4 posts tagged “cancer”
Since we lost Wrangler (something I still really can't fully talk about) we've kept our eyes on Craigslist and the local shelters. Though Rain does not have the history I do, she understood that since my first memory, I've always had dogs. It's built into my psyche. Not only do I feel unsafe without them but...the loss of that leaves me feeling not quite whole. So though we just lost Wrangler, we understood that Maddie still has mouth cancer and it is an inevitability that we will lose her as well. We wanted to take in another dog before that happens. That way, Maddie would help keep the new dog in line and when that terrible time comes that we have to put her down because the tumor is too large in her mouth, we'll be forced to not close ourselves off. After all, that dog would be there to remind us that though the loss is substantial, the relationships are worthwhile.
With that in mind, we had been looking forward to the Super Adoption event that was held this last Saturday. Shelters from all around the area would bring hundreds of cats and dogs to the event, already spayed, microchipped, and ready to go home. Because Rain worked the night before, Tabby and I took my sis and we went and looked for ourselves first. At first, I was disappointed since there were very few dogs that met what we were looking for. We wanted a large breed dog because I've never liked small dogs and we wanted a senior, because they tend to be so well mannered already and so few people are willing to even consider them. The problem was that the shelters were bringing only the dogs they thought most likely to be adopted. That meant small and young. I only saw one dog there that they admitted was a senior (out of hundreds, remember) and there was perhaps three or four that would qualify for our definition of large (80 pounds or so). On our first round, we were just looking for what was available. A little dog with an adorable face caught our attention the first time but we still went around the second time. I asked the staff after possible dogs left at the shelters that would meet our hopes. There were exceedingly few. One was a golden lab that was undergoing heartworm treatment, the exact same thing that we just lost Wrangler to. The staff woman tried to write it off as being something minor, though the dog had just begun, and in some ways I was angry because it belittled the loss and the threat these dogs represent to the community but I was also saddened because I have been hearing more and more about other heartworm cases. The main reason we put Wrangler down when we did was because his threat to the community. But because of the dogs being brought here after Katrina and the laxadaisical attitude people hold for its seriousness, it looks to be spreading anyway.
We would have left then but I remembered that small dog that had caught our eye. Within a few short minutes he had won our hearts. He is much smaller then any dog I'd usually consider, though some referred to him as large. He's 25 pounds and they told us he was 8 months old. In many ways, he was the opposite of everything we were looking for. But there was something in his eyes. We ended up adopting him. Soon after, we found out that in fact, he was not 8 months, that he was much closer to 5 1/2 months. That's the youngest dog my family has had since I was 11 and a rott pup followed me home. Also, he has the promise of getting much larger. Perhaps 4 inches taller and 20 pounds heavier, which makes us happy. He's really adorable and though he and Maddie had a rough beginning, they now get alone splendidly. He has yet to show very bad habits beyond a tendency to be mouthy when playing and jump up toward the table when there's food.
We will have him tested for heartworm ASAP.
In good news, something strange has happened with Maddie's tumor. It seems to have receeded. It no longer looks angry and she can close her mouth all the way again. It seems to be pulling away from the jaw and though it sound weird, it looks like if it continues to do that....that it'd fall off. It's the oddest thing but where the molar used to be almost fully encased, the tumor has pulled back, exposing the whole thing and allowing the top teeth to clench without causing problem. We tried to get a picture but were unable to. It seems very possible that the doxy (antibiotic) we're giving her is helping. Wouldn't that be an irony? That the simple med that was the first, supposedly-easy step for treating Wrangler, and the reason he had to be put down, might actually extend Maddie's life, something that we were told was little more than impossible?
We'll see.
Pics.
It feels like this is some sort of mantra to help me get through. I think these posts have been a blessing reminder when many things are quite bad. So here's today's five things I'm thankful for.
1. Went to the SPCA today. Saw all the poor animals. I am so thankful we took Maddie home from that. I'm so thankful that we never gave her back, despite her cancer. She is one of the best dogs I've ever had.
2. I had a pretty good sleep today. I wasn't able to sleep last night but once I got to sleep today, it was nice and restful.
3. Though I've had to fight to get myself started each day -it's just one of those weeks- I have been adding to the end of my novel every day.
4. Ice cream. We had ice cream tonight. It was amazingly good.
5. I'm thankful for Aput introducing me to this group and inspiring me to make these posts. It really has helped me a lot.
So I was checking the Explore pages on Vox today and I come across this featured Vox post. Of course, like any big girl, I do have my moments where it does bother me. But the most trouble I ever had with it was when I was 12 yo or so and my doctor had me on 6mp (cancer type drug) and prednisone (medical steriod). It was the first time I was truly debilitated by the drugs the doctors gave me. Before this, I was troubled by the disease. But the disease had side-effects I had learned to handle. I got used to the pain. When there's one huge pain, it's easier to handle and live through than when there are several small ones adorably referred to as side-effects. Before the doctors started treating me with those drugs, I even was enjoying some of the side-effects of being so damn sick. I remember the fair before I really started being treated, I wore size 3 shorts to the City Fair. Of course, I was also barely over 5 feet tall and 11 yo. On the drugs, I finally grew. And I got my period. But I also got fat.
I remember that it tore me apart. When you're sick but thin, life is a lot different than when you're sick and fat. If you're fat, suddenly your sickness is your fault. Because obviously, you're lazy and have bad habits, that's why you're fat and that's why you're sick. Certainly, if you took better care of yourself, then you would be thin and healthy. Therefore, your illness is your fault. That really cuts deep when it's the treating of the illness by the doctors, that were involved in the fattening process. It didn't help that it hit me in the wonderful 11-13 age group where a girl's life is hell. I remember griping about it until, finally, in the parking lot, my mother told me to stop lingering, to move on. It's true that even then, I took it so hard mainly because of the hell I was in. Not only were the drugs making me fat but I wasn't better. They replaced my usual illness (a pain I had learned to handle) with another that was fed by pills. I remember laughing the day I realized I was taking more pills than someone with HIV. Of course, that wouldn't be the first time. The fact that they were making me fat and causing more people to judge it all my fault on sight was just frosting on the cake. And I've gone through that more than once.
When you're thin and sick, teachers treat you so kindly. When you're fat and sick, the establishment isn't as sympathetic. And ironically, when I've been the biggest is when I was the suffering the most. But perhaps because, below it all, I knew my weight wasn't completely my fault, it made it easier for me to be ok with changes in my looks and to spend more time thinking about the things that were truly making me miserable and the things that were making me happy. Because it came at times where my life or my very sanity was at stake, I had to look inward to find happiness and figure out who I was. For that, I shall always be thankful. And for that, I find that I am more at peace with my body than most women half my size.
But there are moments where I find that I am not happy with my appearance. I'd like to lose weight. I'd be happy at 200lbs because I think I look rather good at that weight. I shall never be a small girl. I am 5'10" and I have 40HH breasts. And I will always be tall and big breasted. My height cannot be changed and my breasts are the first place I gain weight and the last place I lose it. So, a lot can be done for my figure by simply standing straight and wearing a good bra. Still, I'd like to lose some of the weight because I enjoy being active. I like doing fun things. I enjoy swimming and playing volleyball. I like camping and hiking. And I have a history of doing those things. Yet, I still have to explain to my doctor that I enjoy those things and have done those things. Sometimes, even he forgets that I didn't get to my size because I wasn't an active child. I suppose if even he that should know better doesn't, I can't really be surprised when society doesn't do any better.
Of course, I am terribly lucky to have friends and family that love me for who I am. As I think they are beautiful, no matter their size, they think the same of me. They make me so happy for who they are and I hope I do the same for them. I am only sad that other people cannot be the same way, that they are too busy worrying about their size, instead of their emotional healthiness or happiness.
Here's a very good vid to watch. I thought this woman was very beautiful and so it did lift my spirits when she said that she was a size 18/20. My size. If I look at her and think she's beautiful. Perhaps, I'm not just looking at myself wrongly to think I'm beautiful too.
When I was young, I wished to become a Roman Catholic nun. I’ve always had a deep appreciation of self-possession and a cause. I wanted to become a nun because I saw the power in it. I loved the position, not having to ever be under anyone else. I wanted to be able to sit down at my parochial school’s reunion and have this play out:
TEACHER: So . . . what do you all do? I hope my years of self-sacrifice have amounted to even one of you making something of yourselves. But I doubt it.
MARY: I’m a classical pianist. Next week, I am performing for the Minister of Spain.
TEACHER: Yes, well. I never liked guacamole. What about you? *Glares at boy who quickly guards his loins*
JOHN: I’m a world-renowned alchemist. I believe I may have cured cancer with a mix of lemon juice and bleach. If it doesn’t kill them first . . .
TEACHER: Either way, at least they’ll die clean on the inside. God appreciates your subtlety. As long as the Pope doesn’t declare you a heretic. And you?
ME: *Clears Throat* Well, I don’t mean to brag but . . . *Raises hand and shows off ring* I’m married to God!
TEACHER: Oh, Sarah! You always were my favorite!
MARY: Damn.
*All stare at her, striking various poses of shock*
MARY: *Throws hand over mouth* Jesus-Fucking-Mary-and-Joseph!
Or so my dream went. As the years have progressed, the teacher has taken on the look of Professor McGonagall. Mary now has breast implants while John likes to dress up like a housewife and bleach the tub. What can I say? I have a writer’s imagination. I might have followed through with my plans of becoming one of the many first ladies of the Catholic church if it weren’t for the fact that I’d be expected to wake up in the middle of the night to pray. I hold my sleep sacrosanct. And thus, I tucked my dreams of virginal powers underneath my pillow.
I went to sleep. A sleep of Pubescence. I lived. I loved. I got breasts. Not necessarily in that order. However, in the back of my head –well underneath, if we are continuing that analogy – still rested my dreams of being a nun. It’s always made me smile thinking about it. Of course, now I have moved on from the Roman Catholic faith. We were hot and I shall always remember the good times and tears. I loved when he was strict with me and spoke of my sins. Is it bad that I always got a little bit excited whenever the priest would say “Satan?” Probably. Though we had a passionate stint of Marian devotion where I got to look at a statue of our Lady of Guadalupe and think about how gorgeous she was and that I’d sure like my own crescent to smite a phallic symbol upon . . . .
Wait, where was I?
Oh, yes. Even though the Church shall always hold a lovely red and gold place in my heart, I moved on. It was probably Confession’s fault. I was always upset when I didn’t have some really good sins to confess. I felt inadequate and thus contemplated making larger sins in order to make it worthy of the priest’s time. I realized perhaps that was not a productive use of my time and energy. That and I’m a little claustrophobic and those confessionals were really small and then there was the perfume and incense . . .
Anyways, though I was parted with the Church, I was not faithless. I enjoyed both my stints with established faith. The Mennonite church was a stable and comfortable first love. The Roman Catholic Church was the older, more knowledgeable lothario that just looked so damn good in black leather and a ripped wife-beater. In their own ways, they’ve made me the woman I am. And I am greatly thankful to both of them though I could never in a million years settle down with either of them.
But what am I to do? I crave meaning and guidance in my life. I crave power of the greater organization. Mostly, I crave the commandments, the sins, the eternal damnation . . .Well, in a distinctly Hollywood-bad-type-of-way, where you don’t know whether you are afraid or turned on. What should I do?
I considered joining Wicca. But they’re all so concerned about being enlightened and not impeding on the realm of their fellows' thoughts and wills that there was no room for the type of power I’ve been looking for. Though their wish to be liberal is admirable, half the time, I think they are making things up as they go along. Also, sage stinks.
There was always Scientology. One of the problems with the Roman Catholic Church is that . . . well, let’s just say it, they’ve passed their peak. Scientology however shows all the promise of being the 15th century Roman Catholic Church of the 21st century. I can admire that. However, they don’t allow you to marry the spirit of L. Ron Hubbard and thus there’s no legitimacy to preserving my sex for him. In the end, I just wasn’t rich enough to zap alien melancholy from my psyche with a lie-detector machine. Plus, Tom Cruise is amazingly short and I find I am turned off by short men.
So where does that leave me? Well, as far as I can tell, it’s the religion part that’s let me down, not the nun part. I’m ambiguous on that virginal thing but who’s gonna be looking? Then it came to me. A flash of inspiration. An epiphany, if you will.
I had a vision of the godly.
And it was goooooood . . . .
Obviously, I need to start my own religion. No, now stay with me on this! I’m not asking you to believe me a goddess of the flesh (even though it wouldn’t hurt) or that I could tell you how to live your life by reading the lint gathered at the bottom of my Nikes. No. This is the real stuff. This is me taking a hold of my life and hopefully taking some of you down with me. I mean, up. Up with me.
My religion/way-of-life shall be named after me. We shall call it Denial. I have Faith that it will spread through the Human majority like wild-fire. No need to spread the word. No, please keep your silence on it. It will spread on its own if I know my followers. For you, I shall marry myself to the Holy Center of the Universe, named Walwa. It is a force of life, a god(dess) if you will, though it resents having a gender or explanation. It says that I must take at least one other lover, man or woman depending upon my tastes, so that Walwa may break off a piece of itself to inhabit an earthly form. That and we may get jiggy with it.
This is the Word of Denial.
Can I hear a “True That?”
Oh yeah.
Others who wish to devote their lives to the Great Center of the Universe, wish to live the Walwa Way, may join the ranks of the Sister-Wives and Boy-Toys. Our Holy Day shall be Wednesday, colloquially referred to as “hump day”, as it is the center of the week. This day shall be celebrated with chocolate offerings to the Great Wife of Walwa. Preferred: Milk Chocolate. Those who donate White Chocolate shall not be invited to the after-service party. And all the Enlightened shall be there. The chosen shall be labeled as “In-Denial” though I do not understand why Walwa considers such a suggestive label appropriate.
Here is how we stand on politics:
Who Should Be Voted President: Any appropriate politician identified with Denial.
War: If we were all appropriately In-Denial no one would see the use of war.
Freedom of the Press: Ignorance truly is bliss.
Gay Marriage: Who cares if they’re married and having sex? If the mental image of them having sex causes us problems, we shall simply not think about it.
The French: We expect no resistance from them. Half of them are In-Denial already.
This is just the beginning. I’m sure it’ll take some time and deep thought (as well as some generous donations) for me to be able to fully understand the Wisdom of Walwa. We’re already taking volunteers who would like to know more about Denial and perhaps become a Sister-Wife or Boy-Toy, living In-Denial. I can testify there is no better way to be.
In fact, to mark the beginning of this new phase in my life, I declare April 1st "Day of Denial." I suggest we all celebrate it with a Walwa festival, filled with alcohol and chocolate. Won’t you join me? Don’t you want to be In-Denial?
For more information, look here. To drop me an application, reply below. Thank you and Walwa be with you.
True That.
