A Hole in My Heart

As you know from my last post, we lost our boy Buster on November 11.

We were on vacation in Jamaica when it happened. The sitter noticed he was having some trouble breathing so she texted me. I told her to take him to the Emergency Vet, and he died a few hours later.

When we left on Nov 6, he seemed okay. He had been slowing down a lot, but I thought it was because of his joints. The photo I took of him by the red tree was taken on Nov 3, so he was still getting around okay. Slow but okay and he wouldn't let us (me and the two girl dogs) go to the park without him.

Although the cell connection was not very good, I was able to talk to the ER vet. When B first got to the hospital, she called us and said he was walking around, seemed a bit anxious and panting a bit, but nothing too severe. She said he seemed to have some pain in his belly. So the plan was to take some blood, and observe him.

She called again about an hour later and said while they were trying to get blood, he went into shock.  Of course, I'm a wreck and crying, so she spoke to my husband. The vet said that his lungs were filling with fluid all of a sudden, so they were going to sedate him and do a lung tap to see if it was blood or fluid. My husband said this sounded like a good idea. So she hung up.

Literally 20 minutes later she called and said he had died. They had just done the lung tap and the fluid was clear, so she thinks he had a tumor in his chest which suddenly gave way. The vet said he wasn't in any pain when he died, as he was sedated.

But I still feel so guilty. I can't help but think back on some symptoms he had that I should have paid more attention to. He walked very slowly, but I thought his joints were hurting so I was giving him some turmeric dog treats, and they seemed to help.  Then sometimes he would cough or choke...but it wasn't severe or constant, so I didn't focus on it.  He still ate his dinner and his treats, although his appetite had been a bit off for the last week or so. But the night before we left, he sat at my feet while I ate some ice cream. He was waiting for his chance to lick the bowl...because he always got to lick the bowl!

As we were getting ready to leave, I held him in my arms like I did when he was a puppy. I kissed his head (*kiss kiss kiss*) and told him how much I loved him, to be a good boy, and that we would be back in a few weeks.

I'm not sure whether it was good or bad that we weren't at home. My husband says to not feel guilty as even if we were home, we couldn't have done anything for him. But I can't forget his little face looking up from the bottom of the stairs as we went out the door to the airport, as if to say "Are you really leaving me???" I can't help but wonder if he died of a broken heart.

My poor B! My best friend! 13 years together, and in his hour of need, I wasn't there for him. At least to hold him and kiss him goodbye! Anyway, it's over now and I'm just heartbroken. I still cry a few times a day when I think of him. We still have my mother's dogs, but really, they are not "MY" dogs and I'm not bonded to them the way I was to B. I feel like I have a hole in my heart.

Mr. B...you are in my thoughts all the time. I even dream about you at night...and I'm always searching for you. You are still so loved and so missed.

There will never be another B, the sweetest dog in the world.

B at the beach, his happy place

Goodbye, precious boy

Buster 

November 10, 2004-November 11, 2017

"Now cracks a noble heart.
Good night sweet prince:
And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest!"

~William Shakespeare

 

Sweet B, you will be missed but never forgotten. 

What I Weigh on the Sun

Gosh, I haven’t posted for such a long time.  I’ve been busy with my full-time job, my husband of 24 years, 3 older dogs, my mom in a nearby assisted living place, working out...basically living my 64th year on Planet Earth.  I'm happy and content and mostly NOT crazy.  I don't update much because I know my blog is about the most boring thing around. 

But something is giving me the urge to update.  I need to write about this...something that happened yesterday, a random, kind of weird, event.

As any of you who have read any of my blog over the years (HELLO?  anyone still out there?), the number on the scale has always made me insane.  I used to obsessively weigh myself and then the mind games would take over.

Is the scale up? Is it down?  Why doesn't it move? Oh crap I've gained! ...on and on.

Because of this mindset, I literally stopped weighing myself a few years ago.  For me, the specific number doesn’t matter…or rather, it SHOULDN’T.   I don’t even let them weigh me when I have my annual physical, although they always fuss a bit about that. (My doctor, who knows my history of eating disorders, agrees that as long as I am a "normal" weight, the "real" number doesn't matter.  So she has given me permission to just I tell them a number that I think is reasonable.) 

Plus I really don’t look at myself in the mirror, because when I do all I see is a huge person, big and scary, kind of like the Abominable Snowman.  (Thanks, Mom!)  Even in my gym, I've asked my trainer to cover up the mirror where we are working out, so I don’t see myself.  I actively avoid mirrors.  When getting dressed, I will look very briefly to make sure my skirt isn't tucked into my underpants, but other than that, I don't look.   Even with 5 years of therapy with a therapist whose specialty is eating disorders and BDD (body dysmorphic disorder), I still don't look in mirrors. 

As I mentioned, for the past few years, I have been working out and eating right (still doing IF for the most part).  I feel great!  As hard as it is for me to believe when they say it, people often will remark to me how lucky I am that I'm so tall and thin.  After not seeing my 2 sisters-in-law for over a year, when they picked me up at the airport this summer, they both said they didn't recognize me because I've lost so much weight.  Even my gynecologist referred to me as “slender” the other day.

The fact is, I’m really not that thin.  I am tall (5’9”), with large boobs, and a good sized butt.  My thighs are thick and I have broad shoulders.  My abs are strong, but they are covered with a bit of belly fat (which I hate BTW).  But I think I carry myself well and I know how to accentuate my best feature...my long legs (thank heavens for tunics with leggings and high heels).  And since I'm pretty muscular, I'm sure I give the impression of weighing less than than I actually do.

All that being said...the number on the scale shouldn’t matter. Right?  As long as my size 10 jeans fit fine, I've been perfectly content just going along without knowing "that number." 

But here's what happened yesterday to shake up my peaceful little world:

My husband and I were at the Pacific Science Center in Seattle to see the Terracotta Warriors exhibit.  While we were waiting for our time to get in, we wandered around the Center and looked at some of the other stuff which is geared towards kids...interactive displays, etc. 

One of the displays was right in the middle of the lobby.  As we walked by, not realizing this exhibit was a MIRROR, I accidentally glanced at myself.  I was surprised when the first thought that came into my mind was, “Hey, I don’t look huge!  I actually look kind of small!”   I quickly looked away and we continued to wander around when we came to another exhibit that tells you what you weigh if you were on other planets...the Sun, the Moon, Neptune, etc.  My husband playfully told me to step on and I did without thinking "this is a scale!" (Well, DUH)

We both laughed when we saw that I weigh over 4,000 lbs on the Sun.  I saw all the other funny weights, but all of a sudden, I saw what I weigh on EARTH.  I was shocked because I guess in my mind the number should have been at least 10 lbs less than what it said, based on how my clothes fit and my knowledge of what I used to weigh in the past when they felt a certain way.  With panic in my voice, I said to my husband "It says I weigh XXX!"  He knew immediately what I meant, and said "Oh, that scale is probably fucked up so don’t worry about it."  He knows me and my mind and my emotions so well!

But I have been ruminating on that stupid number ever since.  Obsessing.  Trying to make sense of it.  Letting it bother me.  Discounting what I saw in the mirror, where literally 5 minutes before I thought I looked okay?  What does that stupid number matter?  I feel good and strong and fit.  But I went from a high of thinking I looked good, to a low because the number on "the scale" didn't match what I thought it should.

It almost feels as if I've been Mindfucked by Science.  I guess the only thing to do it just keep doing what I'm doing...AND NOT GET ON ANY SCALES!

Thanks for reading. 

A Thankful Cleansing

Today has been a day of cleansing

As I watch the big rainstorm happening right now…

Today was beautiful, sunny and warm, until around 3:30…then a cloud cover came and by 4 pm it had unleashed a thunderstorm of major proportions.  Thunder and lightning!

As this was happening, I was calling and emailing back and forth between a title/escrow company about my mother’s house. (As my mom's power of attorney, it is up to me to handle all my mother's financial affairs.)  

A month ago, after only 2 days on the market, we had a full price offer on my mother’s house.   (As I told my Hub a few months ago…”If I never have to set foot in this house again, I will be happy.”  I never lived there, and it has truly been a source of problems and misery for me for the last 10 years, after my dad died in 2006.  Having to drive 2 hours each way to see my mom, to take her to the doctor for a "personal" issue that we couldn't get resolved because she could not remember how to use a medication; to grocery shop for her because she stopped eating anything but junk food; to help her with house/dog/bank issues etc etc, because she could not remember how to do anything herself.)

Anyway, it took some time to get a few wrinkles ironed out…Bank of America is a bunch of assholes (seriously…yes, THEY ARE), and so is my only brother (I told my husband today If I never speak to my brother again in my life, it will be fine with me)…but FINALLY TODAY all the paperwork was complete, the buyer’s money is waiting to be deposited into my mother’s savings account once I sign some papers tomorrow…(the money will now be readily available to pay for her ongoing care at her memory care facility).

So tonight I am celebrating this cleansing with a beautiful rainstorm.   

After tomorrow, I will never have to drive 2 hours to my mom’s house again, and my life will be so much simpler.

I am so relieved and thankful…

Thankful for my husband who took control of all the house repairs that needed to occur before the house could be sold; and for talking me off the ledge when my brother started to be a jerk about signing some papers…and for finally today getting my brother to sign the necessary papers by threatening him with “something.”  (Don’t ask, don’t tell…)

Thankful for the amazing title company people who worked TIRELESSLY to help me with Bank of America (BTW, based on their treatment of me…on Monday, Bank of America will no longer have my mother’s accounts, now containing a LARGE amount of money from the sale of the house).

And, finally, on a totally unrelated but coincidental note…

Thankful for finding a chiropractor who is finally helping me with a chronic issue with my arm, that has been impacting my weightlifting, sleeping, and just general enjoyment of life for the last 6 months.  After my second treatment today, I am feeling better, stronger, less pain…I’m thrilled.

Today, May 4, 2017, is a great day.  

A CLEANSING DAY.

Happy March!

Hard to believe it's March already!  It seems like POOF February disappeared!

Although we had snow about 10 days ago, it was gone within a day and Spring is now springing on us big time here in the PNW.  Tulips are coming up and the weather is definitely more mild each day.

Time for doggie haircuts as their winter coats are super thick and will be too hot within the next few weeks.  One of the dogs, Bonnie, looks like she weighs a ton but it's mostly fur.  Her hair almost looks like dreadlocks, so I call her Rasta Dog.

Bonnie, one of the dogs I inherited from my mom

(Now, I hope you will indulge me as I complain about my mother ONE MORE TIME, after this it will be only occasionally and I promise she will not be the main focus of future posts.)

Mom still drives me nutty but I’m learning more and more (with the help of my dear Hub) not to let her get to me.  But boy, she sure does know how to get into my head.  Her latest thing is that I moved her, without her consent, into the assisted living facility.  She wants to still be in her home with her two little dogs.  (Personally, I would like that too, but that's water under the bridge.)  

Fine, but "if you recall, Mom," the move was discussed ad nauseum before it happened. 

At the time (a little over a year ago), it was gradually becoming more obvious that it would be necessary to move her, because she wasn’t taking care of herself or her dogs.  The final straw was she had a car accident  (at night and in the pouring rain) that she didn’t report and to this day, we do not know where she was or what she hit (thankfully, it was apparently an inanimate object and not a person).  The only reason I found out is I discovered the front end of the car was wrecked when I went to visit her.  When we went to get the car fixed, the insurance company cancelled her insurance because of the circumstances.  So, she couldn’t drive without insurance. 

Anyway, did I move her without her consent?  Not really, we discussed the situation and she understood we had no other choice except to move.  Because how was she going to live if she couldn’t drive her car?  And the bottom line is...she was unsafe in her house.  All this she either forgets because of the dementia or she "conveniently" forgets it.  Sometimes it is hard to tell which is which.

The fact that we had no choice really is not too relevant, because she bugs me constantly about it anyway.  She insists everything at her house was "just fine."  So she’s resentful and angry about everything.  Well, so am I, Mom, so am I.  This wasn't exactly what I wanted to do with my life either (taking over managing the day to day life of a cranky, abusive, unappreciative, mean old lady). 

Anyway, I’m actually doing quite well emotionally.  I think I’m getting more and more immune to the day to day complaints and recriminations.  Because Hub lets me vent, and then with patience and without fail tells me “YOU HAD NO OTHER CHOICE!”  Yes, he's my personal therapist and even though he's free, he's worth every penny.  (ha ha)

(Okay, done and DONE.)

Exercise has been stellar, if I do say so myself.  It helps that I have a trainer that kicks my butt 4 times a week; then I do cardio on my own one other day.  On the other two days, I mostly keep busy with chores at home, walking 3 dogs, etc. 

Food…well, meh. That’s up and down.  But at least there have been no compulsive sugar binges.  Yay!  Weight seems to be stable (I'm guessing it's around 165-170), but it goes without saying, I’d like to lose a couple of pounds before we go to Hawaii later this month (just for a week...on business...but we'll be on the beach a bit of course).  If I could just clean up my diet a bit, I think the pounds would drop and I’d be happy.  But then again, not going to get crazy about it.  "Crazy" when it comes to my diet is a behavior that is mostly in the past and which never proved to productive long term anyway (in fact it was counter productive).

I turned 64 at the end of February, so looking at perhaps retiring next year after I turn 65 (if hub ever decides to quit working). So I have that to look forward to.

Hope everyone is doing welll!  Thanks for reading.     
 

I Will Not Eat Crap

My mom and I still have our ups and downs.  With the dementia, her filters are almost non-existent. 

For example, I visited her Saturday and had lunch with her and some of her buddies.  One of her friends said “You look nice today.”  I guess washing my hair and wearing a scarf that matches my sweater is the height of fashion at the Home.  Anyway, I’ll take any compliment that comes my way (even if it is made by an elderly woman who is almost blind…seriously, this friend of my mother’s is very near sighted).  So I said Thank You!   

But, instead of agreeing with her, what does my mother do?  She says, “Yeah, well, I don’t like that sweater on you, it makes you look fat.”  And as usual, even after all these years, I'm always caught off guard by her meanness.  You'd think I'd learn!  

It’s always tricky how to respond to something like that.  I can feel hurt or just laugh it off.  So I (try to) laugh it off.  What good does it do to respond to her anyway?  She doesn’t remember anything past 5 minutes. And I’ve come to expect it from her…she’s always been very competitive with me but it took me years to recognize that was what was going on. 

Last night Hub and I were going grocery shopping and as I rode along in the car, I started to realize I felt a bit depressed.  As I analyzed what I was feeling, I realized that it’s possible my mother could live another 20 years…she’s in really good health except for her mind.  So I have that to look forward to for the foreseeable future…The constant offhand insults and negativity and complaints.  I start to realize that even now I overreact and dwell on things she says and does (not outwardly but inside it hurts).  And it never fails...She gives me a stomach ache and makes me want to eat crap.  

Anyway, I know logically that in the scheme of things, this is such a very, very small problem.  So, instead of letting it bother me, I’m going to decide to be grateful for what it is, because I know it could be so much worse. 

Thanks for listening…I feel much better having written about it.  And I will not use her actions as an excuse to eat crap.  

HELLO!

...Or, as we say in the style of my office when anyone walks in…Hel-LOOOO! 

(think Seinfeld  “Hello”episode)

I’ve been away so long from blogging.  I did go private for the last 18 months, mostly so I could figure out what to do with my blog without actually worrying about it or deleting it.

But life goes on and is good, so I'm back.  I can’t believe how blessed I am.  This post will be brief, mostly just to get back into it.

I’m still working for the Fire Department at a job I love.  I’m turning 64 in February so starting to anticipate retirement in 2018, when I turn 65. Hubs is still working at age 70, but he is thinking about selling his business in the next year so we can go have fun before we get too old to enjoy retirement. 

About a year ago, I moved my mother into an assisted living place nearby.  This was not an easy decision but she has dementia and couldn’t live on her own any more.  This first year was difficult with her laying a major guilt trip on me about moving her.  She definitely still knows how to push my buttons!  But, she finally seems to have adjusted and likes the place she lives.  Her being close by in a structured environment makes my life so much easier too.  Now it's much more convenient to keep an eye on her, take her to doctor appointments, even just visit her, etc.  She's always been a social butterfly, so now she has lots of friends (even if she can't ever remember their names).    

My boy Buster is still around, he’s 13 now, but still generally healthy.  He is getting a bit creaky in the joints, is pretty deaf, and I don’t think he sees very well either.  But he still looks forward to a stroll in the park, his dinner at night, and treats.  Oh, and we have taken on my mother’s two little dogs, who were basically wild animals from lack of discipline, but they have calmed down a lot with a routine they can count on.  Buster likes them fine so everyone is happy.   

Weight wise, I’m about the same, maybe a little smaller (I don’t weigh, but clothes I was wearing a year ago are a little loose now).  I'm still doing (a non-rigid version of) Intermittent Fasting...that style of eating just works for me. I’ve been working out 3-4 times a week with a trainer, which is expensive but really is my one financial self-indulgence.  To be honest, I kinda hate it!  He pushes me to the point that I often jokingly tell him I'm glad I'm sweating because it hides my tears.  But having a scheduled time with him keeps me accountable, injury free (because he is a real stickler for form), and when each session is over, I feel good and accomplished.  I'm really strong for my age and pretty toned too, if I do say so myself.  I did have the facelift I discussed in my last post, and it was worth every penny.    

I stopped going to my therapist Dr. D about a 9 months ago, as I think we had covered just about everything there was to talk about, plus I had stopped crying every time I saw her.  To me that meant a lot of the childhood trauma had finally been resolved.  I learned a lot from her and I think I’m doing pretty well emotionally on my own. 

That’s about it!  I haven’t read many blogs lately but I’m looking forward to touching base with anyone who is still around!