Today

I picked up Lucy Snowe's ashes from the veterinarian.

Intellectually, I know it is stupid and foolish to cling to the remains of a pet, even a beloved pet. Emotionally, it is difficult to let go after eighteen years of managing to keep her with me, no matter where I went.

If all goes well, we will be moving in a few weeks. Leaving her behind seemed wrong. So she will remain with me, until I am truly ready to let go. I know that non-pet owners (and even some pet owners) will find my grief puzzling and self-indulgent. I'm OK with that.

Passing

My first moments with Lucy Snowe began as a fight, her swatting and struggling as I gently dragged out from underneath the car in the Greensboro Mall parking garage. I was not thinking about getting a cat in that moment – I was more concerned about the cars speeding by her hiding place.

But the moment I held her in my arms, the moment she relaxed and began to purr, I was smitten. Any half formed thoughts I possessed about taking her to a shelter melted away in the warmth of her little body. I took her home, and much to the chagrin of my roommate, insisted on keeping her.

I remained smitten for eighteen years. Through seven moves, a wedding, a pregnancy, a birth. All that time, Lucy was a fixed presence in my life.

It was only fitting that our relationship ended the way it began, with her fighting with the vet tech over the catheter inserted into her right paw. Holding her close as the veterinarian injected first the sedative, then the drugs that stopped her heart.

Making the decision to put her to sleep was the easy part. Always tiny, she had lost an enormous amount of weight, could not keep food down, could not make it to the litter box, could not groom herself properly, and became confused about where she was.

The difficult part was cleaning out the carrier, lining it with the towel, taking it to the car, and walking through the door of the clinic. The devastating part was letting go and leaving her body, once she had passed.

My beautiful, sweet, little cat is gone. I can close my eyes and remember what it felt like to have her sleeping head across my neck. But she is no longer here when I open them.

Down with the Rubber Duck

Note: Several months ago I took advantage of the iTunes Store free app offer and download an app called Day One Journal/Diary to my iPhone and iPad. I've found myself writing more often and thought I would try sharing some of those entries on the blog.

What started as a lark ended with my ankle in a splint and me slightly fatigued from pain killers.

We planned on taking Boy Alien to see the giant rubber duck yesterday. First a stop at the bank and Starbucks. Then a quick drive out to Sewickley to see a house that had a ton of potential but zero property space to add a garage. I was disappointed and turned down J's offer to see the inside as the lack of garage space (or to build a garage) meant it did not meet our requirements and I did not want to fall into lust with a house I could not have.

So it was off to see the duck. I wish I had been able to film the excitement on Boy Alien's face when he saw the duck for the first time, as we drove past the stadiums on the North Shore. It felt like Christmas morning and J and I felt like we were the BEST PARENTS EVER. We managed to find a space right across from the walkway leading up to the Fort Pitt bridge.

It was a beautiful day for a walk across any bridge. Sunny, not too warm, happy pedestrians and bicyclists and a great view of the park and the rubber duck. Pittsburgh residents are in an extraordinary good mood this week, between the goofiness of seeing a enormous child's bath toy hanging out in the river and the Pirates making the playoffs for the first time in over twenty years. Boy Alien greeted dogs, chatted about the duck and held both our hands for the walk across.

After coming off of the bridge, we began our climb down the stone, stadium-style levels near the duck. Not 20 feet away was a set of stairs in between each level that a sensible person would have used.

I am not a sensible person and my past history of hurting myself in spectacularly stupid fashion was not enough to prevent me from gamboling down the levels after J and Toddler Alien. In sandals. Without backs on them to keep my feet from moving.

On the next to last step I came down a little too hard, felt my foot slip within my left shoe, lost my balance and badly twisted my left ankle. The pain made me scream out loud.

There were a lot of people near by and several offered to help. The woman sitting near where I came down first offered to call an ambulance, then later offered to get me some water. A second stranger offered general assistance. I declined all offers and insisted that J and Boy Alien go see the duck as originally planned, as Boy Alien should not have to suffer because his mother is a clumsy idiot.

While J and Toddler Alien were viewing the duck I sat for what felt like forever, waiting for the pain to subside. After several failed attempts to get up and walk I gave up and tried to stop sobbing like a child and stop thinking about how I badly I needed to pee.

Eventually J and Boy Alien returned and the need to pee was urgent enough for me to overcome the pain of walking and hobble off to the restroom, trying to navigate through the crowed of spectators and souvenir seekers. After taking some ibuprofen and making it back out of the restroom, J sat me down on a stone wall and went off with Toddler Alien to find something to eat. I spent more time trying to fight my tears and declined my third (and maybe fourth, I lost track, which is a good problem to have) offers of assistance from absolute strangers. I eventually moved from the wall to an open bench and discovered that my ankle hurt less when I put some weight on it. I tried to read. I tried not to cry.

When J and Toddler Alien returned I announced that I needed to go to the ER. We began the walk back to the car. As I moved, I noticed that the pain was not that bad as long as I moved slowly and carefully and I started to question whether I needed to see a doctor after all, a question that was answered with a definitive "yes" when I tried to walk down the steps.

It was off to Allegheny General's emergency room for me. While J tried to entertain our bored, restless son I spent an hour limping back and forth from the waiting room chairs to registration, the triage nurse, registration, x-rays, registration then finally to a room to have my ankle seen. Then it was an additional two and a half hours of talking to nurses, residents and attending doctors. 

HIghlight one of the afternoon was one nurse's admission that I was not the first patient they had seen that week who had injured his or herself while seeing the duck.

Highlight two of the afternoon was the resident who told me that my ankle did not appear to be fractured, only to sheepishly return 20 minutes later with the news that they had found a hairline chip and I would have to have  

During the course of the afternoon I was asked three times if I might be pregnant, four times if I had a living will and who would be taking me home, six times how I had injured myself and once if I felt safe in my home.

After $50.00, x-ray's, an ultrasound, several hours and one nurse's cracks about the duck being bad luck for the residents of Pittsburgh I left the hospital with my ankle in a splint, on crutches, clutching a prescription for oxycodone and instructions that I should not drive or drink while on the painkiller and need to make an appointment follow up with an orthopedic surgeon in 3-5 days.

Now it is sunday, I have not yet figured out how to get myself reasonably cleaned up for work on Monday, as I must at least go in that day to pick up my new laptop and get myself set up to work from home.

A Girl Reads a Conversation About the Appropriate-ness of Publicly Airing Ones Feelings

And promptly writes a blog post about airing her feelings.

Scott Simon of NPR is currently sitting vigil at his mother's beside, in the ICU of a Chicago hospital and tweeting about his experience. If what I am reading is correct, his mother is dying.

One of the websites I frequent linked to Simon's twitter feed and the subsequent conversation wandered into "this is totally inappropriate for him to do, he is an asshole / No he is not" territory. Most of the comments were deleted, thankfully, before I posted my point of view on the subject.

So I'm putting it here, this comment that I can not say because (ironically) it is too personal for me to share there.

I envy Scott Simon. I envy the freedom, whether granted by his mother or not, to openly talk about his participation in this painful journey. What a luxury he has, to send out into the universe the pain he is feeling and garner the support he needs to make it through to the other side.

I am not as fortunate. I am constrained, by the rules of decorum, to keep the pain and stress that I am feeling at witnessing my mother go through an illness that may very well kill her, to myself. In order to honor my parents wishes to keep this matter private, I can not talk about it. If I were to draw out the Venn Diagram between the people I am permitted to tell and the people who would be the best at giving me the support that I need, the overlap would be miniscule.

So I am glad that Scott Simon has the permission, even if he gave it to himself internally, to take the rest of us on his journey. May he and his mother find peace.

The One in Which the Intrepid Heroine Crushed All Hope

Buying a larger home is something J and I have gone back and forth on for the past two years. For a very long time I steadfastly insisted that we needed to possess fewer things rather then buy a large house.

Then Boy Alien finally grasped the concept of using the toilet and I woke up one day and realized that I was just as tired as J of all the little battles that take place when you live on top of each other all the time. Getting my study back was nice, but I would also like to be able to brush my teeth and put on sunscreen in peace.

Since I like looking at houses, it didn’t feel like work until I discovered that the majority of listing agents I contacted to view property either completely ignored me or refused to show us anything unless we were pre-qualified for a mortgage loan.

J and sucked it up, contacted a friend who is a mortgage underwriter and got a pre-qualification letter. I contacted the agent who assisted us when we purchased our current home. She was more than happy to help and didn’t require a pre-approval.

We went on a formal house hunt on Saturday, boy Alien in tow. We saw three we genuinely liked. The first one had a steep driveway and heavily textured walls. But it was also laid out very well, had a remodeled kitchen, beautifully retro bathrooms, restored floors and a fair amount of closet space. The basement was unfinished and had enough space to do laundry and for Jeff to brew. It even had a storage room that could be converted to a wine and beer cellar.

The second house was beautiful on the surface and decorated in French provincial style. The kitchen was especially well done and the owners had added a spectacular sunroom to the back. The size was just right.

It was also on the verge of falling apart. All the windows in the home needed to be replaced, including the presumably newer windows in the sunroom. The sunroom because the seals were bad, the rest of the house because the windows were the original single-pained numbers and leaked air. The air conditioner was ancient. The furnace was not much newer. The porch railings were splintering and the planks were very aged. The steps to the lower part of the backyard were mushy and the wood/brick side-path was falling apart.

But the worst part of the house was the distinctive odor of stale cat piss in the basement. It permeated into every corner and lingered heavily into the air. It was as if the cats were allowed to pee on the floor with impunity and no attempt was made to clean up after them.

Home three was made of stone with vinyl siding on the front. It had a family room with a 50's style bar and marble flooring, tiles on the ceilings in the kitchen and all bathrooms and a large basement and garage. The kitchen has original steel cabinets with stainless steel countertops. One bathroom has a walk-in shower' the other a perfect vintage-style sink with built in towel holders.

The funkiest aspect of the house is the toilet seat. Three of the four seats are clear. Two of the three are ocean scenes, one with dolphins, the second with tropical fish.

The third seat was the highlight of the tour. It was embedded with straight razor blades.

We liked it far more than we expected.

I crunched numbers. I made spreadsheets and looked up millage rates and calculated wage taxes. In the end, I discovered that short of winning the lottery, we can't buy the house without selling ours first. The burden of carrying two mortgages with all the accompanying costs (property taxes, homeowner’s insurance, utilities, acts of gods…) until we were able to unload our current home would break us. We wouldn’t be able to rent it out for enough money to break even the expense of owning it.

There have been a lot of minor crappy situations this year. The buyout of my company and the subsequent fallout in the form of having no idea what will happen next. No trip over my 40^th birthday. No trip to Europe in the fall. J annoyed and disappointed that I couldn’t save more money. Me pissed that the repeated conversations I initiated over the past year explaining how expensive plane tickets and accommodations are when you want to travel in reasonable comfort with a small child falling on deaf ears. Me pissed at having to explain that one of the reasons why I have less than he thought was because of dips into savings to pay off debts to friends (hockey tickets) and to keep us in the black.

Killjoy me. No vacations. No new house. No fun at life.

More Things I Don't Like About Cancer

One of the things I am finding difficult about dealing with my mother's illness is that I don't know whom I can talk to about it.

My mom comes from a family with a life-long tendency to keep things to themselves. I recently learned that out of the six children who comprise my mother's side of the family, four of them have had cancer of the reproductive organs. Two siblings with breast cancer. Two siblings with prostate cancer. Two siblings cancer free.

It is no surprise that my mother decided to have genetic testing done. My brothers and I wait for the results.

Because my mom and her family don't talk about these kind of things, I'm not sure if it is ok for me to talk about it. I've told some close friends and a couple of coworkers. My in-laws. But I don't say much to anyone else. Which is hard, because I have a decent circle of friends who would happily send my parents happy thoughts and good wishes. But I don't know where the boundary lies, so I don't talk about it.

My mom is having a rough time of it. She has been in the hospital twice since the mastectomy, once to have a portion of her incision re-done and an infuse-a-port put in, once to drain an abscess and receive IV antibiotics for an MRSA infection.

This is on top of the break in the water line leading from the distribution line to the house. They were forced to shut off the water completely and have been living in a hotel for the past several days, as they wait for the other utilities to mark their lines before digging up and repairing the pipes.

Ring Theory - The Series

In which I document, in serial format, the stupid things I hear people say or do in regards to my mom's illness.

First…

I had planned on writing an angry entry, in which I take the energy that I feel towards what is happening to my mother and complain about the stupid things people say to me about her illness. In the past three weeks, my mother has had to endure:

1.     A MRI of the breasts.

2.    A PET (full-body) scan.

3.    A Bone scan.

4.    A Brain scan.

5.    The injection and ingestion of contrast dyes for the above tests.

6.    Blood tests.

Today she received the results of the PET, bone and body scan.

All three scans were clear. The cancer is limited to the left breast and lymph nodes. Surgery to remove the breast and all lymph nodes is scheduled for early June, on a day that she considers “lucky”. Once the tissue is removed, the cancer will be graded and the oncologist will develop a treatment protocol.

Now:

The Ring Theory of Kvetching

Now that I am living with a situation in which people are going to say stupid shit, I thought I would at least get some amusement out writing about it.

The Ring Theory posits a very simple rule of communication for talking to or about a person in crisis.

Comfort In. Dump Out.

The drawing below is my mother’s ring. Note that this is based on a combination of geographic and emotional relationships. The asterisk next to “Mom’s Friends” is to denote that they are on the border between the first and second ring. “Mom’s Siblings” are also closer to the first ring, but geographically none of them live nearby.

Based on ring theory, I can’t rail at my mom and dad about how unfair her illness is and how horrible it makes me feel. But I can express those feelings to my brothers (as we are in the same ring), my spouse or my friends, as they are all in an outward ring.

Things Stupid Shit People Say #1

Smoking caused mom’s breast cancer.

Wildly Inappropriate Conversations

I have a new dentist.

My former dentist retired. Dr. E was not at retirement age, but he didn't enjoy being a dentist any longer, a fact he freely admitted during our final appointment. As I would prefer that the individual working on my mouth actually like his/her job, I found his blunt honesty refreshing. Dr. E sold the practice to Dr. T, but comes in on Thursdays to help out and work towards wrapping up ongoing cases.

Dr. T is young, hipster cute with dark eyes and curly dark hair. My first impression was that this was the type of guy I would want my daughter (or son) to marry if I was a Jewish mother. When I repeated this observation to one of my sister-in-law's, she laughed and replied "you know you are getting old when stop looking at attractive guys for yourself and start trying to pair them up with someone else".

Both Dr. E and Dr. T recommended that I have work done to cover up exposed root surface on two teeth. Dr. T described the pain as "one step up from a cleaning", so I cheerfully scheduled a follow-up appointment.

Obnoxiously early for my follow-up appointment, I was the lone individual in the waiting room when a man around my age walked in, announced that the world was biased against men because the restroom door was locked, and grabbed the key sitting on the counter.

He walked back to the men’s room, only to discover that 1. The key didn't fit and 2. The men's room was unlocked. He walked back into the waiting room, put the key on the counter and proceeded to make a comment that it was not safe to leave the men's room unlocked, as "a pedophile priest could be waiting to molest a good catholic boy like me".

He left the waiting room again to avail himself of the facilities of the unlocked men’s restroom, located on the 15th floor of a downtown office building, as I sat staring into space, with a polite smile frozen to my face.

I have some ideas about what would motivate an individual to make such weirdly inappropriate remarks to a member of the opposite gender. Most of my ideas are based on the possible delusion that I still look young enough to harass in a roundabout manner.

Fortunately, I was called for my appointment shortly after the man returned, sparing me the discomfort of conversation.

As it turns out, my threshold for pain, at least when it comes to the roots of my teeth, is low enough to warrant Novocain. The procedure was quick and done without mishap, aside from the dental hygienist spraying both the dentist and myself with the water pick.

Fuck Cancer

My mom has breast cancer.

She found a lump underneath her arm, one of the lymph nodes. She had a surgical biopsy this past Monday.

The doctor ended up removing two lymph nodes, both with tumors. We knew Monday evening it was cancer, we just didn't know what kind.

Right now, the doctors don't know where it originated from, but they suspect that it is aggressive, as it was found suddenly and spread to her lymph nodes.

She had a mammogram. It was clear.

She had an ultrasound. It was also clear.

She is scheduled for an MRI.

She will have to have surgery.

She will have to have chemotherapy.

Because of other medical issues, she may not survive the chemotherapy.

My relationship with my mom is difficult, but she doesn't deserve this.

Fuck cancer.

Death by Thirty-Eight Cuts

I have been in a horrible mood as of late. Hundreds of little irritations that I should ignore, yet I feel them poking and jabbing at me, disrupting my sleep in the morning, leaving me anxious, sharp and too apt to poke back.

Rather then leave those things in my head, where they take up unnecessary real estate and make me miserable, I am writing them down, as many as I can remember. Maybe if I send them down the tubes, I can free up that space for more important things.

A lot of these irritations are overlapping annoyances. Some of them are probably only in my head. Some of them are going to be offensive. Some of them are downright stupid. I Don’t Care. I need to get them out of my head before I explode.

In no particular order:

1. I have not had more than 2 days in a row off in two years.
2. The announced buyout of smallEmployer by corporateBehmoth meant putting our plans for a fall vacation in Europe on hold.
3. The backup invitation to join J’s family at the beach is frankly unpalatable to me.
4. The first action of corporateBehmoth upon closing the sale of smallEmployer was to serve notice (anywhere from 2 weeks to several months) to 10 people considered redundant, including one individual in my department.
5. Although I have been told my job is “safe”, I have zero confidence in my department head, as he avoids conflict at all costs and did not give my fired co-worker the courtesy of the heads up extended to the redundant employees in other departments.
6. Although I have been told my job is “safe”, I still have no idea of whether I will be retained by corporateBehmoth when the entity merger is completed in the fall.
7. Although I have been told my salary is “safe”, I have no confidence that I will be retained at my current level of pay.
8. Although I have tried to maintain a cheerful attitude, I have been worn down by the repeated, battering pessimism of an otherwise lovely coworker. Said coworker ruined one Friday for me.
9. One of the product owners is a liar and really bad at it.
10. J’s attitude, which is worse than mine. It has come to the point that I dread engaging in conversation, as most of it is about how much his job sucks.
11. J’s increasing myopia, which could best be described as “if I have not experienced it, it doesn’t exist”
12. Said myopia as the reason why the front door lock still gets jammed, locking residents of the house anywhere from several minutes to several hours.
13. Said myopia to J forgetting to leave the rear screen door unlocked, so there is alternate access into the house.
14. Said myopia to the incident of sticker shock J experienced earlier this week when I showed him the minimum amount of money it would cost to fly and accommodate three people in Europe for 2 weeks. Even though I had explained to J, on repeated occasions over the past year, replete with cost breakdowns, the current expenses of international travel.
15. J forgetting to follow up with me on miscellaneous stuff. Example: The leak underneath the sink? Up until yesterday, I assumed that J was just ignoring my complaints about it, as he had not given me an update. In fact, he is aware that it is leaking, but all the pipes have to come out in order to fix it. Which is a big job.
16. J forgetting to wash the skillet, when it is his turn to do dishes. Which means it usually sits on the stove, covered, until it is needed again. By which time, it emits a seriously unpleasant odor once the lid is raised. There have been incidents where it sat for days, with food in it.
17. Feeling like my decisions are being second-guessed, especially on items that no one else wants to take responsibility for.
18. Feeling like my decisions are being undermined, especially on items that no one else wants to take responsibility for.
19. Feeling like I am being criticized for decisions on items that no one else wants to take responsibility for.
20. Feeling like I am going to be blamed by J’s family when he forgets to tell me about an obligation. Example: J promised to help a nephew with nephew’s Eagle Scout project. J forgot to tell me, leading to me witnessing a very uncomfortable phone conversation between J and his father, as we were headed to see my parents for the day.
21. My belly, which has become a large, scarred, ugly, flapping thing that can only be semi-contained by granny-style panties.
22. I cannot find a bra that will remain comfortable for 12 hours for love or money.
23. It takes so much effort to find sexy pajamas in comfortable fabrics.
24. It takes so much effort to find skirts that I am not embarrassed to wear.
25. All the days I end up refereeing fights between J and Toddler Alien.
26. That J will not take the bus to work in the mornings, in spite of the fact that mornings go smoother when I don’t feel him tensing up with worry that he is going to be late for work.
27. Toilet training Toddler Alien.
28. All the medications I need to take to control asthma, migraines, allergies and other ailments.
29. How fatigued I am by the end of the day.
30. One of my suggestions to address the fatigue, budgeting the hiring of someone to come in and clean a once every few weeks, is rebuffed.
31. I could still hire someone to come in and clean occasionally, but it would eat into whatever discretionary funds I have and offends my sense of fairness, as the other people who benefit refuse to contribute financially.
32. Every single conversation I try to have with people about the above turns into a contest of one-upmanship.
33. The contest of one-upmanship leaves me feeling guilty and unheard.
34. I spend upwards $120.00 on diapers every month
35. The strained relationship I have with my parents, due to my father’s alcoholism and my mother’s enablement and denial of my father’s issues, her own medical issues and her tendency to make me the goat whenever something upsetting happens.
36. The sometimes-strained relationship I have with my siblings, because I have more stringent boundaries then they do in dealing with our parents.
37. Feeling guilty for spending part of my share of our tax refund on a Kindle, even though I have read far more in the past month then in the past two years.
38. Feeling like I can’t change anything, no matter how hard I try.