The Universe Is Kind of a Dick ...

 

... or so says the sock that went back on my left foot after I took this photo. It's been a rough year so far and an even rougher week. Spouse had a double bypass on January 2 and has learned that he is looking at a future hip replacement and repair of a torn rotator cuff. My back pain just keeps on keeping on, but more on that later.

This week we said good-bye to a family member for the past seven years, our rescue dog Lassa. She was at the local SPCA as a stray, but it's more likely that she was dumped by someone I hope I never meet. The SPCA estimated her age as six, so we knew she was getting on in years. She'd been having breathing

issues and tiring easily for a while, and the breathing issues Wednesday were particularly bad. Older Son and I took her to an emergency vet appointment. They sedated and intubated her to get an x-ray. We knew that she had a growth on her spleen, and it appeared that it had grown significantly and was likely to be pressing on both her lungs and stomach. In addition, some tubes in her throat had stiffened, making it hard for her to breathe even if there had been no pressure on her lungs. Spouse joined us, and we made the decision to let her go. We gathered around her and wished her well as the vet administered to final drug. I was so glad that she had already been sedated. I don't think I could have looked into her eyes as the sedative was administered. Instead, she appeared just to be sleeping. Needless to say, I was bawling.

I have taken her death particularly hard. During the last few months, as medical issues have added up, she's been my go-to friend. Petting her and looking into her brown eyes helped me relax. Our other dogs were pretty much family dogs. They treated all of us pretty much the same. Lassa, though, preferred me. She liked Older Son, who would run with her, but he pointed out that her yips of greeting were louder for me than for him or anyone else. Especially during the pandemic, I was always at home with her. I still go up to bed each night expecting to see her on the bed. She would put herself to bed an hour or so before Spouse and I would come up. So many other times I turn, expecting her to be there, and she isn't. I commented about her death in regard to one of Gene Weingarten's Substack posts, and another person replied with what I think is how I view Lassa even though we only had her for a bit more than half of her life: "I loved you for your whole life and I'll miss you for the rest of mine."

This morning I had a pulmonary function test in consideration of whether I will merit a referral to the long COVID clinic. On those results alone, I probably would not be referred; I expect I came through as very normal. I'll see the formal results in a day or two. Wednesday holds the big appointment and may determine the course of our summer. My back pain has been growing worse. Over-the-counter drugs don't seem to be doing very much any more. Last week I had a second episode of urinary incontinence and suffered a fall pretty much caused by my back. When I emailed the doctor who has been coordinating my back care about those, he told me to send a copy to the spine surgeon I've seen and was supposed to see again in June, and, should there be a third episode of incontinence to go to the Emergency Room. I did as the doctor ordered and send the surgeon a message. I was worked into Wednesday's schedule with a note that the Pain Management procedure scheduled for Thursday may or may not take place. The admonition to go to the ER should incontinence strike was repeated. 

The pain in my back has worsened to the point at which I wonder if heading off to Europe for 18 days is a good idea. What if the pesky third bout of incontinence strikes somewhere in between Amsterdam and Budapest, while we are stopping in different towns throughout the 15-day cruise? About that ER visit? The surgeon previously described my back as "unstable." Does the stronger pain mean that it's unstabled itself into a worse position? We do have trip insurance, so if he tells me that medically, I should not go, we're covered cost-wise. Spouse says he doesn't really care when we go, though the original idea was for it to happen soon after his retirement as a celebration. I can't help but think we postpone the trip for my back surgery, then again for Spouse's shoulder surgery, followed one time more by his hip replacement. The universe might turn out to be a big kind of dick. 

And so, we wait. News at 11:00. 

Marching On

So it's been two months since I last posted. I knew it had been a while, but didn't think it had been that long. I've had better two-month periods, but I guess I've also had worse. One thing I've found that usually helps me put things in perspective is my collection of meaningful (to me, at least) posts from the Thoughts of Dog calendar I get every year for Christmas. I guarantee that these are more profound and meaningful than anything I could come up with today.

the small neighbor human came over today. with an early gift for me. it was a little box. and inside was a little pebble. they said the picked it up. the first time they ever went on a walk with me. i'm not sure if i've mentioned this before. but i would do anything for the small neighbor human.

gooooob morning. I have a feeling today will be a good day. and if it's not. well that's alright too. because there's always tomorrow. and there's always peanut butter.

there is a pattern. amongst humans. to think too much about yesterday. or tomorrow. and not enough about today. today is happening now. it would be foolish to miss it.

sometimes. when i can't fall asleep. i'll pull my stuffed fren sebastian closer. and think about all the wondrous landscapes. i've yet to zoom across.

my stuffed fren sebastian. wanted me to remind you. you are doing great. and you have to trust him. he knows everything. 

 I encourage you. to find the positive in a situation. as well as i can find. a lone beam of sunlight. passing through the household.

the human is jealous of me. they believe i am simple. with simple thoughts. and little to worry about. but if they would take a deep breath. and let the sunlight hit them. without critique. or question. they too would find. little to worry about. 

The last one in the list was the page for yesterday and today. Timing is everything, I guess. When even my watch (a Garmin Forerunner) is telling me I'm stressing too much, I probably am. Re-reading these was a good thing.

As for stress, tomorrow's medical appointment is with the Pain Management clinic. The spinal epidural steroid injection I had six or seven weeks ago worked great. Until it didn't, which was about three weeks after. I reveled in walking without pain. It. Felt. Great. I guess I'll hear tomorrow what other options, if any, I might have. On Friday, I have my every-six-months appointment in Dermatology. On my fall appointment, they found a basal cell carcinoma on the top of my head, resulting in a shaved spot about two inches by three inches. With the hair there having grown about an inch long, I'm heading back to my stylist next week to get at least the rest of my mop trimmed. I really hope they don't come across another on my head this time. Fingers crossed.

 

 

 

Are We There Yet?

In my last post of 2024, I expressed hope that 2025 would, on the whole, be better than 2024 had been. So far, so good at least on the personal level. Spouse had a double cardiac bypass on January 2, and his recovery is proceeding as it should. He is more of a Type A person than he would like to admit, so I occasionally have to remind him that there are things he should not do yet or that it's okay to want to take a nap. The literature he was given about the bypass says that the need for napping or extra rest may last for six to eight weeks. I tell Spouse that he's livin' the dream, napping with impunity.  

My medical travails continue. I will spare you the photo of the top of my head nine days out from removal of a basal cell carcinoma. It looks a lot better now than it did last weekend. In fact, I'm out in public right now without a head or incision covering for the first time. It's not really that noticeable unless someone is taller than I am or standing behind me while I'm sitting.The past week belonged to the dentist, while the coming week belongs to the orthopedic surgeon. I still struggle with the idea of surgery, but am willing to hear what it might entail. 

I'm sitting in the lobby of one of the local libraries. One of Spouse's retired colleagues died recently, and the memorial service is this afternoon. Since Spouse won't be cleared to drive for at least two more weeks, I'm his designated driver. The physicist who passed was 83. One of my friends who will turn 89 in March just transferred from a hospital to a rehab center. She texted the usual "growing old is not for sissies" when she let friends know that she was in the hospital. When do you decide you are old or growing in that direction? While aging was part of the cause of Spouse's cardiac difficulties, it's not really behind any of my medical maladies. I feel the passage of time when for example, I think of something in the past and realize how many years ago it happened.  Do I need a medical condition that resulted from my age to make me feel as if I were growing old? I am certainly in worse physical shape and more fatigued than I was even ten years ago, much of that can be attributed to the long COVID.

I end now before my fingers start typing something about our current political situation here in the US. It's not good, and it will take years, or even decades, to recover if in fact we ever do. And on that cheery note, 2025 probably will be worse than 2024 after all.