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Category Archives: Butthead

Sleep? Why bother…

Apparently this is what my body and brain has decided. Sleep unnecessary.

I know that for real it has to do with my mental, emotional, and physical pain. All of those wrapped into one, split into pieces, kneaded into each other, and then rolled into a throbbing ball of oneness. I’m so on edge that one small scrape and I’m raw and bleeding profusely, figuratively.

I cried on the way to the grocery store this morning. Not because I had to go to the grocery store, not because I was worried about being able to afford the trip to the grocery store, not because I was afraid I was going to have an anxiety attack in the grocery store… I cried because I couldn’t not cry. I’m tired, I’m not sleeping, I’m worried about Hub and I’m worried about Butthead. I’m worried about myself, too. My grief is overwhelming every part of my life and I can’t seem to dig my way out of it.

Hub is agonizing over a job offer–in part because it might mean less flexibility and he worries that he won’t be able to come home if I need him–that he received on Friday. I’m worried for him because I don’t feel that the company was being up front with him…they kind of bait and switched the job position (which they apparently did to the guy before him, someone Hub knows). I am concerned he won’t have any backup on his work, and I’m worried because if this is how they treat potential employees, how do they treat current employees. But Hub is unhappy in his current job and looking for a way out. Our health insurance changed due to the buy-out, so he’s both unhappy with the new corporate owners and unhappy with their shitty health insurance. Unfortunately, the potentially new company has equally shitty health insurance…so that kind of cancels out the pro/con in that category. Now they’re not budging on a concession he asked about (a minor concession on their part!), so that might be the end of that. I only hope that his current corporate overlords don’t decide that he’s no longer needed before he finds something else.

Butthead is randomly puking again. I mean, it’s good news that she’s not persistently puking like the last episode where we ended up rushing her to the vet hospital and coming home with anti-vomit pills… But this randomly throwing up (twice in the last four days…one of which was this morning which was another reason why I was so upset) is so frustrating. We don’t know if she’s sneaking and eating bad things outside or has gastritis and so her stomach hurts her or what… We’re at the point where we’re acclimating her to a basket muzzle that she’ll have to wear anytime she’s outside so she doesn’t eat crap off the ground and make herself sick. It’s hard and sad to make her wear a muzzle because she’s a good dog, not aggressive, shouldn’t have to wear it. I know it’s uncomfortable and bulky and just plain weird for her, but we don’t know what else to do with her. We can’t figure out what is wrong with her. And if it’s that she’s eating stuff outside that’s making her sick, there’s nothing else we can do other than the muzzle. For the past month or so we’ve been out there with her every minute, following her and standing over her and making sure she’s not eating things. But with the snow and ice, and my physical capabilities being limited at this point…I couldn’t keep up with her and I think she might have eaten something that made her vomit last Thursday when I wasn’t standing over her. We just don’t know what to do with her… So I’m worried that she’s going to vomit again like the last episode. Ugh. So far it’s been these two random episodes and today I spent time on and off modifying the basket muzzle to try to use a quick-snap collar to hold it on her head versus the old-fashioned buckle which is a pain in the ass to get on and off of her, especially with her floppy ears and long hair.

Even though I’ve been feeling ultra shitty and exhausted, we had to do a bunch of things this weekend. Most of which we accomplished. Unfortunately, one of the things was cleaning up the caulk in our master shower which seemed to be growing mold behind the caulk at the joints of the floor and wall. Hub is not flexible, so he had trouble sitting on the floor and scraping at the caulk, so I did 90% of it. Which, of course, hurt my arms, shoulders, and hands more than they were already hurting. The end result, though, is that we need to call in a professional to look at our shower because this is the second time in a year that we’ve ended up with this problem. Last time my brother helped me strip and re-caulk the shower, but now we’re in the same place again… There’s something wrong if there’s mold and mildew growing behind the caulk, especially since we bought mold-resistant caulk. This all means that we don’t have a shower in our bathroom and we have to haul ass to the shower on the opposite end of the house…past all the windows in the front of the house and over the foyer area of the house. It also means we have to haul all our paraphernalia into the other shower, which is smaller than our master shower. It’s not a huge deal, it’s just more stress. And more stress in having to find someone who knows what they are doing to come into the house to fix whatever is happening. The stupid sub-contractor that our builder hired to do our bathrooms did not know what they were doing. They screwed several things up in our master bathroom and ruined a lot of our shower floor tiles by having to go back and chip out all the wrong grout they put in. So we were left with grout over top of grout, and chipped tiles. And the slope of the floor is really bad, which causes water to pool in different spots in the shower and leaves our grout with water stains where the water sits. It’s shitty and depressing and frustrating. That’s all in addition to whatever this caulk situation is.

I have my mammogram on Wednesday. We finally got our health insurance cards from Hub’s new corporate overlords. I opened the mail, found the card, and called for my appointment all within about ten minutes. The first they had was a week away (now this Wednesday) and I took the appointment. I am pretty paranoid about keeping up with my mammos, so I’m glad that it’s only about ten days overdue from the day I had it last year.

I was supposed to have a relaxing massage last week. I had it scheduled in between two trigger point appointments…I normally go to TP massage therapy once a month (ish). So I scheduled the relaxing massage exactly two weeks after one TP appointment and two weeks before the next TP appoint. And then it snowed, and my relaxing massage appointment got canceled. And I really really wanted it. I mean, not enough to endanger my therapist or myself, but I’m so disappointed. I knew this was going to be a difficult month (technically, it’s been a difficult year so far), so I had planned for the relaxing massage–which I never get–and then plans went pfffft. Since my massage therapist only works two days a week, there were no openings for me to do a make-up massage. I don’t know when I’ll be able to fit it in again.

I told T on Friday that I want this grief to have some kind of end date. But with every day, every month, it stays. It’s a solid burden that I carry with me every. This month is especially difficult as it’s the (one year) anniversary of Mom’s death. And with every calendar day I think of what I was doing on “this” day last year. How we had no idea what was coming. How we took her to an arboretum in the city trying to perk up her spirits…not knowing how soon it would get so bad. How it happened so fast. How I was late to Hub’s birthday dinner last year because I was with Mom and Dad helping them with something. How it was only days after his birthday that she was in the hospital and then hours later that she was gone. Grief has no end date. It plays by no rules. It doesn’t give a shit who you are or what you want. It lives and breathes and grows and growls and harps and hammers and changes and does whatever the hell it wants. And it sucks.

 

 

 

 

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On dogs and doctors and days (long)

It’s been a busy month. Today is the 18th, just FYI.

I got my eyes checked–for the first time in at least six years–only to find that my prescription has barely changed. In fact, the doctor wanted to roll back my prescription a smidge but I declined. I just picked up my new glasses about an hour ago and when I put them on, I felt weird. I think we ended up a tiny bit stronger, but the technician said it could also be the upgraded coating on the lenses that made me feel funky. I’ll have to ease into the new glasses, which is fine because I still have an old pair to use in the meantime. The new glasses have half-frames, so they should be lighter on my face. The second pair of “new” glasses I got are actually one of my old frames with new lenses. I would say it was cheaper to do it that way, but honestly by the time I picked the first set of new frames, I was so freaking tired of looking at frames that I just told her to put new lenses in my old frames. They were in fine condition and they were going to be my back-up pair anyway. Everyone I worked with at the optometrist kept repeating that I had single vision lenses (instead of bi-focals) and they all sounded surprised. Kind of annoying, but honestly the major reason I didn’t go back to get my eyes checked in the last six years is because at 39 years old, the optometrist told me at 40 I’d be needing bi-focals (because that’s “the age”) and I didn’t want bi-focals so I didn’t go back. And here I am, six years later, still no bi-focals. So poo on all of you. Meanwhile, I also hate getting my eyes dilated, but this optometrist had some new-fangled technology that let them take pictures of my eyes and I was able to put off dilation again.

Monday we took Le Moo for her annual “senior” check-up at the vet. We took Butthead, too, because we’d noticed her front two bottom teeth were disappearing. The vet assured me that it wasn’t likely to be the case when we talked in email, but we brought her anyway to make sure. Le Moo is healthy and has lost about 10% of her weight. She went from 94 pounds to 86 pounds, which we are doing on purpose because as she ages she seems to be more prone to limping after running or playing. She’s a big girl and we’ve always had trouble getting her to lose weight, so we gave up and she pretty much maintained a steady weight for all the years we had her. Then we saw the limping issue and we started getting really strict and we’ve noticed it paying off. We’ll keep up with it and try to keep her from injury. The vet looked at Butthead’s teeth and said they aren’t disappearing, the gum is growing up over them. Nothing to do unless it bothers her and so far she hasn’t complained. Unfortunately, the vet is 90 minutes away, so it kind of takes up several hours just going, doing the appointment, and coming home. So Hub’s MLK day off was pretty well used it by that. I’m glad Le Moo is doing well…she’s somewhere around eight years old, which is getting up there in big dog years. And ya’ll know I worry. We’re going to have to get her back to the vet to get her teeth cleaned (she’s got bad teeth, yo), so we’ll be making that trip again in the next month or so. Yay.

So Tuesday was my six month check-up with the gyn onc surgeon. Because of Hub’s status with his company (they got bought out and are in transition), I didn’t want him to have to take a day off to accompany me to an appointment that would likely last less than 15 minutes. So I sent him on his way to work and girded myself for the hour ride to the onc’s office. Under normal circumstances, I would have been nervous but okay to make the trip on my own. I made the appointment for after rush hour and I plotted my route to go on the mostly un-used toll road to avoid further traffic. But…it rained. I knew it was predicted to be “light showers” so I told Hub I’d be fine on my own. When I got on the road it was lightly showering. Ten minutes in, before I even reached the toll road, it was pouring. And I was sweating bullets, hands clutched on the steering wheel, talking myself into being OK. I don’t like driving in the rain and I hate driving on wet roads. I have been in a full 360 degree skid behind the wheel before and it’s not fun, so I try to avoid driving in weather. In addition, the toll road is 60mph, and the highway that I was supposed to be getting on at the other end is 60mph, with lots of traffic. So when I rolled onto the toll road, I basically planted myself three or four car lengths behind a dump truck and kept speed as comfortably as I could. Halfway along the toll road, the dump truck changed lanes and sped off. WTF. But I stayed steady and with the few cars on the road flying around me, I made it along the toll road. At the other end, I decided to exit early onto a main road that cuts through the city that I knew would have lots of traffic lights and lots of cars, but also slower moving. And I splashed my way along for half an hour until I got to my destination. It was a good thing I left early, and I made it with ten minutes to spare at the doctor’s office. The doctor was “only” 45 minutes late (we’ve actually waited for 2 hours for prior appointments!), he spent less than 10 minutes with me…several of those minutes were taken up when I told him my mother had passed and we talked about that. He said everything looked good for me and without any concerning symptoms he had no reason to run any tests. In July I’ll repeat a CT scan as part of my follow-up at my two year mark.

Luckily for the trip home it had stopped raining but the roads were all wet. Even so, I made my way along the major highway back to the toll road, and then meandered along the toll road toward my exit. Unfortunately again, the exit ramp I have to take from the toll road to the highway home is a HUGE flyover, which I don’t even like to drive on DRY pavement. Instead I took the exit for the opposite direction which is a normal exit and I turned around at the first traffic light. And I headed home on more regularly traveled roads, which meant I was more comfortable even though the streets were still wet.

In March I will go for my mammogram. It’s still hard for me to go to these appointments and to know when I get home that I don’t have my mother to talk to about what happened. I thought it would get easier, but so far it hasn’t.

Tomorrow I go for a “consultation” to get my hair did. The salon I selected (different from the one I used last year…partly because the stylist never answered my queries and now because I find out this new salon has more “organic” hair dye) wants me to come in to meet the stylist and to let the stylist see my hair and confirm what I want done. If all is well, I go in early on Saturday to get all the colors. ALL THE COLORS. When I was younger I used to box dye my hair all the time, mostly variations on reds because I didn’t like my plain brown hair. At some point I became too ill physically to dye my hair so I stopped. Then I did it a few more times when I was feeling better, but it was a pain in the ass and everything got all stained (including ME) and I didn’t really love the results, so I stopped again. One year I went and got my hair all chopped off and then I had the salon dye my hair but… well, I wasn’t really keen on how it looked and it seemed like the color washed out pretty quickly and I didn’t want to waste my money.

Only last year did I decide to get something done again and I wanted it to be a little funky to make my mother smile. I got a combo of auburn and violet done, but Mom never noticed and the final look wasn’t as pronounced as I had hoped. Over the past year I haven’t bothered to do anything except let my hair grow out. But after my breast MRI and my colonoscopy and my eye exam, and now my onc follow-up, I knew I wanted to do something fun to celebrate the positive news I’ve been getting. I’ve been stalking Instagram (which I don’t use) for different pictures of what I wanted and I am vacillating between something oil-slick color looking and something more jewel-toned, but there’s definitely gonna be blues and purples and maybe some teal and pink. We’ll see what the stylist says tomorrow. If I can get a picture of before and after, I’ll come back and post them.

I’ve also gone past my birthday. My father asked me three or four times if I wanted to go out to dinner for my birthday (he called around lunchtime) but I kept saying no. I felt bad because I know he likes to go out to dinner and I am sure he felt it was what he could do for me, but I didn’t want to go out. I stood my ground and I thanked him, but said I wanted to chill at home. Hub acquiesced and didn’t do anything special for dinner, but we were together so that was fine. The weather outside was crappy and icy so I was just as happy to stay inside and just BE. My aunt–who doesn’t do so good with the whole grief support thing–called and kept me on the phone for 45 minutes talking about stuff. Two of my three brothers emailed me to wish me happy birthday, and my very old dear friend did the same. But no call from my mom, which was the hardest part. Just knowing the whole day that she wouldn’t be calling and we wouldn’t be talking. It sucked. And now it’s over for another year.

Friday I will literally be in therapy while the inauguration is going on. Like I had planned it that way. The rest of the day I will be avoiding all manner of television and radio and social media. Bleh.

I am still in a pretty good amount of physical pain. The nausea is still around but it feels like less often, so that’s good. Sleep is still sucky. The imbalance is so-so. My jaw pain is still bad, though. Headaches are not quite as bad. I broke down and saw my massage therapist last week so she could work on the TMJ pain, which worked pretty well for about a day. Next week I go back to her for my regular body-work session. One day I’m going to schedule a woo-woo relaxing massage with her because she’s damn good at it (I had one shortly after my mother died as a gift to myself) and I really want it. I wish my insurance covered that shit because it is physically helpfully to me just like physical therapy was, but it’s not covered. And it’s pretty expensive for an appointment…not that I think it’s overpriced. My massage therapist is a boss and hella good at her job…and she works fucking hard to help me. I can’t even imagine how hard it is on HER body to do the work she does! I have no idea if she’s in line with other massage therapists, but I know she earns every damn dollar during our appointments.

I just realized how long this was. I’m gonna end it now. I should have broken this up into separate posts, but in my head it all felt related. Thanks for sticking with me.

 

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Some days it feels too hard

Le Moo likes to hang out in our partially unfinished basement. We don’t know why…if it’s the cold concrete floors, the darkness, or the general idea that she gets to sleep uninterrupted down there. We have a baby gate on our steps that we try to keep closed when we’re not down there, otherwise she goes downstairs and refuses to come back up unless there’s food involved. Unfortunately, sometimes Hub goes downstairs for something (it’s sort of his man-cave) and Le Moo follows. Then when we finally get her back upstairs, if Hub forgets to close the baby gate (it’s set up down half a flight of stairs around a corner out of sight) then Le Moo will just kind of disappear and we’ll have to go searching for her.

So she was down in her lair this morning and it was time for their lunch, so I’m yelling and yelling for her–sometimes she’s a hard sleeper–while I’m putting together their food. I turn around and I see her in the hallway at the top of the stairs and I’m like “you lazy cow”… and then I realize she’s limping. And my heart sinks.

We adopted Le Moo in the fall of 2011, and from what I remember, she was about 3  1/2 years old at the time. We’re at about 4 1/2 years from that time, so she’s about eight years old. She’s 95lbs (ish…we’re working on getting some weight off of her, even though we’ve never been able to accomplish that in the last 4+ years), and we think she’s a large breed dog. Large breed dogs have shorter life spans than their smaller counterparts. Le Moo is the twilight of her life. She’s had these limps on and off through her entire time with us, and our vet has never found anything. Despite Le Moo’s stature, she can haul ass when she wants to, and she’s prone to po-go’ing when she sees a bird or some other critter she wants to chase outside the fence. We’ve never gotten the po-go’ing on camera, but it’s pretty amazing the amount of air that she can get when in flight. Most of the time, the limp resolves, probably because she strained something when running or jumping. It’s wholly possible this limp, too, will resolve. I sat on the floor and checked her feet, paws, toes, leg, elbow, etc. She didn’t show any distress and I found nothing.

After the initial alarm, I’ve left her to rest on her own. Now I’ve been interrupted by the request to go outside. I took the opportunity during Le Moo’s snooze on the deck to inspect her paw and I have found a sore. I thought there was something on her pad and I pulled it off but it felt like…a sticker (as in a piece of paper with glue on it). But now there’s a sore left behind, which explains the limping. I’ve contacted the vet to see if we need to do anything other than keep it clean, but there’s not much we can do with a foot,  you know?

Anyway, after the initial alarm and the back and forth with Hub about what was going on, I told him If there was any reason for me not to get another dog in the future, it’s the worry and anxiety I get over them. It’s so hard to be worried all the time. He said he understood, but that they give us so much back, it’s worth it. I said, Some days it feels too hard. Some days it does. Le Moo is in her golden years. I can’t even fathom the idea of losing her, especially after losing SP. Butthead has been throwing up on and off, not to mention her ACL replacement and ensuing second surgery AND ensuing limping issues. I go to sleep every night and wake up every morning wondering if Butthead has gotten sick. We don’t know why she’s throwing up, and it’s sporadic and hard to figure out. We’ve put her on digestive enzymes in case it is acid reflux or tummy issues, and we have pepcid on hand at our vet’s recommendation if the enzymes don’t work. But it’s more worry for me. More anxiety. These I need like a hole in the head.

Don’t get me wrong, I love my dogs. I love my dogs more than I love most of the people in my life. I can’t imagine my life without them. I couldn’t imagine life without SP or life without my parents’ dogs over the years (their current, Cray-cray Lab, is limping and we don’t know why…sigh). But the stress over caring for them and worrying for them is tough. How do I balance it? How do I manage it?

How do I handle the ache that keeps settling into me knowing that Le Moo is aging…and that one day she’ll be gone? How do I not sit in this chair and cry?

 

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Wordless Tuesday (pic heavy)

Wordless Tuesday (pic heavy)

I’m having some anxiety. I’m not sure I’m going to write about it…it might be TMI for some people. So for the moment… (picture heavy, sorry), enjoy Butthead’s delight with her new favorite stick.

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Posted by on June 21, 2016 in anxiety, Butthead, dogs

 

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Cleanliness is next to…

…guilt-iness.

You thought I was going to say something else. But nah, that’s too normal. And as far as I’ve been told, I’m not really anything near normal.

You know about my Mom. She’s not able to do very much right now, which includes cleaning, even though she’s feeling a little bit better. My childhood is made up of memories of weekend cleanings. That was what we did on the weekends…cleaned the house. Cleaned the yard. Cleaned the laundry. Etc. I always felt my mother was super-mom, because everything was always clean, even when she worked full time and took care of her husband and four children. She always made dinner after she got home from work. There were no dust bunnies, no dirty bathrooms, no laundry tossed on the floor. This was how we lived. I didn’t give it much thought growing up because it was how I was raised and how I lived. That didn’t mean I liked it, but it was how we were. Not to say that my room wasn’t always a mess, and she was always telling me to clean it up, but the rest of the house was…so clean.

No matter what house they lived in, how big or how small, my mother kept it clean. When I moved out on my own, I became intimidated by how clean her house always was. I started worrying about how clean my house wasn’t, especially when someone was coming over. If I knew my mother was coming to visit (from a whole 30 minutes away), I would spend an entire day cleaning the house from top to bottom, to make sure I wasn’t embarrassed when she came in. Did she ever inspect? No. Did she noticed if it was clean “enough”? Probably not. But that was how it was for me…worrying about being ashamed of how clean my how wasn’t.

When I got sick and couldn’t clean, it was left to Hub. Which kind of meant the house was sort of clean. It was never as clean as my mother’s house, and I almost always had to ASK him to clean, but he tried his hardest. And I tried not to freak over it. I’m not a neat-freak. But I do have a thing about clean bathrooms and a clean kitchen. At some point I told my mother that there was just no way I could vacuum and mop and keep the house spotless for her visits. She very bluntly said, “Who asked you to?”

So at that point, I started relaxing about the dog hair. About the dog drool. The doggie footprints. The grass she dragged in on her fur. I still wanted the bathrooms and kitchen cleaned, but I wasn’t obsessive over it. When Hub got a bonus one year, we tried to put the money aside to have someone come clean the bathrooms and kitchen, but I was never happy with the results. We tried several different people, but I always felt we could do a better job and it didn’t cost us precious money that we could have used elsewhere. So we stopped trying new cleaning people and went back to our old routine.

My grandmother had a cleaning lady who came once a week to do the heavy work. For many many years. It was a luxury she felt she wanted to afford. That was back in the day when cleaning “lady” mean someone who really cleaned, who kept her clients for years and years and years. Not someone who zipped in and out, just making a few extra dollars. But my mother was tight with her budget, and never wanted to hire anyone. I think it was part of her identity to keep a clean house, and to make sure her family was always fed, even when she worked full time.

So now, here’s Mom, who can barely get around, and whose energy is pretty close to nil. And my father, he never had to clean because Mom always did it. So when Mom went downhill with her health, I went to her and said I wanted to hire someone to come in and clean the big things…scrub the kitchens and bathrooms at least, maybe run a vacuum on the stairs because that’s difficult to do. She seemed almost relieved. She said the bathrooms were beginning to smell, but she told me that she would only do it if we did it, too. I think she was trying to gift me something because of all the time I was spending at her house. So I said sure, we could “share” a cleaning service. They could spend a few hours here doing our kitchen and bathrooms, then go to her house and do the same. So I set about looking for someone. In the meantime, Mom told Dad what we were doing. And Dad got mad.

It’s been a couple of weeks since we talked about getting a service in to clean. As we speak, there are six women cleaning my house. Doing more than I asked. Paying no attention to our big dogs or the fact that there are tumbleweeds of dog hair all over. They’re flipping up couches, cleaning my laundry room (even though I said not to bother), and they’re making the house smell so good. (Sorry, got distracted. Heh.)

Dad got mad. He told my mother HE could clean the house, why were we bringing someone in. So she told him the bathroom smelled, and it would be easier on everyone if someone came in every two weeks and just did the hard scrubbing. He got upset. Said he could handle it. I tried to tell him it wasn’t that he wasn’t doing a good job, it was that this was something someone else could do, so he could focus on Mom. It was supposed to be a relief…something to take off his shoulders and his mind. Instead of reassuring him, it upset him further. When I would go over to see if they needed anything or to spend time, I’d catch him running a small vacuum in the kitchen. Mom told me she could smell the Comet he used in the bathroom…but then she’d tell me he had no idea how to clean a bathroom. That he missed inside the toilet under the rim, or outside the toilet, or the top of the toilet tank. That he was trying, but he’d never had to do it, so it wasn’t his fault that he was missing things.

I tried again to tell him this was a good thing. That someone else could focus on the heavy cleaning and he could focus on Mom. He’s still mad. Soon we’ll be taking the ladies over to Mom’s to clean, so I called to warn them we’d be over soon. He answered the phone. He’s still mad.

Honestly, if this crew works out, I’ll be happy. I hate cleaning, and I most importantly hate cleaning bathrooms. The scrubbing is too hard on me, and although Hub tries, he’s not really good at it, either. He never cleans behind the hinges of the toilet seat. It’s just…gross. At the moment, although I know they may have missed a few details, these women are working hard and doing a ton. I’ll be okay with pointing out (next time) what I would like them to focus on better.

I’m sure the house will be messy again soon. We have dogs. I have a husband. It’s bound to happen. But I can’t wait to go pee in that clean bathroom. I might have to drink an entire glass of water so I can go pee in another clean bathroom. Jeezus I’m weird. Don’t tell anyone.

I am trying really hard not to feel guilty about having someone else clean parts of my house. Cleaning was part of my Mom’s identity, but it isn’t part of mine. I will admit, though, that I did get up to sweep the dining room after the women got here. Plus, we spent a day yesterday de-cluttering so that the women could do a thorough job more easily. So yeah, we’ll have to learn to de-clutter before they come for their appointment to clean–which is also weird…who cleans before the cleaning people come?–but it’ll be a good habit to get into I think.

So, now I’m adding on to the post because the cleaning crew left. When I say crew, I’m serious about that. It was seven women, including the owner, to do both houses. And before you pass out, yes, both houses are kind of big. We didn’t expect them to clean the whole house (either of them), but they came pretty close. The owner says for the first appointment, they like to be as thorough as possible so that subsequent cleanings will be easier and faster. And subsequent cleanings will not require seven people.

They did a pretty good job. I didn’t get to inspect everything, and I know there are a couple of spots that didn’t get done the way I would like, but I hope to give them another opportunity to come in and clean again. Also, it was a little creepy because they remade our bed. They fixed the pillows up against the headboard, then remade the bed. Like my mother when I was younger and she didn’t like the way I made my bed. LOL Also, it is a little frustrating for me that they moved things to clean and then didn’t put them back in the right place. I know it’s petty because they touch a lot of stuff and can’t be expected to remember where everything goes back in everyone’s house, it’s just weird to walk into the room and see your nightstand completely rearranged. Or your desk.

Hopefully Mom feels better with her house cleaned. I know at least I don’t have to think about it for the time being. Of course, an hour after the cleaners left, Butthead drooled on the clean tile floor. *sigh*

 

 

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Jonas the snow storm

Warning: picture heavy post. Enjoy!

Yep, we got pummeled by Jonas Friday night and all day Saturday.

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It was nice for a while on Saturday because I had no responsibilities. Mom was safely ensconced in her house with my dad and brother. Hub was here with me. We watched three episodes of House of Cards on Saturday. We’d been wanting to check it out but just hadn’t found the time. We sat around and did nothing while the storm blew and spewed and accumulated. Every couple of hours Hub would go out and shovel a path off the deck and into the yard for the dogs. I tried to go out to help broom off the stairs and like a dumb-butt, I put my foot down where I thought it was ground only it wasn’t ground yet, I twisted my knee, fell sideways and barely caught myself from slamming into the stair post and the house and the ground. My knee was sore and my back was tweaked. Needless to say Hub shuffled me back into the house right away and settled me on the recliner with an ice pack on my knee.

For most of Saturday the dogs did pretty well. They would run off the deck, pee in one of the paths Hub had shoveled, then run back into the house. Butthead even found a spot to poop in all that snow, but Le Moo held out until Sunday morning.

We enjoyed the day of nothing Saturday, without really thinking about much about the front of the house. Friday afternoon before the snow started, we parked my four wheel drive SUV parallel to the garage door, thinking if we got it close enough to the door, it and the roof overhang would protect the garage door from the snow. And also, the truck would be out of the way of the plow guy that comes to take care of our long driveways.

The best laid plans of mice and men.

This morning when I came downstairs, Hub told me that Le Moo pooped after a long, drawn out wander through the 28″ of snow we got. She refused to poop in any of the paths Hub had shoveled, instead she “swam” over the snow to try and get to the back of the yard to poop. At some point she gave up and pooped somewhere, which Hub then shoveled out of the way. Butthead, on the other hand, didn’t poop at her normal time first thing in the morning. So I took her out when I came downstairs and watched as she frantically ran along all the paths–back and forth, back and forth–sometimes jumping up onto the walls of snow around her. She FINALLY climbed up into unshoveled snow, pooped, then couldn’t figure out how to get back to the house without jumping OVER the poop. And not making a clean jump…literally. I had to clean her fur when we got back to the house. YUCK.

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After that, I went to the garage to see how well our ultra-smart SUV/garage setup went. I opened the access door we have in the garage (a standard size door that leads out to the driveway right next to the garage so we don’t always have to open the garage door to get in and out)…and found this.

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and this…

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and this…

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and this…

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That last picture? Can you see the very top edge of my SUV there? And on the right side, my garage door? With the snow piled up in between? Pressing against my garage door so hard it was bowed in on the inside?

Yeah. So pretty much we were actually STUCK IN THE HOUSE. The access door and the garage are the only way out of the house, with the exception of our front door which a) we never use (and it doesn’t even have a walkway to the driveway) and b) it was completely blocked in by 28″ of snow just off the porch. Gah.

I actually started getting a little freaked out. I don’t mind being in the house for days at a time. I was happy to have Hub stuck in the house with me. I don’t get “cabin fever” and don’t really understand people who do. I certainly don’t understand people who get “cabin fever” and MUST leave the house after 24 hours (to the detriment of their own well-being on roads that aren’t drive-able or even walk-able). C’mon, really? So I was all fine and well with being in the house…until I realized we were literally STUCK IN THE HOUSE. Unable to get out if we needed to. And no one could get in to us. Unh.

Saturday late morning (sorry, this is all out of order), our “regular” plow guy–who is actually our mechanic, he happens to moonlight as a plow guy during the short snow season we have–called to say he BROKE the axle on his plow truck very early that morning on a job. I was really concerned because with the huge storm, we were sure that all the plows would be booked with jobs days ahead of time and no one would be able to get to us for days. So after the call from our regular plow guy, I waited a couple of hours in case he could find the parts he needed to fix his truck. When he didn’t call back, I went to Craigslist…which I never do because I’m entirely suspicious of people who post services on Craiglist. Actually, I’m entirely suspicious of anything posted on Craigslist, but that’s another story. I didn’t know where else to look. I emailed four different listings looking for pricing and availability. The first guy who responded to me turned out to be a guy who had driven down from New Hampshire to help a friend pick up plow jobs during the storm. He gave me a price, I asked him for something a little better, and he agreed to come out the next day to plow us (and my parents) out.

When I emailed him Sunday morning to tell him that my parents would pay him because I literally couldn’t get out of my house, he responded saying that he had a co-hort in the truck with him and they’d help shovel to my access door from outside after they plowed out the driveway. Seriously, these guys were a God-send. They showed up, they had an amazing plow (the blades moved in every direction and also changed from pointed plow to scoop blade…), they did MORE than we had arranged for, AND they helped dig out my truck. We gave them extra money for all the work they did, wished them safe work, and continued cleaning up our driveway.

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That’s the mound of snow at the end of our driveway (about seven feet high by twelve feet wide by about 8 feet deep), right up to the fence gate that leads into our back yard.

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Aaaaaaaand that’s my fence gate on the other side. See it cranked into a Vee shape? Bent backward into the yard. Whoops. We have NO idea how badly the gate is damaged. And honestly, we probably won’t know for weeks until all the snow has melted enough for us to get over there. Okay, maybe not weeks, but probably at least a week. We’ll deal with whatever the damage is. The plow guy saw the gate initially, but when he was pushing snow on the other side of the fence, at some point he was no longer able to see the gate. I was standing in the access doorway while he was plowing and I heard craaaack and I yelled at the plow guy to stop pushing! I yelled across the expanse of snow “stop! you’re breaking my fence!” He apologized and didn’t push up against the mound of snow again. But the damage was already done. Oh well.

That was my weekend. How was yours? LOL

 
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Posted by on January 25, 2016 in anxiety, Butthead, dogs, family, Le Moo, snow

 

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The bad news continues

It has been too long. I know it. I’m struggling hard on this roller coaster. I spent today’s session with T crying.

Mom just hasn’t recovered from being in the wheelchair…from the pelvic fracture and the deep muscle spasm. For a few weeks she was moving around better, walking more but still sitting to take breaks. But she was still pressing on, doing what she could. We tried a new medication, but it gave her problems with her fingers and toes. Numbness and tingling. That started with her first chemo, but the recent medication made it worse. The doctor stopped the medication because it was a high likelihood that the numbness and tingling would progress to painful neuropathy.

The nurses at the oncology center noticed that both Mom’s legs were swelling. It was decided that she lymphedema–swelling from water and “stuff” that wasn’t being filtered from her body by her damaged lymph system–and that she needed to go to physical therapy to get manual massage and compression wraps to help move the water up her body to parts of her lymph system that was working. That took some time to get set up, but we finally got it scheduled to start after Christmas.

We were expecting to go to a local research hospital to see if they had a trial, but with the holidays coming their response was a bit slow. Then they said they had no room for her in the trial until the end of January, so we decided to pursue the next option with her regular oncologist. Only…something happened and we’re not sure what.

Christmas day she wasn’t feeling so great. Then the weekend, she continued to feel “yucky.” She was starting to feel lethargic, tired, not really interested in eating. But she was forcing herself to eat to keep her energy up. The Monday following she was due to go to the physical therapist for the lymphedema evaluation. When I went to meet them at their house, I could see she wasn’t feeling well. She was exhausted and hardly interested in moving. She was using the wheelchair again. But she persisted and made it to the appointment. The physical therapist did the evaluation but only wrapped one of her legs, so as not to tax her body too much. We made it home and just inside the house, Mom threw up. And that’s where the downhill slide really began. We had another appointment the next day to go back to the physical therapist, but just minutes inside the offices, I had to race her wheelchair into the restroom so she could throw up again. I could see she was getting more dehydrated and weak, but she wanted to go through with the second appointment. They wrapped her again and instead of leaving it on for six or seven hours like the day before, this time she was supposed to leave the wrap on for two days. We got Mom home and she just kind of collapsed into her recliner.

The next morning my father called to say she wouldn’t get out of bed. She was too exhausted and weak. They’d spent the night getting up every ninety minutes to get her into the bathroom to pee…a result of her leg being wrapped and the fluid being expelled from her system. We called the physical therapist who told us to immediately remove the wraps and consider going to the ER for dehydration. We ended up taking her to the urgent care for her HMO (where she threw up again in the car), where they kind of pushed us around. She wasn’t really dehydrated, but her blood work said she was malnourished (from throwing up and not eating for fear of throwing up). It also came back with an elevated liver enzyme called Bilirubin. They did an ultrasound of her liver then basically said they saw nothing “remarkable” and sent her home.

The next day was New Years eve day. She wouldn’t get out of bed. She didn’t want to eat. She didn’t want to drink. She barely sat up. She didn’t open her eyes. We called the oncologist’s office but he was out for the day and the on-call oncologist only said to put her on the BRAT (bananas, rice, applesauce, toast) diet and keep hydrating. If it got critical, to go back to the urgent care again. So we pushed Mom to eat. We got her anti-nausea medication (different from the stuff the urgent care gave her because that didn’t work) and antacid for what we thought might be acid reflux. We encouraged her to get out of bed. To try to eat. To keep her eyes open. She would do so for a little bit, then revert back into sitting slumped in her recliner in her robe, eyes closed. No energy, just looking like she was suffering from so much discomfort and distress.

I’ve been spending as much time at their house as possible, trying to keep her going, trying to give my dad and brother a break. Finding foods for her to try to eat, distracting her, encouraging her. She’s tired, I can see it. She doesn’t want to feel this way. It’s not pain, but she feels like she wants to throw up every time she moves. It was a very long weekend. I spent much of my days there, leaving my husband at home with the dogs.

This morning we took her to her oncologist’s office to get her port flushed (it was put in when she was first going for chemo and they left it in just in case she needed to use it again). While we were in the waiting room, I was trying to chat with her, but she just waved her hand and said, “I’m not talking.” So I stopped. When we got into the exam room, we saw the oncologist and I asked him to come speak with us if he could. When he saw mom in the chair, head resting on her hand, eyes closed, he nodded.

A few minutes later, he came in to ask what was happening, and we filled him in. His first step was to get repeat blood work, especially for the high liver enzyme from the urgent care visit–a liver issue could cause the nausea. Then he ordered an MRI for her brain to see if there was spread of the cancer, which could also possibly explain the nausea. Tomorrow is the MRI. If the liver enzyme is still elevated, he’ll want a CT to see if the cancer has grown in her liver, causing a blockage or possibly shut down.

I helped my parents get settled in at home after the appointment, where my mother threw up shortly thereafter. They’ve got her going on steroids to help the nausea and stimulate appetite, and zantac for the acid reflux. After I confirmed the medications with my dad, and their schedule, I left to go see T because that appointment was previously scheduled. I made the drive there, got through the front desk check-in and the wait to get into T’s office. By the time she walked in from her bathroom break between clients, I was already crying. And I cried through the whole appointment. I’m not ready for this…whatever it is. I’m not ready to see her suffer like this. I’m not ready to see her go downhill. I hope this is a blip, something weird, and she’ll perk back up again. I hope. Goddammit I hope. I want to hope.

My brother (who lives with my parents) and I are trying to handle her business. Bills, insurance issues, investment issues, a few business issues. I’m trying to help handle the medical appointments, like canceling the upcoming physical therapy appointment that she can’t get to tomorrow. I’m afraid I can’t keep up with everything.

Butthead started limping again last week, for no reason. We put her on pain medication, but it doesn’t seem to be doing much. We’re supposed to leave her on it for 7 days, which would be tomorrow. I can’t even take her to my parents’ house when I go over because she’ll want to play with their dog and that could cause problems with Butthead’s already bad recovery. So I’m pulled in the different directions. My husband, my parents, the dogs. And I feel guilty for thinking about the dogs when my mother is suffering and struggling.

My husband understands. He has told me multiple times over the last week that he understand that I need to be with my mom and help them. That doesn’t mean it isn’t on my mind that I’ve been leaving him to fend for himself day after day. He’s leaving work at lunch to come home and take care of the dogs while I’m running around with my parents and my own appointments. The dogs are getting left home alone more and more as I’m running in and out to my parents and all the appointments. I’m constantly sending out emails to update my uncle and brother. I’m constantly answering their questions via email. I’m responding to queries from relatives. I’m taking notes at the doctor’s.

It’s not that I resent any of this. I don’t. I just feel pulled. I feel strained. And this is only the beginning of the terrible journey. And I know I won’t be able to keep this pace up for any length of time. I don’t know when to find help. If this is some kind of virus or something “minor” and not the cancer, then I don’t want to rush out to find help/caregivers for my mom. If it IS time to find assistance, I’m not even sure where to start.

I’m both exhausted and frozen. I’m both terrified and overwhelmed. I keep trying to push away the emotions to stay on task, with T’s voice in my head telling me to take time to feel the emotions. To let them come, to nurture them and let the “child” feel the pain of this situation. I told her I’m afraid if I do that, I won’t be able to pull it back together to do the things that need to be done.

It’s too much. It’s so much.

I keep trying to stay in the moment. I can’t control what is happening. Every plan I make will be blown away by whatever is coming next. Why waste my time planning?

My own six month post-cancer diagnosis checkup is in two weeks. I can’t even…there’s no room for it in my head. I also have an abnormal blood work follow-up for high calcium in February. I’m also seeing second therapist specializing in EMDR and hypnotherapy, to try to work on some other issues. That’s another post.

I’m sorry, after all that babble and blather, I feel I’m leaving this post incomplete. A long sentence without a period. I just have nothing.

 

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