Sitting at work, frustrated simply due to trying to trade municipal bonds on a Friday. I should know better, but I can only chalk that up on the list of things that I used to be good at remembering and now, probably due to chemotherapy, I forget. It's weird, having a life centered around being cerebral, and then having that fail on a regular basis.
We leave tomorrow, assuming the weather allows us to. I'll be taking a very expensive flight Sunday if it doesn't, I guess. Not too worried though -- roads were fine today, albeit icy, and all we have to do is get about 1/3rd of the way there and it's smooth sailing.
Friday, January 31, 2014
Tuesday, January 28, 2014
Wednesday, January 8, 2014
RIP Little Friend.
I had to have Mischief euthanized yesterday. His kidneys failed and even with a ridiculously expensive surgery there wasn't that great a chance. I went over to say goodbye and give him a few last kisses and hugs yesterday afternoon.
You think, when you are diagnosed with cancer, that at least there's not much worse than can happen to you. But there always is, isn't there? I feel detached now, like a balloon that just popped another hook holding me back from floating away. In the 11 years I had that cat he was a teddy bear, a therapist, a constant comfort, my best friend, and so much more -- everyone who met him loved him and thought he was the most amazing cat they had ever seen.
And right when I need him the most, when everything else is going to shit around me, he's randomly taken from me.
I think I'm in shock. My marriage has been pretty rocky since all of this started, and without a ton of close friends to lean on I've been forced to rely on whatever I could safely get to pull myself through the dark times. I could always count on Mischief's purring or the feel of rubbing his neck fur to calm me down and balance things. There's something to be said, a lot actually with a disease like this, to just have something that loves you for you and doesn't care about anything else except to steal a little warmth and a head scratch.
Months ago I was having a beer with a friend on my back patio and talking about cancer and all of this, and we were talking about religion. Jim mentioned that he held out hope that when he died he'd be reunited with his deceased father. I never put much stock in stuff like that but I told Mischief last night, quietly, that if there is a place like that, and he can't find anything better, that I hope I'll get to have him fall asleep on my lap again someday.
Goodbye, little one. You were a better friend than I probably deserved but I will always appreciate that you shared your life with me, from the moment you picked me out at the DFL until we said goodbye.
You think, when you are diagnosed with cancer, that at least there's not much worse than can happen to you. But there always is, isn't there? I feel detached now, like a balloon that just popped another hook holding me back from floating away. In the 11 years I had that cat he was a teddy bear, a therapist, a constant comfort, my best friend, and so much more -- everyone who met him loved him and thought he was the most amazing cat they had ever seen.
And right when I need him the most, when everything else is going to shit around me, he's randomly taken from me.
I think I'm in shock. My marriage has been pretty rocky since all of this started, and without a ton of close friends to lean on I've been forced to rely on whatever I could safely get to pull myself through the dark times. I could always count on Mischief's purring or the feel of rubbing his neck fur to calm me down and balance things. There's something to be said, a lot actually with a disease like this, to just have something that loves you for you and doesn't care about anything else except to steal a little warmth and a head scratch.
Months ago I was having a beer with a friend on my back patio and talking about cancer and all of this, and we were talking about religion. Jim mentioned that he held out hope that when he died he'd be reunited with his deceased father. I never put much stock in stuff like that but I told Mischief last night, quietly, that if there is a place like that, and he can't find anything better, that I hope I'll get to have him fall asleep on my lap again someday.
Goodbye, little one. You were a better friend than I probably deserved but I will always appreciate that you shared your life with me, from the moment you picked me out at the DFL until we said goodbye.
Tuesday, January 7, 2014
And the hits just keep coming.
I made it through the holidays. It wasn't easy ... it wasn't going to be, that was obvious. My daughter had a good time and that's all that matters, really, even if I had to fake the holiday cheer bit personally. It's impossible to describe to those without the knowledge of what standing in terminal shoes really feels like to explain how the taint creeps in, how often unbidden thoughts come of "how many of these will I have left" and "what will these days be like when I'm gone for those left behind?"
I didn't write here because it's just too painful for me.
I am waiting for the Mayo Clinic to look over my latest test results to confirm they are still doing the transplant in February -- there was a paperwork snafu, as usual, so it's being dealt with late. I am hopeful that I can get down there to meet with the doctor and the logistics folks before things start.
Oh, I discovered last chemo day something new and even more depressing than previous discoveries -- I was sitting there next to a pregnant woman. If there's one thing an infusion room is good for it's to remind you of how fucking awful cancer can be.
I feel like I'm in some sort of toxic orbit right now -- the last few years have been so painful, with one thing coming after another, and there seems to be no let up. 2013 was fucking terrible, so obviously my family was hoping for a reprieve in 2014. But here I sit today waiting for news that won't really make a difference about my cat, Mischief. He was acting funny last night so I took him to an emergency vet and sure enough, he's in kidney failure. They are doing more tests but there's no way I can afford an estimated $8,000 surgery for a cat so regardless of what they find I'll probably be going over there later to say goodbye today. I've had several cats but he was truly a one-of-a-kind animal -- outgoing, friendly, and a teddy bear to my daughter. And me.
I'm sick of feeling like life is unfair.
I didn't write here because it's just too painful for me.
I am waiting for the Mayo Clinic to look over my latest test results to confirm they are still doing the transplant in February -- there was a paperwork snafu, as usual, so it's being dealt with late. I am hopeful that I can get down there to meet with the doctor and the logistics folks before things start.
Oh, I discovered last chemo day something new and even more depressing than previous discoveries -- I was sitting there next to a pregnant woman. If there's one thing an infusion room is good for it's to remind you of how fucking awful cancer can be.
I feel like I'm in some sort of toxic orbit right now -- the last few years have been so painful, with one thing coming after another, and there seems to be no let up. 2013 was fucking terrible, so obviously my family was hoping for a reprieve in 2014. But here I sit today waiting for news that won't really make a difference about my cat, Mischief. He was acting funny last night so I took him to an emergency vet and sure enough, he's in kidney failure. They are doing more tests but there's no way I can afford an estimated $8,000 surgery for a cat so regardless of what they find I'll probably be going over there later to say goodbye today. I've had several cats but he was truly a one-of-a-kind animal -- outgoing, friendly, and a teddy bear to my daughter. And me.
I'm sick of feeling like life is unfair.
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