As anyone who has read this blog for a while has realized, I am a nerd and a geek. It's a lifestyle. I also have my fears. My fears sometimes result in expanding my horizons. If you remember my story about meeting the Fire Department in Smalltown, you know I fear electricity. Yup. That has something to do with that physics experiment in high school. That one teaching us about electricity: volts, amps, resistance and what-not. I don't really remember it, except connecting something and suddenly being 4 feet away from my chair with curlier hair and a heart that not longer seemed to be in sync. I repeated that experience in college....yup, electricity and I have a very healthy respect for one another.
I am enjoying my property and having a lure machine. Problem with that -- lure machines run on batteries, batteries that have to be connected to the lure machines with each use and have to be recharged on occasion. I have used the battery for 4 practices now. My handy-dandy lure machine has a volt-meter attached...the charge was beginning to drop. It is time to RECHARGE THE BATTERY. gulp.
I have a Diehard Platinum battery, which requires some special handy-dandy charger which I also purchased: a "Microprocessor Controlled, Fully Automatic Operation Battery Charger with Engine Starter." I liked that....fully automatic. My cup of tea.
Today, I retrieved the charger and read the instructions. After all, if nothing else, nerds are good for reading instructions, but........what the hey who?
BATERRIES GENERATE EXPLOSIVE GASES DURING NORMAL BATTERY OPERATION. FOR THIS REASON, IT IS OF UTMOST IMPORTANCE THAT YOU FOLLOW THE INSTRUCTIONS EACH TIME YOU USE THE CHARGER.
OK. You have my attention.
2. PERSONAL PRECAUTIONS
2.1 Consider having someone close enough by to come to your aid when you work....
2.2 Have plenty of fresh water and soap nearby in case battery acid contact skin, clothing or eyes.
.....
2.7 Removal personal metal items such as rings, bracelets, necklaces.....A lead-acid battery can produce a short circuit current high enough to weld a ring or the like to metal, causing a severe burn.
All right people. At this point, I am fully convinced that I am probably not going to be able to operate this "fully automated" charger. I mean they are allowed to sell these things without requiring a course, without licensing, without having the fire department on standby?
I called my favorite go to guy....he laughed (note to self: find a new go to guy). "Just connect the red to red and black to black and turn it on. It's simple." I thought about calling 911, just in case. They were so nice about coming before the fire last time.
Right now, the battery is in the garage, hooked to the charger.....the house hasn't blown up, yet. My phone is on speed dial for 911, though.....And my rings are in the glass on the kitchen counter. Anyone up for a battery charging party next time? I hate living life on the edge, charging all alone.
Friday, September 18, 2009
Sunday, September 6, 2009
It's been a long time....
I haven't posted in a while. Part of that lack of words has been fatigue. My father's death came at a time when I was overloaded at work, and I just didn't have energy for much beyond working and taking care of the hounds. The other part: most of the writing seemed to center around death and dying. You might expect that of someone in my line of work but seriously.....
So this is a update post. Yes, I am alive. I continue to work on the Whippet Wranch, and the "clubhouse" (OK, I will likely live in it part time because I just LOVE it) is coming along nicely. The pups are growing (9.5 months) but interestingly, are both shrimps (that's what you get when you breed moderate sized bitch to nearly oversized dog?). Whatever!
So to reintroduce the kids:
Josi -- She's the "pink" dog (officially blue fawn but her coat has a real rose color to it). What to say about Josi? (Notice, since she's saying, the spelling of her name has been altered to fit: Gabi, Hudi, Mati and Josi....poor Layla). The posted pictures may look a little scary. Yes, I feed her! But this pup has one button with two settings: on and ON. OK, I exaggerate. As she gets older, she sleeps some.
I should have known: when Josi was in the whelping box, she was the first to bark and would stand in the center of the box testing different sounds. She uses them all! She is totally obsessed with catching balls. If I throw a tennis ball and she misses (and another dog gets it) she will tear across the yard hoping to get the next ball thrown.
Layla (dark beauty): Layla is not a polar opposite of Josi, but she comes close. At about 4 months, she went through a "spook" phase. I disciplined her for biting and she refused to come out of her crate for two days! She would have absolutely nothing to do with strangers. For me, it was fascinating. Two pups with the same parents and similar upbringings but almost polar opposite personalities! She is no longer quite the spook, but she is still very sensitive. With her markings (the dark face) for some reason, I expect her to be assertive.
Josi is frequently disciplined (she has a hard head). When I am trying to get Josi to stop barking ("NO barks!"), Layla sits right beside me, almost worried. Pups can be so interesting. Layla is much more reserved. She wants reassurance, but also prefers to be off on her own (much like her mother, although her mother was NEVER a spook).
We will see if I blog more frequently. I should probably have a professional blog to mumble about some of my other thoughts. Hmmmm.
Question of the day: why does the skunk choose to cross the road 3 feet in front of the woman jogging with whippets?
The end of the ramblings for this morning. Off to work on weeds!
So this is a update post. Yes, I am alive. I continue to work on the Whippet Wranch, and the "clubhouse" (OK, I will likely live in it part time because I just LOVE it) is coming along nicely. The pups are growing (9.5 months) but interestingly, are both shrimps (that's what you get when you breed moderate sized bitch to nearly oversized dog?). Whatever!
So to reintroduce the kids:
Josi -- She's the "pink" dog (officially blue fawn but her coat has a real rose color to it). What to say about Josi? (Notice, since she's saying, the spelling of her name has been altered to fit: Gabi, Hudi, Mati and Josi....poor Layla). The posted pictures may look a little scary. Yes, I feed her! But this pup has one button with two settings: on and ON. OK, I exaggerate. As she gets older, she sleeps some.
I should have known: when Josi was in the whelping box, she was the first to bark and would stand in the center of the box testing different sounds. She uses them all! She is totally obsessed with catching balls. If I throw a tennis ball and she misses (and another dog gets it) she will tear across the yard hoping to get the next ball thrown.
Layla (dark beauty): Layla is not a polar opposite of Josi, but she comes close. At about 4 months, she went through a "spook" phase. I disciplined her for biting and she refused to come out of her crate for two days! She would have absolutely nothing to do with strangers. For me, it was fascinating. Two pups with the same parents and similar upbringings but almost polar opposite personalities! She is no longer quite the spook, but she is still very sensitive. With her markings (the dark face) for some reason, I expect her to be assertive.
Josi is frequently disciplined (she has a hard head). When I am trying to get Josi to stop barking ("NO barks!"), Layla sits right beside me, almost worried. Pups can be so interesting. Layla is much more reserved. She wants reassurance, but also prefers to be off on her own (much like her mother, although her mother was NEVER a spook).We will see if I blog more frequently. I should probably have a professional blog to mumble about some of my other thoughts. Hmmmm.
Question of the day: why does the skunk choose to cross the road 3 feet in front of the woman jogging with whippets?
The end of the ramblings for this morning. Off to work on weeds!
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Angels among us
I have always sought the rational, scientific explanation. Despite that, I have also been a person of faith, although at times in my life, that faith seems to be built on a very thin foundation.
It feels paradoxical, but my father's death has strengthened my faith of things beyond us. I sometimes wonder if that is the reason that he died...a death so that his daughter could understand better the purpose in life. Yet, I do not think the answer is so simple.
---------
She came to see me, bright and vibrant, dressed up for her visit with me as so many her age do. Scratch that....there aren't many her age, and most can not bring themselves to the doctor. She looked "much younger than her stated age." SCRATCH THAT. She didn't look her age at all. Try 65 rather than over 90. Thankfully, she doesn't really need me. She was sent for a lab abnormality which we agreed to watch rather than aggressively pursue. When we had confirmed that all was well, that the abnormality had not progressed, we had time to visit.
I have pictures on my office walls. Pictures that I have taken of butterflies and flowers. She had noticed at last visit, and had brought a card that resembled some of my pictures. She suggested that I should make cards as well. I do, sometimes, but in the emotional exhaustion following Dad's death, I have fallen woefully behind in that process. I told her "I used to do that, but this spring has had a lot of stressors."
"Oh, Sweetie, that's right. Your father died. How is your mother? Is she getting along?"
I was a little surprised, not remembering us talking about my father dying. I do reveal some of my personal life, but usually limit those revelations to things of limited importance like the dogs. With her question, we talked about my mother. We talked about how proud I was that my mother had recently come to visit, traveling alone. This earthly angel confirmed how frightening those first trips in widow-hood can be, after living and aging with a mate that one finds is suddenly gone. She told me the key to staying young, "Always pick friends 20-30 years younger than you are. Otherwise, you will find your friends keep on dying on you." She related a recent celebration some friends of hers had given her -- celebrating her life's commitment to music. In my ever-so brief encounters with this angel on earth, I understood why her friends had wanted to celebrate.
As I spoke with this sweet lady with twinkling eyes, I had a sense of a greater presence. I did something I normally wouldn't do. I asked a question solely for my benefit. "When your husband died, did you ever feel that he was still with you?"
She paused, looking at me with eyes that transiently lost their sparkle. I was concerned that I had asked something that was causing her pain. As she looked at me, the twinkle returned and she whispered, "Oh, Sweetie! You know people aren't supposed to talk about that, but OF COURSE!" She went on to describe how one day, two months after her husband's death, she awoke to see him watching her sleep. She said that he looked like he was physically in the room with her, although she knew that he wasn't. She knew, at that point, that it was all going to be well. As she talked, I could see her entire face relax with the memory that telling brings. Even though many years have passed, she has continues to feel his presence at odd times. Because of that, she isn't afraid of dying, and knows that it will happen. In the mean time, life isn't quite so sad, and she knows that she still has a purpose here.
------
I haven't had the courage to ask my mother if she sees or feels Dad. I know she still grieves his death, although since he has died, she has talked to me of dying. I still grieve my father's death, even though some days, I feel his presence in a way that I never felt when he was alive.
------
I saw poem at the hospital this week:
It feels paradoxical, but my father's death has strengthened my faith of things beyond us. I sometimes wonder if that is the reason that he died...a death so that his daughter could understand better the purpose in life. Yet, I do not think the answer is so simple.
---------
She came to see me, bright and vibrant, dressed up for her visit with me as so many her age do. Scratch that....there aren't many her age, and most can not bring themselves to the doctor. She looked "much younger than her stated age." SCRATCH THAT. She didn't look her age at all. Try 65 rather than over 90. Thankfully, she doesn't really need me. She was sent for a lab abnormality which we agreed to watch rather than aggressively pursue. When we had confirmed that all was well, that the abnormality had not progressed, we had time to visit.
I have pictures on my office walls. Pictures that I have taken of butterflies and flowers. She had noticed at last visit, and had brought a card that resembled some of my pictures. She suggested that I should make cards as well. I do, sometimes, but in the emotional exhaustion following Dad's death, I have fallen woefully behind in that process. I told her "I used to do that, but this spring has had a lot of stressors."
"Oh, Sweetie, that's right. Your father died. How is your mother? Is she getting along?"
I was a little surprised, not remembering us talking about my father dying. I do reveal some of my personal life, but usually limit those revelations to things of limited importance like the dogs. With her question, we talked about my mother. We talked about how proud I was that my mother had recently come to visit, traveling alone. This earthly angel confirmed how frightening those first trips in widow-hood can be, after living and aging with a mate that one finds is suddenly gone. She told me the key to staying young, "Always pick friends 20-30 years younger than you are. Otherwise, you will find your friends keep on dying on you." She related a recent celebration some friends of hers had given her -- celebrating her life's commitment to music. In my ever-so brief encounters with this angel on earth, I understood why her friends had wanted to celebrate.
As I spoke with this sweet lady with twinkling eyes, I had a sense of a greater presence. I did something I normally wouldn't do. I asked a question solely for my benefit. "When your husband died, did you ever feel that he was still with you?"
She paused, looking at me with eyes that transiently lost their sparkle. I was concerned that I had asked something that was causing her pain. As she looked at me, the twinkle returned and she whispered, "Oh, Sweetie! You know people aren't supposed to talk about that, but OF COURSE!" She went on to describe how one day, two months after her husband's death, she awoke to see him watching her sleep. She said that he looked like he was physically in the room with her, although she knew that he wasn't. She knew, at that point, that it was all going to be well. As she talked, I could see her entire face relax with the memory that telling brings. Even though many years have passed, she has continues to feel his presence at odd times. Because of that, she isn't afraid of dying, and knows that it will happen. In the mean time, life isn't quite so sad, and she knows that she still has a purpose here.
------
I haven't had the courage to ask my mother if she sees or feels Dad. I know she still grieves his death, although since he has died, she has talked to me of dying. I still grieve my father's death, even though some days, I feel his presence in a way that I never felt when he was alive.
------
I saw poem at the hospital this week:
What Cancer Cannot Do
Author: Unknown
Cancer is so limited...
It cannot cripple love.
It cannot shatter hope.
It cannot corrode faith.
It cannot eat away peace.
It cannot destroy confidence.
It cannot kill friendship.
It cannot shut out memories.
It cannot silence courage.
It cannot reduce eternal life.
It cannot quench the Spirit.
It cannot cripple love.
It cannot shatter hope.
It cannot corrode faith.
It cannot eat away peace.
It cannot destroy confidence.
It cannot kill friendship.
It cannot shut out memories.
It cannot silence courage.
It cannot reduce eternal life.
It cannot quench the Spirit.
One can scratch out Cancer and put Death at the top of that poem.
_______
There are angels among us, both angels of the world beyond and angels here on this earth. I was lucky enough to meet both this week.
_______
There are angels among us, both angels of the world beyond and angels here on this earth. I was lucky enough to meet both this week.
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
Crime Spree
I was just watching the am news from the Big City. They reported a "crime spree" in my old neighborhood, with more than $60,000 worth of jewels and goods being stolen. They showed a picture, only a few blocks from my house. Hmmmm....guess the guy (or guys or gals) that were helping themselves to my televisions and other household appliances, on a somewhat regular basis, have realized that I have left the 'hood.
I got used to getting a new TV every 6 months or so....Nothing like a little burglary action to induce some deep house cleaning....look at the dust that I had under that TV. Obviously, it should have been removed much sooner.....Seriously, I am so glad that I don't have to deal with my personal crime spree anymore.
I got used to getting a new TV every 6 months or so....Nothing like a little burglary action to induce some deep house cleaning....look at the dust that I had under that TV. Obviously, it should have been removed much sooner.....Seriously, I am so glad that I don't have to deal with my personal crime spree anymore.
Saturday, July 4, 2009
Charlie, aka Charles, aka Carlos. Run free.
I have been intending to blog. After Dad died, I felt a tremendous urge to write. There seemed to be a message for me in his death and funeral. I learned so much about the man that I called "Dad", and he taught me so much, even in his death. However, with his death came a profound emptiness. My work is demanding, and I could not stop. As a practice, we have been over-extended, and there was no energy for writing at the end of the day.
I did not want my first post back to be a sad one. But it is.
Charlie came into my life 9 years ago. Darby, my first whippet, had been more than I could have imagined, but as I was going to be busier with training, I wanted Darby to have a companion. Charlie was advertised as available on a whippet list. He was a hoped for show dog, but the "man bits" just didn't go to the right place. He was advertised as cat friendly (and the poor dog didn't know what to make of the "hissing fuzzy" that was my cat, Peyton, when he arrived). He was 11 months old when I got him. He and Darby had been born exactly a month apart, with Charlie being the junior dog.
Oh...the first 6 weeks I was not certain that it would work. He and Darby fought. The fights were bad, blood drawing disagreements. I thought Charlie might need to be returned. I received advice from lots of people. The thing that helped...they both loved to walk, so walk we did. Now, I realize that Charlie must have been petrified. He had grown up in the country and didn't understand the city smells. Initially, he would slam against me every time a car passed. I knew that our relationship was going to work out the day I walked into the kitchen. One of the dogs had pulled an entire loaf of bread off the counter. They had shared it. Silently. I, the silly human, was not alerted to their jack pot. Darby and Charlie were never great buddies. They didn't lie with each other the way I had envisioned. However, I know Darby seemed happier after Charlie came into our lives. Today, Darby seems to be especially depressed. His life long buddy wasn't supposed to be the first to go.
Charlie loved racing. He was absolutely fanatical about it. However, although he went crazy at the race track, he was never quite as focused on the racing as one would have liked. I couldn't load him in the boxes. If I did load him, about 20 yards down the track, he would remember that he was running away from me, and turn around and come back. If he knew I was at the other end, he would give it his all, slamming into the pack of the dogs at the end like the best of racers....always coming in next to last. It was on the race-track that he earned the name Carlos. That was his evil twin that was expressed whenever people had to box him. Still, he loved race...he just wanted to race by his rules, without the box.
With time, Charlie worked his way into the depths of my heart. Charlie was always the worrier. When we would take trips, he would be the dog that would stay awake, just to make certain that I was going the right direction. For the first 6 years, I could never go to the bathroom alone. With time, I became aware that he was a Geek -- kind of like me. He was always a little socially awkward. He had a tendency to blurt out the wrong thing at the wrong time. I swear, there were times when the other dogs would roll their eyes at his pronouncements. Still, like most geeks, he aged gracefully. He didn't have a mean bone in his body. There were times, when I would watch him walking away, a little confused that his social forays weren't accepted by the other, but he always came back to me to give love as only a dog can.
Charlie was also a klutz. At some level, he seemed to lack the grace of my other dogs. I am convinced that he almost broke my nose on more than one occasion. He was always ready to be my companion. He loved jogging with me, while Darby would drag (although I think that was Darby's chronic liver disease speaking to us). He learned to retire to the bedroom early, so that he would have the spot that he wanted: plastered up against my left side. That space was so empty last night.
Despite not always fitting in, he was both Gabi and Hudi's buddy.
Gabi and Charlie always seemed to have a special link. Darby was the alpha of the pack when Gabi arrived on the scene as a stout pup. When Darby got sick, he and Gabi seemed to agree to co-manage the motley crew. However, Gabi never really gave Charlie grief...until she had puppies. I could see the confusion in his eyes the first time he got too close.
About 4 weeks ago, Charlie became ill. He stopped eating well, and he had a fever. I took him in for evaluation. Labs were normal except for anemia. Tick serologies were negative at the vet's but he suspected Babesia. After having the peripheral smear reviewed (that suggested a "non-regnerative anemia"; there were no hematoparasites identified), serologies were sent and came back positive. He received the appropriate treatment. The antibiotic made him very ill, but he failed to improve. The fevers continued, increasing. The anemia worsened. I sent off serum looking for other tick-borne diseases, but everything was negative except for Babesia. After conferring with other vets, the consensus has been that he probably has something else, but if so, there is unlikely to be anything that would be treatable with the tick borne disease on board as well. I was told that I should make him comfortable.
I made a most difficult decision yesterday, but walking across the room was making him short of breath. The light had gone from his eyes. He had lost 20% of his body weight in 4 weeks. Despite that, when I called him, he came to me with "party" ears up. Coming to my across the yard he had to stop. I think he was probably dizzy. To wait longer would just increase his suffering. To wait longer would keep him close for me, but not for him. The antibiotics were not working. Other antibiotics only made him sick (and by my reading would not work).
Charlie, I love you, bud. I hope this was the right thing. I so appreciate that last kiss you gave me as my eyes were leaking, even though I could see you were having a hard time standing.
One of my friends wrote that he was probably still in a magical place near me. Is that why I keep on thinking you will be behind me, where you always were, waiting for me to finish on the computer? But then my eyes, limited by their humanity fail to see....If you are there, I'll be listening for your bark, and I try to remember how you were always ready to love and share. Oh, Charlie. I miss you. Thank you for blessing me so.
You will always have a place deep in my heart. Run free. Run strong. Check on Dad and keep him company, 'kay?
Charlie, Cara Sardonyx by Design
9/9/99-7/3/09
Champion of my heart
I did not want my first post back to be a sad one. But it is.
Charlie came into my life 9 years ago. Darby, my first whippet, had been more than I could have imagined, but as I was going to be busier with training, I wanted Darby to have a companion. Charlie was advertised as available on a whippet list. He was a hoped for show dog, but the "man bits" just didn't go to the right place. He was advertised as cat friendly (and the poor dog didn't know what to make of the "hissing fuzzy" that was my cat, Peyton, when he arrived). He was 11 months old when I got him. He and Darby had been born exactly a month apart, with Charlie being the junior dog.
Oh...the first 6 weeks I was not certain that it would work. He and Darby fought. The fights were bad, blood drawing disagreements. I thought Charlie might need to be returned. I received advice from lots of people. The thing that helped...they both loved to walk, so walk we did. Now, I realize that Charlie must have been petrified. He had grown up in the country and didn't understand the city smells. Initially, he would slam against me every time a car passed. I knew that our relationship was going to work out the day I walked into the kitchen. One of the dogs had pulled an entire loaf of bread off the counter. They had shared it. Silently. I, the silly human, was not alerted to their jack pot. Darby and Charlie were never great buddies. They didn't lie with each other the way I had envisioned. However, I know Darby seemed happier after Charlie came into our lives. Today, Darby seems to be especially depressed. His life long buddy wasn't supposed to be the first to go.
Charlie loved racing. He was absolutely fanatical about it. However, although he went crazy at the race track, he was never quite as focused on the racing as one would have liked. I couldn't load him in the boxes. If I did load him, about 20 yards down the track, he would remember that he was running away from me, and turn around and come back. If he knew I was at the other end, he would give it his all, slamming into the pack of the dogs at the end like the best of racers....always coming in next to last. It was on the race-track that he earned the name Carlos. That was his evil twin that was expressed whenever people had to box him. Still, he loved race...he just wanted to race by his rules, without the box.
With time, Charlie worked his way into the depths of my heart. Charlie was always the worrier. When we would take trips, he would be the dog that would stay awake, just to make certain that I was going the right direction. For the first 6 years, I could never go to the bathroom alone. With time, I became aware that he was a Geek -- kind of like me. He was always a little socially awkward. He had a tendency to blurt out the wrong thing at the wrong time. I swear, there were times when the other dogs would roll their eyes at his pronouncements. Still, like most geeks, he aged gracefully. He didn't have a mean bone in his body. There were times, when I would watch him walking away, a little confused that his social forays weren't accepted by the other, but he always came back to me to give love as only a dog can.
Charlie was also a klutz. At some level, he seemed to lack the grace of my other dogs. I am convinced that he almost broke my nose on more than one occasion. He was always ready to be my companion. He loved jogging with me, while Darby would drag (although I think that was Darby's chronic liver disease speaking to us). He learned to retire to the bedroom early, so that he would have the spot that he wanted: plastered up against my left side. That space was so empty last night.
Despite not always fitting in, he was both Gabi and Hudi's buddy.
Gabi and Charlie always seemed to have a special link. Darby was the alpha of the pack when Gabi arrived on the scene as a stout pup. When Darby got sick, he and Gabi seemed to agree to co-manage the motley crew. However, Gabi never really gave Charlie grief...until she had puppies. I could see the confusion in his eyes the first time he got too close.About 4 weeks ago, Charlie became ill. He stopped eating well, and he had a fever. I took him in for evaluation. Labs were normal except for anemia. Tick serologies were negative at the vet's but he suspected Babesia. After having the peripheral smear reviewed (that suggested a "non-regnerative anemia"; there were no hematoparasites identified), serologies were sent and came back positive. He received the appropriate treatment. The antibiotic made him very ill, but he failed to improve. The fevers continued, increasing. The anemia worsened. I sent off serum looking for other tick-borne diseases, but everything was negative except for Babesia. After conferring with other vets, the consensus has been that he probably has something else, but if so, there is unlikely to be anything that would be treatable with the tick borne disease on board as well. I was told that I should make him comfortable.
I made a most difficult decision yesterday, but walking across the room was making him short of breath. The light had gone from his eyes. He had lost 20% of his body weight in 4 weeks. Despite that, when I called him, he came to me with "party" ears up. Coming to my across the yard he had to stop. I think he was probably dizzy. To wait longer would just increase his suffering. To wait longer would keep him close for me, but not for him. The antibiotics were not working. Other antibiotics only made him sick (and by my reading would not work).
Charlie, I love you, bud. I hope this was the right thing. I so appreciate that last kiss you gave me as my eyes were leaking, even though I could see you were having a hard time standing.
One of my friends wrote that he was probably still in a magical place near me. Is that why I keep on thinking you will be behind me, where you always were, waiting for me to finish on the computer? But then my eyes, limited by their humanity fail to see....If you are there, I'll be listening for your bark, and I try to remember how you were always ready to love and share. Oh, Charlie. I miss you. Thank you for blessing me so.
You will always have a place deep in my heart. Run free. Run strong. Check on Dad and keep him company, 'kay?
Charlie, Cara Sardonyx by Design
9/9/99-7/3/09
Champion of my heart
Thursday, February 5, 2009
The Little Ship
A ship sails and I stand watching till she fades on the horizon and someone at my side says
She is gone.
Gone where? Gone from my sight, that is all.
She is just as large now as when I last saw her.
Her diminished size and total loss from my sight is in me, not in her.
And just at that moment, when someone at my side says she is gone,
there are others who are watching her coming over their horizon and other voices take up a glad shout--
There she comes!
That is what dying is,
A horizon and just the limit of our sight.
Lift us up O Lord, that we may see further.
She is gone.
Gone where? Gone from my sight, that is all.
She is just as large now as when I last saw her.
Her diminished size and total loss from my sight is in me, not in her.
And just at that moment, when someone at my side says she is gone,
there are others who are watching her coming over their horizon and other voices take up a glad shout--
There she comes!
That is what dying is,
A horizon and just the limit of our sight.
Lift us up O Lord, that we may see further.
--Bishop Brent
In Celebration of the Life of my Dad 11/24/1936 - 1/26/2009. I miss you so. You were a great man.
In Celebration of the Life of my Dad 11/24/1936 - 1/26/2009. I miss you so. You were a great man.
Sunday, January 4, 2009
Fun Monday: What's on your mind lately?
Faye, at Summit Musings asks a simple, yet very interesting question (I think): What's on your mind lately?
My answer is simple: life and death...or more accurately, dying. It really is OK to stop reading right here, although I think the issue is important. Sorry. This is also going to be a very long post, and given my work schedule, I apologize in advance if I don't get around to all the Fun Mondays.
As on oncologist, I deal with dying all the time. The grief of death always seems to be heightened around the holidays. Time and time again, I see people that I expect to die, who manage to "hold on" until after the holidays. However, I also see those deaths that happen right on top of a holiday. There is the grief of the death, but also the added grief of knowing that from this year forward, Thanksgiving or Christmas will always be associated with loss for that family.
This holiday season has been particularly difficult for me. No, my father did not die, but his status has taken an acute change. The week before Christmas, my mother called me at work. "Celeste, you father seems not right. He seems confused." The described behavior was frightening. I was concerned that my father had brain metastasis from his cancer. It was time: a disease with a median survival of 15 months in non-smokers had lasted 29 months. Over the next 24 hours, the MRI was done and was -- normal.
However, Dad's confusion worsened. Twenty four hours after the MRI he was emergently hospitalized with "altered mental status." AMS is a catch-all diagnosis which can represent a wide range of things from delerium because of infection to confusion from stroke or cancer. In the end, Dad was "medically tuned up" but the etiology of his confusion was unclear and continued at discharge.
I cleared my work schedule to travel to my parent's earlier than planned. Dad was released from the hospital, but was still quite confused, and also not sleeping (which I believe was aggravating the confusion). In the beginning, he was like a child, proudly announcing, "I'm bipolar and OCD," two diagnoses that had never been given him previously. With time, that went away, although the never-ending wakefulness persisted. The saddest thing: he seems to be aware of the confusion, occasionally saying "I am confused; I was lucid before" or "This is embarrassing." Each day, he had a new key phrase. One day it was "This is a Baton Rouge infinity process." The next, "This computer program isn't working." At times, he could interact, but I could tell he was forcing, trying very hard not to say the first thing that came to his mind as it would likely be quite bizarre.
Christmas Eve was the worst, but perhaps the best. I was feeding him, when he told me that he had died. I said nothing, hoping that this would not become his latest obsession, but it did. I listen when people tell me that they are dying or have died, because often times, they know. A while later, as I tried to get him to eat, he asked me "how do you all do this to people?" "What do you mean, Dad?" "The chemo. It's too rough. Why do you doctor's just make people suffer?" With that, I died a little inside. Dad, I know. The cancer journey is a crappy one, especially when it is a journey with no promise of cure, only the hope of prolongation. I wish we had better treatments. I wish we didn't have to poison the cancer, yet poison the person, too. Cancer sucks.
After that, his confusion worsened. He began to perseverate on "I am dead. I have gone to heaven" and repeatedly recited the Lord's Prayer. We finally gave him his night meds and put him to bed with my brother and I tearfully kissing my father good night. I honestly believed that might have been the last good night.
A little over an hour later, my father woke. He told us he was hungry and wanted to eat as he hadn't eaten in a long time. We got him food, and he talked to us without confusion for about an hour before he was tired and wanted to sleep again. That was our Christmas Gift.
Christmas morning came, and my father awoke, confused. We did the Christmas rituals. Although my father was there, he also wasn't. I watched my Mom care for her mate of 51 years. I could see that it doesn't matter how confused he is, this is her husband and she will stand by his side to the end. Their love is an incredible, enduring love.
Once, my brother told me that my father's greatest fear was the cancer going to his brain. This current delerium is worse. With brain metastases, there is the hope thatyet with more toxic therapy (whole brain radiation), the symptoms will improve, at least for time.
People have told me that they will pray for my father's healing. To be honest, I no longer know what the prayer should be (therefore, what is on my mind morning, noon, and night). If this current cruel process is the end of my father's journey, I believe that my family has already been given the gift -- the gift my father's life for 15 months longer than the median. Most of those months have been good, although many have been fraught with feeling badly.
With a new presidency looming, with a promise of change, I wonder how my world will change. Cancer care is expensive and at what cost versus benefit? My father is correct: often what we ask patients to endure in the name of cancer treatment is debilitating, and too often, the end result is the same. My father has certainly gained months in his treatment, but in his moment of confusion (vs. "lucidity"), I question if it was worth it. As I watch my mother care for my father, I know that for my mother, each additional moment with her life's mate is worth it. As I watch my father, lost in some delerium which may be his greatest nightmare, I wonder.
Today, my prayer can only be, "May your will be done, but please spare the suffering." I no longer know which outcome should be right.
I do believe that with death comes the ultimate healing. I do not understand our society's incredible fear of death and the natural loss that comes with death.
What's on my mind? Some really heavy thoughts. Do I have answers? No.
(By the way, for those who are wondering: all of my father's tests regarding neurologic disorders (imaging and spinal tap) came back pristine. My father has a neuropathy that I believe is a paraneoplastic syndrome. Given the lack of abnormal findings on the current studies, I am concerned that he has developed a paraneoplasitc limbic encephalitis, a process that is, for the most part (except in research centers), a diagnosis of exclusion).
My answer is simple: life and death...or more accurately, dying. It really is OK to stop reading right here, although I think the issue is important. Sorry. This is also going to be a very long post, and given my work schedule, I apologize in advance if I don't get around to all the Fun Mondays.
As on oncologist, I deal with dying all the time. The grief of death always seems to be heightened around the holidays. Time and time again, I see people that I expect to die, who manage to "hold on" until after the holidays. However, I also see those deaths that happen right on top of a holiday. There is the grief of the death, but also the added grief of knowing that from this year forward, Thanksgiving or Christmas will always be associated with loss for that family.
This holiday season has been particularly difficult for me. No, my father did not die, but his status has taken an acute change. The week before Christmas, my mother called me at work. "Celeste, you father seems not right. He seems confused." The described behavior was frightening. I was concerned that my father had brain metastasis from his cancer. It was time: a disease with a median survival of 15 months in non-smokers had lasted 29 months. Over the next 24 hours, the MRI was done and was -- normal.
However, Dad's confusion worsened. Twenty four hours after the MRI he was emergently hospitalized with "altered mental status." AMS is a catch-all diagnosis which can represent a wide range of things from delerium because of infection to confusion from stroke or cancer. In the end, Dad was "medically tuned up" but the etiology of his confusion was unclear and continued at discharge.I cleared my work schedule to travel to my parent's earlier than planned. Dad was released from the hospital, but was still quite confused, and also not sleeping (which I believe was aggravating the confusion). In the beginning, he was like a child, proudly announcing, "I'm bipolar and OCD," two diagnoses that had never been given him previously. With time, that went away, although the never-ending wakefulness persisted. The saddest thing: he seems to be aware of the confusion, occasionally saying "I am confused; I was lucid before" or "This is embarrassing." Each day, he had a new key phrase. One day it was "This is a Baton Rouge infinity process." The next, "This computer program isn't working." At times, he could interact, but I could tell he was forcing, trying very hard not to say the first thing that came to his mind as it would likely be quite bizarre.
Christmas Eve was the worst, but perhaps the best. I was feeding him, when he told me that he had died. I said nothing, hoping that this would not become his latest obsession, but it did. I listen when people tell me that they are dying or have died, because often times, they know. A while later, as I tried to get him to eat, he asked me "how do you all do this to people?" "What do you mean, Dad?" "The chemo. It's too rough. Why do you doctor's just make people suffer?" With that, I died a little inside. Dad, I know. The cancer journey is a crappy one, especially when it is a journey with no promise of cure, only the hope of prolongation. I wish we had better treatments. I wish we didn't have to poison the cancer, yet poison the person, too. Cancer sucks.
After that, his confusion worsened. He began to perseverate on "I am dead. I have gone to heaven" and repeatedly recited the Lord's Prayer. We finally gave him his night meds and put him to bed with my brother and I tearfully kissing my father good night. I honestly believed that might have been the last good night.
A little over an hour later, my father woke. He told us he was hungry and wanted to eat as he hadn't eaten in a long time. We got him food, and he talked to us without confusion for about an hour before he was tired and wanted to sleep again. That was our Christmas Gift.
Christmas morning came, and my father awoke, confused. We did the Christmas rituals. Although my father was there, he also wasn't. I watched my Mom care for her mate of 51 years. I could see that it doesn't matter how confused he is, this is her husband and she will stand by his side to the end. Their love is an incredible, enduring love.
Once, my brother told me that my father's greatest fear was the cancer going to his brain. This current delerium is worse. With brain metastases, there is the hope thatyet with more toxic therapy (whole brain radiation), the symptoms will improve, at least for time.
People have told me that they will pray for my father's healing. To be honest, I no longer know what the prayer should be (therefore, what is on my mind morning, noon, and night). If this current cruel process is the end of my father's journey, I believe that my family has already been given the gift -- the gift my father's life for 15 months longer than the median. Most of those months have been good, although many have been fraught with feeling badly.
With a new presidency looming, with a promise of change, I wonder how my world will change. Cancer care is expensive and at what cost versus benefit? My father is correct: often what we ask patients to endure in the name of cancer treatment is debilitating, and too often, the end result is the same. My father has certainly gained months in his treatment, but in his moment of confusion (vs. "lucidity"), I question if it was worth it. As I watch my mother care for my father, I know that for my mother, each additional moment with her life's mate is worth it. As I watch my father, lost in some delerium which may be his greatest nightmare, I wonder.
Today, my prayer can only be, "May your will be done, but please spare the suffering." I no longer know which outcome should be right.
I do believe that with death comes the ultimate healing. I do not understand our society's incredible fear of death and the natural loss that comes with death.
What's on my mind? Some really heavy thoughts. Do I have answers? No.
(By the way, for those who are wondering: all of my father's tests regarding neurologic disorders (imaging and spinal tap) came back pristine. My father has a neuropathy that I believe is a paraneoplastic syndrome. Given the lack of abnormal findings on the current studies, I am concerned that he has developed a paraneoplasitc limbic encephalitis, a process that is, for the most part (except in research centers), a diagnosis of exclusion).
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