges all the time, throughout life, don't we? Who can say what causes courage to rise up and support us, not just once, but over and over? I think courage may not so much be a permanent character trait as a renewable one. Each time a new test comes up and confronts us, we are tested again. Maybe having courage is like unfolding a solar panel in our soul. Whenever a challenge blazes down on us, the panel may light up, so long as in the meantime clouds haven't closed in, throwing down their shadows and making it hard for courage to shine through. Maybe finding courage is about keeping that place in our soul open and available, trying to grow it. But there's no guarantees. We just do the best we can, don't we?
Hurrah for the Chilean miners! Hurrah for Chile and its commitment to rescue them. I hope the world media cannibalizes itself except to the extent their interest permits these miners and their families to earn something that supports them and enables them never to have to go down to the bowels of the earth in the service of corporate profits again. I have to wonder if the US would have done the same for trapped miners here. In fact, I have to wonder whether mines in the US are so unsafe that trapped miners would not have been able to survive long enough to be rescued. Bah! A pox on all capitalist greed!
Peace. May all people everywhere know peace and rest today with the same sense of joy and homecoming as 33 Chilean miners are doing.
Monday, October 11, 2010
Monday evening
Jessie and I went to the park yesterday morning. I borrowed David's car - I thought it might be hard for Jessie to get in/out of my truck's "backseat" - and we only walked the south (shorter) loop, but we went to the park. The Mallards are there. While we were on the loop, I heard Canada geese honking their arrival. Sure enough, when we came back to the pond, there were 5 Canada geese couples standing in a row at the pond's edge. Jessie seemed to enjoy herself, and it was really wonderful to be back there with her. Jessie had a good day today, too.
* * *
Man, something horrible just happened to this Blog as I was writing it. I lost about 3 paragraphs. I'm too tired to try to re-compose it. I'll write more later, or tomorrow.
Peace.
* * *
Man, something horrible just happened to this Blog as I was writing it. I lost about 3 paragraphs. I'm too tired to try to re-compose it. I'll write more later, or tomorrow.
Peace.
Friday, October 8, 2010
Friday night
We're still here - Jessie and me. Jessie is doing well, I think. She definitely likes the canned dog food that the guy at the pet food store said was the "tastiest" brand they sell, something called Grannie's Pot Pie. Looks pretty good. She's still going for walks - if anything, seems a little less stiff. She sleeps a lot, but maybe I'm just hyperaware of how much "reclining" she always has done. I stopped giving her the pills for Lyme disease and she stopped throwing up. Hmmm. Cause and effect? Given the sarcoma growing on her spleen, treating her for Lyme with pills that make her sick to her stomach doesn't seem really to the point.
Anyway, to all who continue to send kind messages, wishes, and prayers out to Jessie (and me), thank you. Jessie thanks you, too, and... what? What? Oh, Jessie says to tell you "Thanks for the prayers, but could you please pray for more chicken."
As of tomorrow, it is I think 5 weeks since David and I cut off cable TV. Since my TV is a small, decrepit and quite pitiful analog model, no cable means no TV whatsoever. Of course, I suppose I could get some sort of digital converter box, but we haven't and don't intend to. At some point in the future I would like to get a very small flat screen digital TV so that we could watch broadcast TV, especially PBS. But not yet. We're still in the detox phase. I did sign up for Netflix, the cheapest offering - 1 movie at a time. This results in about 1.5 movies a week, which is about right for us. A friend at work lent me some time ago a "book on CD" of a Harry Potter novel. It has some unbelievable number of CDs - like 17? I began listening to it on the drive up to Maine when I went to Wooden Boat School for my lofting class, and again on the drive home. That got me through about 6 or 7 CDs. So David and I have been listening to it on some evenings. It's wonderful. It makes me think I will look into getting other books to listen to.
At any rate, no TV is a really good thing. It makes the evenings seem much longer. Occasionally there is a kind of "twitchy" feeling, a kind of withdrawal - more emotional than physical but still real - where I find myself thinking "there is something I should be doing" kind of thoughts - and ironically the "thing I should be doing" is wasting time with the TV on, and thinking "what a waste, there's nothing on TV."
Perhaps Jessie will feel well enough one day this weekend for us to go to the park together. I haven't been since the Sunday she became ill, which will be 2 weeks day after tomorrow. I can't bear to go alone. I accept that at some point I will have to do so because I need the park. Well, that's my wish, my prayer - that Jessie will feel well enough that I think it is okay to ask her to clamber into the car and go to the park at least one more time.
Autumn arrives. The trees are turning loose their leaves, some yellow, orange, red. Many brown. Nights are cool, hinting at bringing a chill. My favorite time of year. One year ago next week, I was going in for the first surgical procedure that didn't happen because of "bleeding,' that led my gynecologist to recommend the hysterectomy that led to the diagnosis of cancer. One year ago next Wednesday,
The seasons turn.
Peace.
Anyway, to all who continue to send kind messages, wishes, and prayers out to Jessie (and me), thank you. Jessie thanks you, too, and... what? What? Oh, Jessie says to tell you "Thanks for the prayers, but could you please pray for more chicken."
As of tomorrow, it is I think 5 weeks since David and I cut off cable TV. Since my TV is a small, decrepit and quite pitiful analog model, no cable means no TV whatsoever. Of course, I suppose I could get some sort of digital converter box, but we haven't and don't intend to. At some point in the future I would like to get a very small flat screen digital TV so that we could watch broadcast TV, especially PBS. But not yet. We're still in the detox phase. I did sign up for Netflix, the cheapest offering - 1 movie at a time. This results in about 1.5 movies a week, which is about right for us. A friend at work lent me some time ago a "book on CD" of a Harry Potter novel. It has some unbelievable number of CDs - like 17? I began listening to it on the drive up to Maine when I went to Wooden Boat School for my lofting class, and again on the drive home. That got me through about 6 or 7 CDs. So David and I have been listening to it on some evenings. It's wonderful. It makes me think I will look into getting other books to listen to.
At any rate, no TV is a really good thing. It makes the evenings seem much longer. Occasionally there is a kind of "twitchy" feeling, a kind of withdrawal - more emotional than physical but still real - where I find myself thinking "there is something I should be doing" kind of thoughts - and ironically the "thing I should be doing" is wasting time with the TV on, and thinking "what a waste, there's nothing on TV."
Perhaps Jessie will feel well enough one day this weekend for us to go to the park together. I haven't been since the Sunday she became ill, which will be 2 weeks day after tomorrow. I can't bear to go alone. I accept that at some point I will have to do so because I need the park. Well, that's my wish, my prayer - that Jessie will feel well enough that I think it is okay to ask her to clamber into the car and go to the park at least one more time.
Autumn arrives. The trees are turning loose their leaves, some yellow, orange, red. Many brown. Nights are cool, hinting at bringing a chill. My favorite time of year. One year ago next week, I was going in for the first surgical procedure that didn't happen because of "bleeding,' that led my gynecologist to recommend the hysterectomy that led to the diagnosis of cancer. One year ago next Wednesday,
The seasons turn.
Peace.
Monday, October 4, 2010
Monday night
So far, so good. Jessie seems to be doing well. We made it through the weekend - which I admit, worried me, in part because if there were a problem our vet's office would be closed except Saturday morning, and we'd have been forced to go to an "emergency" vet office. Instead, Jessie's doing okay. She eating. She jumped up on the bed and couch on her own, again, 2 of her favorite "reclining" places. She's gone for walks, including some around the block. She seems somewhat subdued, but not in pain, not suffering, and generally okay. She tracked a cat which hid under a car in our parking log, and went to it and thrust her nose threateningly towards it. David said today she growled at the postman when he delivered the mail, her usual MO. Thanks to all who've sent kind messages, called, etc. Keep Jessie please in your thoughts and even prayers.
Meanwhile, I realized that I haven't had a chance to begin freaking out over the fact that 2 weeks plus a day or two is my next CT scan, followed in a few days by a visit to Dr. R for results. I admit, I am nervous. No particular reason except that I am. I guess that will continue - God willing - for the coming many months/several years. I wonder if you ever really put all anxiety about a recurrence behind you. Probably not, but perhaps the fear and anxiety are dampened with time. At any rate, I am going to assume I'm going to be okay (or try to) and focus on Jessie.
David and I went out to do some browsing at Barnes and Noble yesterday and I ran into Nurse E, my oncology nurse. It was good to see her in that context. We talked Jewish holiday experiences.
Peace. Peace. Near and far.
Meanwhile, I realized that I haven't had a chance to begin freaking out over the fact that 2 weeks plus a day or two is my next CT scan, followed in a few days by a visit to Dr. R for results. I admit, I am nervous. No particular reason except that I am. I guess that will continue - God willing - for the coming many months/several years. I wonder if you ever really put all anxiety about a recurrence behind you. Probably not, but perhaps the fear and anxiety are dampened with time. At any rate, I am going to assume I'm going to be okay (or try to) and focus on Jessie.
David and I went out to do some browsing at Barnes and Noble yesterday and I ran into Nurse E, my oncology nurse. It was good to see her in that context. We talked Jewish holiday experiences.
Peace. Peace. Near and far.
Saturday, October 2, 2010
Saturday morning
No surgery. The vet who did the ultrasound, and Jessie's vet, both felt the results were ... bad. A bad mass. Aggressive, fast growing. Jessie's vet said she didn't feel good about the surgery. I guess if I had insisted, she would have done it. She felt it was unlikely to lengthen Jessie's life much if at all, could pose other complications. On the other hand, if she had the surgery and it went well, it could make her temporarily more comfortable. A very very hard decision, but because both Jessie's vet and the vet performing the ultrasound, felt Jessie's prognosis is very dire, it didn't seem right to put her through the surgery with no change of changing the ultimate outcome and only a slight chance of extending her life. So we brought her home.
I understand she could live just a few days or a few weeks, a month or so. At some point the sarcoma - Jessie just like me has an aggressive sarcoma, but mine thank God was treatable; if only Jessie's were! - will tear and bleed. The vet says she will become suddenly weak and we should bring her immediately to the vet. We have some pain pills for her. Not sure exactly what will tell us it is time to give her those.
Meanwhile, hospice care. I was worried that she wouldn't eat. We were told to "entice" her with anything we could. I went to the Pet Supplies store and asked for the "tastiest" - not the healthiest, who cares, we're past that - tastiest food they had. I brought home 3 cans. We began with a flavor called 'Grannie's Pot Pie." Today we're on "Thanksgiving Dinner." She's eating. She got up on the bed on her own. This morning she slept there while David was sleeping. She's been out for several walks, including one around the block, and seems stronger. Interesting in sniffing things.
I don't think she's up to going to the park. I'll see. Maybe tomorrow if we don't go too far. I can't believe we've been to our park together for the last time. Does not seem possible. And now I look back and think how precious all the past months have been, all the times Jessie and I went to the park together. It was good for her. It was life-changing for me. I am very grateful.
And so it goes.
Peace.
I understand she could live just a few days or a few weeks, a month or so. At some point the sarcoma - Jessie just like me has an aggressive sarcoma, but mine thank God was treatable; if only Jessie's were! - will tear and bleed. The vet says she will become suddenly weak and we should bring her immediately to the vet. We have some pain pills for her. Not sure exactly what will tell us it is time to give her those.
Meanwhile, hospice care. I was worried that she wouldn't eat. We were told to "entice" her with anything we could. I went to the Pet Supplies store and asked for the "tastiest" - not the healthiest, who cares, we're past that - tastiest food they had. I brought home 3 cans. We began with a flavor called 'Grannie's Pot Pie." Today we're on "Thanksgiving Dinner." She's eating. She got up on the bed on her own. This morning she slept there while David was sleeping. She's been out for several walks, including one around the block, and seems stronger. Interesting in sniffing things.
I don't think she's up to going to the park. I'll see. Maybe tomorrow if we don't go too far. I can't believe we've been to our park together for the last time. Does not seem possible. And now I look back and think how precious all the past months have been, all the times Jessie and I went to the park together. It was good for her. It was life-changing for me. I am very grateful.
And so it goes.
Peace.
Friday, October 1, 2010
Friday morning
I visited Jessie this morning. She looked so much better; wagging her tail, moving around, hating the "cone" around her neck that keeps her from getting to the IV in one of her front legs. The result of 18 hours of receiving fluids. I met with the vet. They are going to do an ultrasound which should clarify whether the "mass" involves her liver or other organs. If it does, then likely no surgery. This way we don't put Jessie through the surgery if it really won't help her. The vet will call after the ultrasound.
I was just so happy to see Jessie feeling better. We were in one of the examining rooms. She was antsy, and didn't really want to settle down and just "visit", so I decided to let them take her back to the back. When we left the room, she pulled straight for the door to the outside - she wanted to go HOME. I felt sad to make her go back, but happy that in the short run, she obviously is feeling so much better.
I'm trying not to think about the possible bad outcomes, not yet. I am stubbornly clinging to hope. Jessie is better, stronger, and if she has a chance, I think she will fight to get well. The "what if" she doesn't is for later. Now is for "what if" she pulls through and gets spleenlessly well. Sounds good to me.
Peace.
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