All the Feels

Up, down, sad, scared, grateful, mad, depressed, resigned.  Put ‘em in a blender and sip slowly to savor each emotion.  That’s where I’m at these days.

I played my first of cancer card last week.  I went to our tiny movie theater a bit early to sit and be calm before the hordes arrived.  When I pulled in, the owner was outside and said, “Aren’t you early?”  I told her, “Yes, but I wanted to be alone before my friends got here and barraged me with questions.”  Then I blurted out, “I have eye cancer, who gets that?”  She said, “You?”  I laughed with her and she hugged me.  Then she asked, “Where did they find it?”, to which I replied, “In my eye, I just told you”, and we laughed so hard we almost cried.  She told me to go inside and she poured me a big glass of red wine.

That was exactly what I needed.  A good laugh and wine.  Then I watched Bombshell with the hordes and my friends and realized how much money I could have made in the past two years from all the harassment claims.  Oh, well.

Life moves on.  I have a plan and really good folks on my side.  Cancer will be my bitch.

It’s all fun and games until someone pokes an eye out

Really? I have to do this again?

I’m doing this for me, not you, but you’re welcome to tag along.  I have a Woe-is-Me caringbridge site, but that’s more or less for folks shocked and dismayed, who want to lurk and make nice comments.  Frankly, I suspect they’ll stalk it and move on, grateful that it’s not them.  I get it.  It sucks and doesn’t fit in your routine.

I’m lucky, so very lucky, To have those those that rally and are close to my heart.  This is for you, tag along.

Avast Ye!

You can google pirate sayings.  Go ahead, do it.  Now you can add another language to your skill set.

Per usual, I have had a week from hell.  Mind you, I knew the Prokera Eye Ring procedure on Monday would be "uncomfortable", which is medical speak for hurts like hell, but after I rubbed my eye in the middle of the night on Wednesday, it went to "holy fuck Jesus, pull the hot poker from my eye or pluck it now".  An overdoes of ibuprofen didn't touch it, but thank God that Denny had his desperation stash of Vicodin.  That saved me until I ran out, then off to Urgent Care where I said, "Take my eye from me.  I have seen unspeakable acts."  They gave me more drugs, which was a pretty good response.  Two hours later, I had the hot poker ready to smite myself.  The Mister drove me to the ER at 3 AM and they said, no way, no how, I'm not touching it, we'll call your ophthalmologist.  Well hell, I would have done that, too, but knew he wouldn't answer.

We got home, I slept for about two hours and we drove to the doctor's office until it opened.  He took the contact out, gave me numbing drops and said, "Looks like you scratched your cornea."  He gave me drops to put in every half hour and I saw him again six hours later.  I was wearing a patch (which I should've worn at night, duh) because the light hurts my eye. I saw him twice on Friday, once on Saturday and will see him again on Monday because I need to be able to fly to Hong Kong for our cool SE Asia vacation.  I told him that a patch like a pirate would be okay for the cruise part, but he wasn't buying it.  Did I mention I got a typhoid shot on Friday, too?  Yeah, kinda like a mosquito bite at this point.

 

 

I did have a fun exchange with my buddy that has arranged our upcoming adventure.  She is used to my shenanigans, so she wasn't too surprised.  I believe that it was an epic text exchange, but probably because I'm still on drugs.

 



You're welcome.

Ring Around the Rosey

All is well.  I guzzled 4 liters of saline cocktail Thursday night and Friday morning.  Fortunately, the Mister was not present for most of the desired results.  It wasn't so bad, just annoying to have to keep going so often.

Upon arrival at Swedish, my nice nurse whisked me into a "private" room and covered me with warm blankets.  I asked if I could choose my color for the pedicure, at least she laughed.  I was not laughing when she couldn't find my vein, but one of her nicer associates stepped in and found one.  I waited for some time, enough to overhear three people surrounding me describe their last meal, medications and reason for being naked in a flimsy gown.  So much for HIPPA privacy.

I was wheeled into a truly private room for the procedure and told to lie on my side.  Too late, I realized that I hadn't drawn a smiley face on my hiney, but the doctor didn't seemed to be easily amused, so I'll save that trick for a more appreciative audience.  He asked how I felt and I replied, "Wide awake and ready for happy juice."  I thought he was going to go for it before we'd even had dessert!  The nurse reassured me and I watched her insert the sedative into my IV, thank God.

I woke up and the doctor came in with a diagnosis of hemorrhoids, oh joy.  But the best part were the pictures!  Just in time for my holiday cards;  a perfect little wreath for friends and family!

WTF?

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The Maine Idea

So of course, people want to know if we'll get another dog.  WE WILL NOT BE GETTING A PUPPY.  Let's be clear on that.  I would love to get an Irish Wolfhound, but they don't live long enough.  I would also like to rescue a senior dog or two, just to complement the average household age.  But I'd really like to get a Maine Coon kitty.  I've met a few and have always been impressed by their size and personality.  More dog like and quite friendly.

 The official description is as follows:

"The Maine Coon is one of the largest domesticated breeds of cat. It has a distinctive physical appearance and valuable hunting skills."  I'm thinking the Mister can train it to go hunting with him in the field.  You know, retrieve birds and claw fish.  They could bond and I'd be happy because yet another animal had a productive job and could earn their keep.




So I'm going to a cat show where I'm pretty sure women in suits and sensible shoes won't be running with these magnificent creatures all happy and frisky.  Nope.  They mean business and need to conserve energy for the hunt.

                                           I shall show you my hunting skills, peon.

Bye Woo

Why do we have pets?  I suppose the same reason we have children.  No, not because we got drunk and had sex.  Having a pet is a conscious decision to take on the absolute dependence of a being for that being's entire life.  That's huge.  They have no choice, no voice, just complete trust that you'll do the right thing.

So we did the right thing by DogGus and now we miss him terribly.  I can sleep in a normal position.  I don't wake up to a cold nose or a huge paw slapping the bed.  I don't have to stand in the cold and rain waiting for a dog to pee or poop and then wipe his paws.  I don't have to hunt for massive turds.  I don't have to pick up the lone tissue off the floor when he is mad. 

I sure wish I still could.  RIP, Hirsch's Believe You Me, aka Gus.  11/3/2005-10/18/2016