Month: August 2021

Categories
After

Butts

Hey guys, welcome back. Today I’m going to talk a little about humanity. What makes us human? How do these qualities that we possess in ourselves tie us to others? What makes these qualities shine the brightest in ourselves? And how can we help others to foster these traits in themselves? As in, what do we do as human beings that make our souls feel alive and how can we make others feel more human at times when their humanity is being stripped away?

I’ve spent the past week and a half caring for my old man pupper, Baxter. He’s about to turn 13 and for the past 4 or 5 years has been having mysterious “attacks” involving severe abdominal pain. They have always seemed to come out of nowhere, mostly occurring at night, and have resulted in multiple trips to the emergency vet with quite an array of diagnoses. The first was idiopathic nausea. For the nonmedical readers the term idiopathic means “we have no fucking clue.” Seems like a joke, right? It’s actually a pretty common thing to see this word attached to just about any medical term in the book. “This is what you have, we have no idea why.” So nausea medication was prescribed. Did it help? Yes. No. Maybe. Sometimes. It really depended on the occasion, with no rhyme or reason.

Then came the anal gland impaction diagnosis. This one seemed legit for a while. We did have more than one trip to the ED where, once his glands were “expressed,” he had relief of his pain. But not always. And sometimes they weren’t full at all. So the search continued. Unfortunately, this search usually took place in the ED in the middle of the night with a new ER doc who had never met Baxter before. Yes, I took him for regular vet visits. He’s actually on the every 6 months schedule now due to his furry old man status. We did a bunch of tests that resulted in a whole lot of nothing.

I think the next one after that was the rock in his stomach resulting in surgery to remove it. The thing with this one is, once you’ve done an abdominal X-ray on a dog with severe abdominal pain and you see a rock in there, it’s hard to take him home while he’s still screaming out in pain and shaking like a leaf. So surgery it was, we got a beautiful little rock about the size of a lima bean for all of our trouble that go around. Did it stop his pain? Hard to tell really. I mean, we literally cut the dog open in hopes of helping him that time. He was probably like “Guys, I’m sorry I complained. Please don’t put me under the knife again.”

Big shocker coming up now guys, it did not in fact “cure” him or make this not happen again. The next ED visit we got “severe osteoarthritis” added to his list of diagnoses. So some pain relievers were added in to the mix.

The next time it happened it was actually first thing in the morning when it started. I thought, great we can call the regular vet office and get him in this time with someone that knows him and they can actually see what’s happening. Except, no. It was our regular vet’s day off and there was literally no-one in the office that could see him that day. I’m sure I’m not going to be the first person to point out that, among other serious problems we’re all facing right now, a nationwide vet shortage is definitely one of them. So we shlepped an hour away to an emergency vet clinic that is open 24/7. I will not bore you with all the painful details of that day for us but rather just say that by the time we were seen, the episode was over. But it did get us an upcoming appointment with an internal medicine doc in the same clinic. That was last week.

The morning of his appointment he started to act weird, like he always does when these things are happening to him. Baxter may not be able to speak words to me but he has definitely found some unique and interesting ways to tell me when something is wrong. The easiest way to describe it would be to say that he becomes incredibly annoying. He climbs over me on the couch, stands on my feet, repeatedly bangs into the bathroom door when I’m in there, and (my personal favorite) stands in the corner where Levi’s toys are and spins the Sit N Spin with his foot. Literally anything to get my attention. So this particular morning I thought we were so lucky that it was happening for his internal medicine consult and abdominal ultrasound. That was a double edged sword for sure.

We do now have a diagnosis, acute pancreatitis. We also have had the worst, longest, and absolutely most complicated round of this thing that we’ve ever had and I hope to ever have. The thing with pancreatitis is that you can control the risk factors and do your best to control the symptoms but you can’t really cure it per se. So lifestyle modifications (sounds a little weird for a dog) like a very low fat diet, weight loss, more exercise are all what he needs long term. But it’s been an exhausting week and a half trying to get him to bounce back from this bout. I’ve literally been taking care of him around the clock all this time with trips back and forth to the internal medicine clinic, constant cleaning of the house, linens and the dog, hand feeding him to get him to take his meds, the list goes on.

Monday morning he woke me at 4 am to tell me something was wrong. First off, if this old man is awake before 7 there’s a problem. The problem? Projectile, explosive diarrhea. And lots of it. Back to the clinic. Guys, since Monday I’ve been dealing with round the clock diarrhea. We’re not talking the “hurry up and take me out” variety. We’re talking the running down the dogs legs without him even knowing it’s happening kind. So I’ve been cleaning poop all week; off the floors, the linens, the dog, myself. You name it, I’ve more than likely cleaned poop off it this week.

I am very happy to inform you all that today we seem to have taken a turn in the right direction finally. We were back at the clinic yesterday. I was very discouraged. He just wasn’t showing any signs of improving and it was wearing on me. Not just the constant cleaning or the week with no sleep. It was the watching him in such excruciating pain, that was what I wasn’t sure how much more I could take. And I had that conversation with the vet. The conversation about is it time? Is it time to just stop his pain? But he had been researching new ideas for treating pancreatitis in dogs and wanted to try adding in some steroids. Apparently that was what poor Baxter’s pancreas had been waiting for all this time. I hesitate to even type these words but it has now been almost 24 hours since I have seen anything involuntarily eek out of the dog’s butt.

So why have I gone into such great detail describing my dog’s diarrhea to you all? And what does it have to do with our humanity? Well, to say that a lot of emotions and memories from when I was taking care of Mister came flooding back up close and personal while all of this was happening would be an understatement. It made me think about all the things I had to do to care for him when he could no longer do them for himself and how we both felt about it.

It started off as little things after his first surgery. Driving, for instance. Not a huge thing really until you can’t do it anymore. Buttoning his shirt. Again, not that big of a deal. But obviously as things progressed it became things like assistance with showering, counting out his pills, help with his seatbelt. Middle of the road type of assistance.

And then the last few months it was everything. Shaving, toileting, eating, all of it really. Everything you do every day that you take for granted, he needed someone to do it for him. Every last little detail he was no longer able to do for himself. It’s hard to imagine being on the other side of this, being the one needing all this care. So I did everything I could to care for him the very best way that I could, down to the smallest detail, and I really did try to do it with grace and with as little complaining as possible. No one asks to have this happen to them. No one wants to be fed, dressed, have their butt cleaned by someone else. But as human beings we also need to be fed, dressed, have our butts cleaned.

The greatest gift you can give another human being is to do something to care for them and then never mention it to them again. If someone you love needs help in the bathroom, just do it and let it go. It was more emotionally painful for them than it ever will be for you. Have a neighbor that has mobility issues? Mow their lawn and never mention it to them again. It’s really that simple.

So now I’ll get to the actual reason for my choice of topic. I feel like more and more people are losing their sense of humanity. I feel like less and less people actually care about the safety and well being of others. We are all humans, all with human needs, human emotions. And we need each other. “No man is an island” and all that. We need to care for one another. Be compassionate. Care. Or else it’s all just a bunch of shit (no pun intended there, with all my butt talk). Sometimes the compassion and care comes on a grand scale, with a big sacrifice. But sometimes it’s having a bit of conversation with an elderly person in the grocery store. You might be the only person they get to talk to that day. It might be patiently waiting with a smile while someone in a wheelchair gets into their car before you can get into your own. It might be the only time all day that they don’t feel rushed or like the whole world is annoyed with them. All these little things add up to the sum that makes us mankind.

Including getting vaccinated. This is the easiest, most simple way that we can care for one another at this time in history, guys. The people that have stepped up to the plate and gotten this vaccine, we’re the brave ones. Not scared or sheep or ill informed. We need to do it to protect one another, to protect our children, to protect the vulnerable. But mostly, we need to do it to protect our own humanity.

Categories
After

Happy Anniversary

Hi guys, welcome back. This was a big week for me for more than one reason. It’s hard to say one was more important or a bigger deal than the other really. More of the ying and yang of life, I suppose.

Monday was the first anniversary of Mister’s death. It was a weird day really. I mean in terms of how I felt anyway. The days leading up to it, the actually day itself, and now the few days that have passed I’ve really thought about the whole thing. By the whole thing I mean the anniversary of the death of a loved one. Obviously Mister was more than a loved one to me; he was my person, my twin flame. And it wasn’t like there was one bad day that ended this whole nightmare for us. So how are you supposed to feel on that day? What are you supposed to do to commemorate it, if anything?

I was lying in bed Sunday night thinking. And by “thinking” I mean that manic thing my mind does whenever I try to convince my body that it’s time for rest. I literally had such a range of emotions when I was “thinking” that I found myself not only crying but also bursting out laughing. Yes, actually laughing thinking about the whole bizarre nature of the day. Mister would’ve loved it. We had the best laughs at some of the most inappropriate times together, definitely about some of the most inappropriate things.

I mean, it obviously was the anniversary of one of the worst days of my life but was it “the” worst? Probably not. My Mister was gone sometime in the weeks leading up to that day and there are quite a few days of significance leading up to that day that, in my mind at least, were worse than that one. And to be completely honest, I think there have been one or two since that day that have been pretty bad for me. Which leads me to the question, what the hell is August 9th to me?

One of the first things that comes to mind when I think about it is “Congratulations, you have survived the past 365 days.” That was definitely the one that made me burst out laughing. All I can picture is the Publisher’s House Sweepstakes commercials where they show up at your door with the balloons and flowers, streamers flying around and loudly proclaim “Congratulations!!” That didn’t happen, in case you were wondering. What did happen was an afternoon of snuggling the most precious little preemie girl and an evening spent with my favorites who are always right by my side when I need them.

That thought led in so many different directions though. Okay so first of all, how has it possibly been a year already? I mean, on those days that the gaping hole of grief is calling so loudly to me, the days that seem to pass as entire months instead of one day, the days that I feel his absence so much that it seems the day will never end; how is it even possible that 365 days have passed.

And then that leads to, okay so I’ve “survived” 365 days. How many more days do I have to “survive.” Anyone who knows my love of math will not be surprised to hear that I actually sat down and figured some reasonable estimates out. See, that’s another thing Mister would’ve laughed at. He would know that I’m sitting here figuring out reasonable estimates of the days I have left based on math. And he would’ve teased me relentlessly about it.

So in 2020, the life expectancy of a female in the United States declined to 80.5 years from 81.4 the previous year. I suppose we don’t really need to get into too many details about why that is but I do feel the need to say that that is a shocking fact in and of itself. We lost almost an entire year of life expectancy in one year alone from this pandemic. Let that sink in. Anyway, back to topic, being approximately 52 and a half years old, that gives me approximately 28 years or 10,220 more days to get through without my love, to “survive.” But then again, I have made it through the first 365 so that’s something. Right?

Now let’s get back to the “how could a year have passed already?” question. How in the hell DID that actually happen. There were days that I thought I wouldn’t make it here to say this. But yet here I am, astounded that it’s been a year already. It’s made me reflect on some things I’ve been through in the past. I’ve been through some shit, guys even before any of this. The philosophy I’ve subscribed to in the past is, when you find yourself somewhere you don’t want to be just keep your head down and keep moving. Before long you’ll look up and realize that you’re not in that place anymore and you may actually love where you find yourself. So I guess without even being aware of it, that’s what I’ve been doing. I’m not quite ready to look up yet but hopefully some day I will be brave enough to again.

And how about the people in my life, the people that stick by the grieving even if we’re not always the most pleasant to be around? I’ll tell you right now that my circle was there and didn’t have to say any magic words or preform any special ceremonies. So that’s all I can give for advice if you love someone grieving. Just show up. That’s it. No special fanfare or speeches required. Just show up.

The day came and went. Now here we are, 4 days into the second year without my love. Now I have to say “My husband passed away a year ago” instead of wherever I was at before; a few months ago, a few weeks ago, a few days ago. I feel like it puts me in a whole other judgement zone for how my grief is progressing. Not that I let that be a concern of mine. I still think this is appropriate grieving; possibly with an identity crisis thrown in, but still appropriate grieving.

Regardless of the day passing, my week and my life have continued on. My beautiful new granddaughter has been discharged from the hospital after only 17 days despite being 6 weeks early to the party. And I made reservations to head to what was our home away from home for so many years for 2 weeks over my birthday. It will be my first trip back without Mister so I may have to call ahead to make sure there are enough tissues on island to deal with my blubbering self. Also, if we could all do our parts to curb this pandemic so that getting to and from some of my favorite people and places will be a little easier, that’d be great.

Categories
Now

Life

Hi guys, welcome back. There’s so much exciting news to share that I decided to update you all about what’s happening in my life right now and to hopefully tie it together with a post I had prepared about loneliness. Weird, right? Well I hope by the end it all makes sense, that you all can understand a little bit better, or maybe you will feel seen and heard through my words.

As most people that know me already know, one of the brightest lights I have in my life is my 3 year old grandson. He barged into the world 6 weeks early, all too eager to join in this crazy family. So with my daughter expecting baby #2, a little girl, due on September 3rd I can honestly say that I wasn’t all that shocked when my phone rang at nearly midnight just about a week and a half ago, also 6 weeks before her due date. It was just like my on call days, woken in the middle of the night to quickly dress and hop in the car. As much as I loved being called in for a good STEMI (yes, that really is true) I think I had something even better to be on call for, a new grand baby.

Little miss made quite the entrance the next day. Everyone is doing well. Baby girl just needs to get the hang of eating and gain some weight, which is in progress. She ended up being delivered about an hour away from home due to her gestational age which has added in to all the juggling of said adorable little family. Bub had a cold for the first few days of his little sister’s life which he has oh so graciously passed on to Nana now. Anyway, you get the idea. We’ve had a lot of moving parts, mostly amazing and incredible, which have kept me busy and distracted.

Here’s a little aside, family is really everything, guys. Everything. It’s also what you make of it. People don’t have to be blood to be your true family, the ones that you are bound to and meant to spend your life with. So if you have these people, your people, cling to them and never let go. Do whatever you can for them to help make this life a little easier.

So let’s get back to the original intent of this post, loneliness. This goes back to before Mister had passed away. It’s part of that long dragged out grief that I’ve talked about, when your loved one is slowly disappearing before your eyes. It’s the slow motion tragic accident that you’re forced to stare at as it happens but are powerless to stop. I know I’ve eluded to his change in mentation before. I honestly think it’s something better explained over time, small stories one at a time, rather than dropping the whole bomb on you all at once. It’s just too much.

Some time around May of 2020, about 3 months before he passed, I was in the kitchen and I heard him crying in the living room. I rushed in with my fight or flight in full swing thinking he was having a seizure. But there he was just sitting on the couch bawling his eyes out, tears streaming down his face. It still tears my heart out thinking about this whole thing. I rushed over to him, wrapping around him like I had done a million times before and asked what had happened, what was wrong. He could barely get it out through the tears but finally just said “I can’t remember your name.”

Now this was not the first instance that we had had with his memory but this was definitely the deepest cut as yet. I gently tried to comfort him, thinking that if I coaxed him a little, helped him a bit, gave him some clues, surely he was going to remember my name. I said “Mister, it’s okay if you can’t remember my name. You know who I am, right?” His response, “you love me and you take care of me.” How’s that for the saddest, shortest story you’ve read all day? I’ll unfortunately never forget those exact words. I expected “my wife”, “Ousseau”, something. What I got was correct but it was still like a dull rusty knife to the heart. All I could do was comfort him. Tell him that he was correct, I did in fact love him and took care of him.

There were good days and bad after that with his memory. Sometimes more like good minutes and bad minutes. But one thing was for sure, my husband was disappearing. As his level of care increased, the more he needed me, the less he was there if that makes sense. I missed him so much every single day even though he was right there in front of me. I felt lonely. Alone despite my amazing kids, their spouses, my grandson, and my few friends who showed up at the end. I had support and love but felt so utterly alone.

In the beginning of the after I know that I was in shock. That just made me laugh out loud as I typed it. I mean, DUH!, I knew it was coming but yet still couldn’t believe it. Even as the one year anniversary is rapidly approaching there are still times when it seems unreal. But especially back in the early after, I felt alone. There were people all around me all of the time and yet there I was, alone. The firsts started; my first birthday as a widow, my first Thanksgiving as a widow, my first everything as a widow. Again, my amazing support system was right there holding me up through all of it. So why did I feel so alone? And how do you explain to people that love you so much and are doing everything in their power to make you feel included and not lonely, how do you explain to them that you feel so alone literally all of the time?

I can honestly tell you exactly when the shift happened. Not the date or day of the week or anything like that. But the instance, that I can tell you. I was standing in the kitchen with my son. We were talking, well we were talking about the fact that I finally felt certain that they didn’t need to worry about me. That’s a whole conversation for another day. But as I talked about this with him, I decided to try to explain how lonely I felt all the time. As I talked and looked at this amazing, supportive, responsible adult that I’d like to think I had something to do with how he turned out; I realized that I wasn’t really lonely after all. I don’t think I ever was lonely. I just miss him. I miss him so much, all of the time, every single nanosecond of every single day. And I probably always will.

I think in the beginning, whenever that is for anyone’s grieving process whether it’s the day their loved one dies or the day they start to disappear, I think we’re so distracted by the loss that we can’t stop staring at the gaping hole left beside us. I think staring at the gaping hole is so consuming that you can actually feel it, this giant emptiness and it makes you feel a million miles away from everyone. That giant gaping hole creates an abyss between the grieving and life itself. As I’ve learned to navigate my grief I’ve learned that you can’t let that abyss stay between you and life. I’m trying to keep it beside me, knowing and acknowledge that it’s there but allowing people close to me maybe on the other side.

So now I can be in the NICU holding my newest grandbaby and not feel alone. I can have a sleepover with my #1, watch silly movies and sing songs and not feel alone. I can do pretty much anything and not feel so utterly alone anymore. There will always be days when I start to gaze a little longer than I should at the gaping abyss and I think that’s fine. I want to, really. Some days I need to feel it to remember the size and strength of our love. So for the time being my plan is to keep on keeping on with all of my loved ones on one side and the gaping hole, what is left of our great love is on the other.