A friend recently wrote email with the subject line "I got whacked." She did not mean that she was starring in her own personal version of a mafia movie. It turns out she was laid off from her job, one that only weeks before she'd been talking about retiring from, in order to escape from the "dysfunction" there. She sounds happy and is making many last-minute fall escapes to the cape. We're having lunch in a few days so that I can hear about how bad it really was and what happened behind the scenes.
And in my very own drama, I got whacked too, but in a third sense. I've just received a hair cut that is perhaps the most precise and technically accurate hair cut I've ever seen while at the same time being the most unbecoming one I've ever had to wear. It's a brush cut (my hair stands straight up), making me look like a fat boy with military aspirations. I might do well in a dyke biker bar, not that I'm frequenting those places much these days. Some gay boys might give me a second look, but only from behind, and only if I'm wearing something loose that doesn't show off my -er- curves. I'm all jowl and double-chin with none of the elegant swoosh I'm used to sporting. Ugh.
This all happened because my usual hair cutter sprained her ankle, so I went to her associate, someone who's given me great haircuts in the past. She started by taking way too much of a snip off the middle of the top of my head, and I realized I was basically stuck for at least two weeks, maybe three. I could wear a bandana for a couple of weeks, or maybe a hat, but it would probably be best if I just wore a paper bag with holes cut out for my eyes. I'm mortified and embarassed and can't wait for it all to grow out and get shaggy again. Get well soon, Tish!
-- liz
Sunday, November 13, 2005
Tuesday, November 08, 2005
as slow as molasses in january
Several recent events, some recorded here, some not, some obvious, some not, have served to tenderize my heart. At times, I've felt like my heart was in shreds; other times, it's felt wide open and receptive; sometimes, I've felt both at once. It's been a painful time, but also a hopeful time, one in which I can perceive healing ahead.
I've felt my connection with a few people deepening, including a few I'm already close to or have been close to in the past. As I say, my heart is wide open and ready, making it possible to relate more tenderly and kindly than I might ordinarily be capable of.
At the same time, I'm noticing movement deep within. You know that stuff you're supposed to be frightened of that develops inside your water heater? I feel like there's a layer of it inside of me -- old grief, shame, sadness, disappointment. It's well-settled and I've probably built up protective barriers around it, further ensuring its longevity.
I live with it always and usually don't notice it. It is only when it starts to move -- oh so achingly slowly -- that I realize it's there. My mother used to call me "slow as molasses in january" and perhaps I am. But at least I am in motion, making tiny amounts of progress.
I am grateful for the healing that's come and the healing that is to come. I am grateful for my friends who choose to stick with me through thick and thin. I am grateful for the love I am able to give and the love I am able to receive.
I've felt my connection with a few people deepening, including a few I'm already close to or have been close to in the past. As I say, my heart is wide open and ready, making it possible to relate more tenderly and kindly than I might ordinarily be capable of.
At the same time, I'm noticing movement deep within. You know that stuff you're supposed to be frightened of that develops inside your water heater? I feel like there's a layer of it inside of me -- old grief, shame, sadness, disappointment. It's well-settled and I've probably built up protective barriers around it, further ensuring its longevity.
I live with it always and usually don't notice it. It is only when it starts to move -- oh so achingly slowly -- that I realize it's there. My mother used to call me "slow as molasses in january" and perhaps I am. But at least I am in motion, making tiny amounts of progress.
I am grateful for the healing that's come and the healing that is to come. I am grateful for my friends who choose to stick with me through thick and thin. I am grateful for the love I am able to give and the love I am able to receive.
Saturday, November 05, 2005
more kitty news, climbing to the next rung
I just received the lab results for Juliet's blood draw, yes, at 4:30 on a Saturday afternoon, hours after the vet clinic closed. Except for one test, it appears that she's managed to remain stable since May. She continues to have signs of kidney disease and anemia and perhaps a little hypo-thyroidism, but nothing seems to be screamingly out of control, and very little seems to have changed in six months.
This is especially heartening because I've been cheating on her strict diet a little bit in an effort to make food more attractive to her. The age-old question -- is it better to die of starvation with two nearly intact kidneys? Or risk aggravating the kidney disease while helping her maintain her weight? I talked this decision over with Dr. Randy before acting on it, and he was supportive. So I wasn't cheating in secret.
Anyways, all this means that we haven't slid down a chute yet. Instead, we get to climb the ladder, perhaps by just one rung, and set up an appointment with the veterinarian dental surgeon. She could, of course, look at me as if I had three heads, but we'll see.
Meanwhile, the cat has been super affectionate, as have we. She's going through a phase where she purrs loudly, enough so that I can hear her across a room. And sometimes she starts purring just because she's in the same room with one of us. These are sweet days, indeed.
This is especially heartening because I've been cheating on her strict diet a little bit in an effort to make food more attractive to her. The age-old question -- is it better to die of starvation with two nearly intact kidneys? Or risk aggravating the kidney disease while helping her maintain her weight? I talked this decision over with Dr. Randy before acting on it, and he was supportive. So I wasn't cheating in secret.
Anyways, all this means that we haven't slid down a chute yet. Instead, we get to climb the ladder, perhaps by just one rung, and set up an appointment with the veterinarian dental surgeon. She could, of course, look at me as if I had three heads, but we'll see.
Meanwhile, the cat has been super affectionate, as have we. She's going through a phase where she purrs loudly, enough so that I can hear her across a room. And sometimes she starts purring just because she's in the same room with one of us. These are sweet days, indeed.
Friday, November 04, 2005
medical news -- cat
Juliet and I went to see Dr. Randy today. The infection seems to be at bay for now, but the lump is not. Randy seems fairly certain she has cancer. He does not think it has spread beyond the lumpish area -- he doesn't think it's in her lymph nodes. And he doesn't think it's grown significantly in the last week.
He did seem a little more open to the idea of surgery. He took blood (she didn't even feel the gigantic needle going in -- I was astonished -- all she knew was that she was being held in a funny position). We'll evaluate how her kidneys are doing and whether there's anything else we should be worried about. If it looks like she's fairly stable and reasonably healthy, I'll go see a veterinarian oral surgeon he knows for a second opinion. He's apparently taught the surgeon how to use acupuncture to minimize the amount of drugs needed. If we proceed with surgery, we'll at least get a biopsy so that we know what we're dealing with, and Dr R thinks that the whole lump might even be removed.
Given my fears about what would happen this afternoon, I'm relieved for now. A few minutes ago, I got to bring my kitty home for more sun baths and head rubs and opportunities to walk across my pillow while I'm trying to sleep.
On the other hand, it seems like the height of arrogance (mine, not anyone else's) to think that we can pull this off. Is it even possible to put a twenty year old cat under full anaesthesia? Can we actually surgically remove the cancer? And can she even recover from surgery, if we decide to proceed? Is it worth it? Or will it cause more suffering than it relieves?
On yet another hand (how many have we used so far?), what if surgery buys her six more months? A year? She's a cat with a lot of life and fight, piss and vinegar, left in her. Being a health proxy for a human is easy -- you typically get to talk things out with the other person, understand their wishes and limitations, and act on their behalf when they can't speak for themselves. But being a health proxy for a cat is much harder. You have to guess and you can't let your own selfishness get in the way.
Tomorrow, I'll learn whether all these questions are moot or whether we proceed to the next rung in the ladder.
He did seem a little more open to the idea of surgery. He took blood (she didn't even feel the gigantic needle going in -- I was astonished -- all she knew was that she was being held in a funny position). We'll evaluate how her kidneys are doing and whether there's anything else we should be worried about. If it looks like she's fairly stable and reasonably healthy, I'll go see a veterinarian oral surgeon he knows for a second opinion. He's apparently taught the surgeon how to use acupuncture to minimize the amount of drugs needed. If we proceed with surgery, we'll at least get a biopsy so that we know what we're dealing with, and Dr R thinks that the whole lump might even be removed.
Given my fears about what would happen this afternoon, I'm relieved for now. A few minutes ago, I got to bring my kitty home for more sun baths and head rubs and opportunities to walk across my pillow while I'm trying to sleep.
On the other hand, it seems like the height of arrogance (mine, not anyone else's) to think that we can pull this off. Is it even possible to put a twenty year old cat under full anaesthesia? Can we actually surgically remove the cancer? And can she even recover from surgery, if we decide to proceed? Is it worth it? Or will it cause more suffering than it relieves?
On yet another hand (how many have we used so far?), what if surgery buys her six more months? A year? She's a cat with a lot of life and fight, piss and vinegar, left in her. Being a health proxy for a human is easy -- you typically get to talk things out with the other person, understand their wishes and limitations, and act on their behalf when they can't speak for themselves. But being a health proxy for a cat is much harder. You have to guess and you can't let your own selfishness get in the way.
Tomorrow, I'll learn whether all these questions are moot or whether we proceed to the next rung in the ladder.
Wednesday, November 02, 2005
two living angels
When Mark was sick, two living angels came into our lives. Ten years later, I am still grateful to both of them.
Tracy showed up in the hospital room one day. I immediately liked her. She was a fabric designer and had worked with Mark on a few of his projects. He clearly liked her a lot. She was one of the first people to figure out that he was HIV-infected, at a funeral, I think she told me, when he was weeping far harder than she would have expected.
Tracy was on her second marriage. Apparently, she and her first husband had a volatile relationship, fueled by alcohol. They had a horrific fight one night, pretty much made up, and went out to dinner on their motorcycle. They had a drink or two, and on the way home, he was driving when they were in an accident. They were both rushed to the hospital where she lay on a stretcher listening to her husband die. I don't think she was allowed to see him one last time. She blamed herself for months until she remembered that she had told him that she loved him the day before the accident.
When we discussed what to do with Mark, given that his partner was not ready until it was way too late, his mother could barely manage to visit him in the hospital, and his sister said there was no way he was coming home to her, Tracy said "I'll take him." And so Mark went to live with Tracy and her husband for his last six weeks. He got to live in a house that he could have designed, himself. He entertained visitors, planned his funeral, and slept in a giant poofy bed that reminded him of a huge marshmallow. He basked in the Arizona warmth and could sit by the pool during the day. I am deeply grateful to Tracy for providing such a perfect environment and a loving place to experience hospice.
My other angel was more personal. On one visit, I asked Mark if he wanted me to call any friends to let them know that he was in the hospital. Yes, he wanted me to call Nancy, an old friend whom he had written to the previous Christmas. He assured me that his letter contained the news that he had AIDS, so I wouldn't be surprising her.
I dutifully called and started to tell her the latest news, only to discover that he hadn't disclosed his status to her, but she'd suspected that he was sick. They'd been out of close touch for a long time but deeply cared about each other. I later discovered there'd been a rift that neither knew how to repair.
Nancy said "you know, when you get home from the hospital, you're not going to have anyone to talk to. Call me. I don't care what time -- you can wake me up -- and talk to me about your day." I was a little surprised and a little hesitant, but I took her up on the offer. In the evenings, I'd stumble into his sister's house, where I was staying, be fed something (thanks to the sister), give her an update, and stumble off to bed. I'd pick up the phone, use my calling card, and call Nancy in Texas. She'd let me ramble on and on, reassure me, and tell me that I was Mark's angel. In some sense, though, she was Mark's angel -- she helped give me the strength to go back the next day and the day after that.
There's so much cruelty and even carelessness -- lack of attention -- in this world. How reassuring to know that angels are here too, sharing the earth with the rest of us. Today I am deeply grateful to my angels and to all angels who walk amongst us.
Tracy showed up in the hospital room one day. I immediately liked her. She was a fabric designer and had worked with Mark on a few of his projects. He clearly liked her a lot. She was one of the first people to figure out that he was HIV-infected, at a funeral, I think she told me, when he was weeping far harder than she would have expected.
Tracy was on her second marriage. Apparently, she and her first husband had a volatile relationship, fueled by alcohol. They had a horrific fight one night, pretty much made up, and went out to dinner on their motorcycle. They had a drink or two, and on the way home, he was driving when they were in an accident. They were both rushed to the hospital where she lay on a stretcher listening to her husband die. I don't think she was allowed to see him one last time. She blamed herself for months until she remembered that she had told him that she loved him the day before the accident.
When we discussed what to do with Mark, given that his partner was not ready until it was way too late, his mother could barely manage to visit him in the hospital, and his sister said there was no way he was coming home to her, Tracy said "I'll take him." And so Mark went to live with Tracy and her husband for his last six weeks. He got to live in a house that he could have designed, himself. He entertained visitors, planned his funeral, and slept in a giant poofy bed that reminded him of a huge marshmallow. He basked in the Arizona warmth and could sit by the pool during the day. I am deeply grateful to Tracy for providing such a perfect environment and a loving place to experience hospice.
My other angel was more personal. On one visit, I asked Mark if he wanted me to call any friends to let them know that he was in the hospital. Yes, he wanted me to call Nancy, an old friend whom he had written to the previous Christmas. He assured me that his letter contained the news that he had AIDS, so I wouldn't be surprising her.
I dutifully called and started to tell her the latest news, only to discover that he hadn't disclosed his status to her, but she'd suspected that he was sick. They'd been out of close touch for a long time but deeply cared about each other. I later discovered there'd been a rift that neither knew how to repair.
Nancy said "you know, when you get home from the hospital, you're not going to have anyone to talk to. Call me. I don't care what time -- you can wake me up -- and talk to me about your day." I was a little surprised and a little hesitant, but I took her up on the offer. In the evenings, I'd stumble into his sister's house, where I was staying, be fed something (thanks to the sister), give her an update, and stumble off to bed. I'd pick up the phone, use my calling card, and call Nancy in Texas. She'd let me ramble on and on, reassure me, and tell me that I was Mark's angel. In some sense, though, she was Mark's angel -- she helped give me the strength to go back the next day and the day after that.
There's so much cruelty and even carelessness -- lack of attention -- in this world. How reassuring to know that angels are here too, sharing the earth with the rest of us. Today I am deeply grateful to my angels and to all angels who walk amongst us.
Tuesday, November 01, 2005
at a kitty cross roads
We have another challenge with the cat that I've been having trouble writing about. Last Friday, Dr Randy discovered a lump on her cheek. It's a little hard to detect, but he has a way of greeting Juliet that led him to discover it immediately. And once you notice it, you can't not feel it.
It's hard looking into J's mouth with all those sharp teeth flashing around, but Dr R discovered an infection behind the lump, near a tooth. So she's on antibiotics -- banana-flavored of all things -- yum.
Neither of the two possibilities we've discussed so far are attractive. It could be a tumor, and a fairly fast growing one at that, given that Dr. R didn't notice it two weeks earlier. As easy as it will be to make decisions in that eventuality, I'm not looking forward to my heart's reaction.
The other possibility is a rotten tooth. In a younger cat, this problem would be easy to resolve -- you'd put the animal under, pull the tooth, clean everything out, and wake her up. The danger with Juliet is that she might not wake up. For years (five? seven?) we've considered her too old to put under anaesthesia.
After giving it some thought, if it's not a tumor, I'd like to be a little aggressive with treatment and see if there are some alternatives to putting her all the way under to get the tooth out. I'll know more this Friday at our follow-up.
It's hard looking into J's mouth with all those sharp teeth flashing around, but Dr R discovered an infection behind the lump, near a tooth. So she's on antibiotics -- banana-flavored of all things -- yum.
Neither of the two possibilities we've discussed so far are attractive. It could be a tumor, and a fairly fast growing one at that, given that Dr. R didn't notice it two weeks earlier. As easy as it will be to make decisions in that eventuality, I'm not looking forward to my heart's reaction.
The other possibility is a rotten tooth. In a younger cat, this problem would be easy to resolve -- you'd put the animal under, pull the tooth, clean everything out, and wake her up. The danger with Juliet is that she might not wake up. For years (five? seven?) we've considered her too old to put under anaesthesia.
After giving it some thought, if it's not a tumor, I'd like to be a little aggressive with treatment and see if there are some alternatives to putting her all the way under to get the tooth out. I'll know more this Friday at our follow-up.
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