How My Dog Saved My Life (probably).

It was the end of July and I was walking my dog Chuck. The weather was warm and luscious and we sauntered together slowly down the sidewalk. Suddenly Chuck pulled sideways towards a parked car; there was a cat sulking underneath it. 

It wasn't a hard pull, just an unexpected tug. Chuck is 150 lbs to my 100 lbs, but he's a good walker and I led him easily away and thought nothing more of it.

Why my boobs got to do me like this.

Two days later I felt a pain in my right breast. Not remembering that cat incident, I immediately thought, uh-oh, something's up with the Old Girl. 

My right = Old Girl. My left = Old Maid.

Having had a lump removed from the left breast in my early 40s (turned out to be just a lump) plus being over fifty, I get a mammogram every year. This year I was thinking, "There's a pandemic out there! I'll just skip it, no big deal." But when I got this weird pain, even though I felt no lump, I got worried and went in for the scan and also an ultrasound.

A few days later, the radiology clinic called me back for another scan. The following weeks they called me back for two more "magnifications" and different views. Weirdly, they were focusing only on my left breast, the Old Maid, while completely ignoring the Old Girl.

Next thing I know, the doctor told me I needed a biopsy because I have some micro-calcifications in the Old Maid. You guys: "stereotactic" is a word. A stereotactic biopsy is a thing where you lie face down on a table with a hole in it. It looks like a massage table! Your boob goes in the hole and hangs down (in my case, to the floor). They freeze your tit, and then do the biopsy whilst simultaneously scanning it for accuracy. For the record, it hurts about as much as going to the dentist; a tiny needle prick, some pressure, and that's it. (The next few days were a bit ouchie though. Just like the dentist haha.) 

Around this time I was diagnosed with Old Lady mononucleosis. And tummy troubles exacerbated by my osteoporosis medication (barf). The Huz was away in the UK visiting his mum. My friend Kym was struggling with her cancer. There's a raging pandemic. The world is on fire. And now a looming breast issue. It was a lot.

So it turns out I don't have cancer! I have pre-cancer. Also known as stage zero Ductile Carcinoma In Situ. And I'm having surgery next week to carve that bitch out. Partial mastectomy. It sounds dramatic, and I know it's going to hurt, but I'm not scared. As my doctor said, "We caught it early. This is why we do mammograms." 

I was listening to NPR in the car and there was a medical expert saying that in two to three years, something like 20,000 women were going to die because they delayed their mammograms due to the covid situation. That might've been me. So basically, if Chuck hadn't yanked me, I probably wouldn't have gone for my yearly mammogram. The dangerous micro-calcification clusters would have laid undiscovered until possibly stage 1 or 2 DCIS. Thanks Chuck: you saved my life (probably).

Yes, I still have to get over the wretched mono and tummy troubles as well as surgery and whatever that reveals. But the good news is I have every chance of good results in the future. Also the Old Girl doesn't hurt anymore.

Please tell Chuck what a good boy he is. And if you feel so moved, give a small donation to SOS Quebec Newf Rescue. Don't delay your mammograms!

PS Wear a mask. I don't want my surgery canceled due to Covid overload.

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My personal CBT Toolkit

When Inkling died suddenly in March of this year, it made me realize how much of a load I had been carrying throughout the year, and how much I was leaning on my dog to provide a framework for balance and strength.

Inkling was gone, and during a week of bad news about The Huz's cancer, and the death of my father-in-law, it really destabilized me. There was a mix of guilt and shame. I felt lost, invisible and unable to cope. The edge of the cliff rushed up to me and beckoned.

At my husband's urging, I signed up for Cognitive Behavioral Therapy. Really it was like going to a class where I was the only student. My therapist was wonderful; she recognized the way I learned visually, and guided me at my own pace. She also told me I was already using some CBT in my thinking, which was super encouraging.

I'm not really qualified to explain in depth as to what CBT is, but I can share that it provided me with ways of thinking that I could practice whenever I encountered a trigger: to recognize it, analyse it and deal with it. And let's face it, life is full of triggers, right?

My personal CBT Trigger Island.

At the end of the therapy, which lasted about four months, my final assignment was to create a "tool kit". I drew a map of Trigger Island, a danger-scape with all the pitfalls and traps I might encounter in myself or others: you'll see the Quicksands of Grief, a flaming Passive Aggressive Snowman (hot and cold!), Fear of the Unknown Haunted House, a Forest of Depression and Isolation, and the Howling Winds of Change, to name a few. The edges of the map are possibly the most dangerous of all.

My personal Mindfulness Cards.

There's also a set of  Mindfulness Cards, and Power Cards. I use the mindfulness skills to help give me a chance to recognize, unpack and analyse things that happen or that I do. Power cards are things that I can actively do to move myself forward, and put things in perspective, either with my thoughts or my actions.

My personal Power Cards.

I created Green Flags and Red Flags, so that I could recognize when I'm doing well, and when I'm getting into trouble. Funnily, the Green Flags were harder to nail down, perhaps because we tend to take them for granted when life is humming along as it should.

My personal Green Flags and Red Flags - they have little pictograms on the backs but no way to show them here.

If CBT was offered in schools, I think more people would have the skills to cope better when life throws them a curve ball. More of us would understand why we feel what we feel, what others are going through, why they behave the ways they do, and how to counter or protect ourselves with assertiveness and respect.

Inkling is gone, and even though I have another dog now, I still miss him so much. Grief is interesting; it seems to steal your joy but it also gives you an opportunity to grow, and I'm grateful for that.

Love you guys,

JC

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Lost in Space

We like to believe that we keep our dogs on a leash, but the reality is that it is we who are tethered to them.

Inkling left us yesterday; he was only three and a half, but nonetheless a robust 160 lb Newfoundland with a deep and mighty WOOF! He was with me every minute that he was awake and I gave him all the time, care and love a dog could want. In return, he kept me focused, slobbered all over me and let me stroke his beautiful fur.

Rest in peace, Inkling. I am adrift without you.

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Dog poop.

Last week on a dog walk...

Stranger: Do you have a spare poop bag? I forgot mine at home. 

Me: Sure thing. (Gives some bags).

Today on a dog walk...

Me: Do you have a spare poop bag? I forgot mine at home.

Stranger: Sure thing. (Gives some bags).

I wish this story had a happy ending, but alas! My dog got rolled in some non-bagged poop while playing with another dog*. Dear people who do not pick up after their dogs in public spaces: If you don't want to pick up poop, you should not have a dog. Your dog's poop does not magically disappear. The snow melts and THERE IT IS. Shame on you.

I had to hose my dog down when I got home, but HOLY HELL did he stink up the car. He's nice and clean now, so there's that.

* He didn't choose to roll in it like my last dog, he inadvertently rolled in it while playing. I'm just saying.

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Spring. And dogs.

Ah yes! Spring in Montreal! The long hard winter is over and the snow melt reveals some pretty amazing gems.

I say “gems” but I really mean (dare I say it) ...dog poop. Let's stick with "gems" shall we?

Usually I pick up after the dog soon after she goes out in the garden. But when the temperature drops, the idea of venturing out into sub-zero Canadian winter in my pajamas is less than appealing. So as the dog lays her eggs, I let the snow fall and cover it.

I warn the kids of the dangers of building a snowman. I wait patiently until spring. I look out the window and admire the pure, white, freshly fallen blanket of snow masking the evil that lurks beneath.

The spring thaw yields layer upon layer of treasure. It resembles an archaeological dig: the snow melts enough to expose a few sparkling jewels at a time and I remove each layer over a period of weeks.

It’s normally hard going because the gems are cold and soggy; some even need to be dug out of the ice with a trowel.

An emphatically unglamorous activity.

This year however, I decided to refrain until all the snow melted. I waited for a dry day (today). Armed with my usual protective gear...

...and a zillion plastic bags... I went out to face what would surely be a bumper crop.

To my surprize, there were only half as many and the ones I found were half-sized hard little nuggets. Also, being dry, they didn’t smell.

Why, in twenty years of living with dogs, am I only just now discovering this?

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DOG Daze.

Here's my dog doing some more funny stuff.

She's very clever. But she doesn't like to show off by doing tricks.

If you think this is 'submissive' posture you are wrong. And if you'd like your fingers to remain attached to your hands, you should not interpret this as an invitation.

Multi-tasking? My dog can sing and do the bum-drag at the same time.

I love my dog.

I drew these on my iPad, using Paper and a Wacom Bamboo stylus.

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My Funny DOG.

Here's some funny things my dog does.

You can set your clock by her.

She knows how to get what she wants.

She's a tad delusional.

I love my dog.

I drew these in a bar, on my iPad, using Paper and a Wacom Bamboo stylus.

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Dogs.

This is a poem about dogs.

I love dogs.

I drew this on the plane, with Paper for the iPad.

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Crapola.

Warning: Dog business.

I came home earlier this evening to find poor Miss Doggie locked in our bedroom. No idea how this happened. I managed to find the one key in a drawer full of keys and let her out. She tore past me, raced down the stairs and didn't even say thanks. Sheesh.

The good news? The dog hadn't actually peed in the room. The bad news...?

CRAPOLA!

I know, it's a drawing of a turd. It's late, I'm tired, and turds are funny. As long as you can't smell them. And look, I think it likes you.

The brown crayons were @BigDaddySaid's idea!

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SHARK Dog.

Animals love my Mother in Law...you know that Disney princess who's singing in the woods and all the animals flock around her? The birds land on her finger and the deer nuzzle her lovingly? Well, that's my MIL. She's devoted her life to helping animals.

Over the years she's taken in many animals that would not have made it without her TLC. One of these is SHARK Dog. It's not his real name; I call him that cuz, well, see for yourself.

SHARK Dog was a racing greyhound. He had been badly treated and had a lot of damage by the time my MIL took him on. But she nurtured him and he's a very loving and rewarding dog for her. There's a lot of management around special dogs like this, and not everyone should take it on.

Cookies are not safe around SHARK Dog!

He was lucky to have my MIL But many animals are not so lucky - and most of them are gentle and loving and don't require special management like SHARK Dog. Even I have an adopted dog!

If you're thinking of getting a pet, consider the adoption option. And keep your cookies in a tin.

UPDATE - January 26 2012
Sharkdog passed away last week. He had been so well looked after by my MIL who loved him dearly. He will be missed.

You have the opportunity to make someone else smile by sharing.

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The Bad DOG.

This is not a great choice of name for a dog, I think to myself as I chase after her through the park, shouting, "Baby!! Come back!! Baby! Oh Baby, please come baaaaaaaack!!!"

Baby's been with us since she was five weeks old, rescued from a litter of puppies headed for the mill. Pretty white fluff-ball, had us all fooled.



But she's been hard work. For starters, she's smart. Too smart. And she's terrified of the front door. Intelligence + Fear = TROUBLE.

Once she bit the Post Lady on the face. The Post Lady bent down to pet her at the front door, breaking Rule No. 1 in the Mail Man's Rule Book. This made Baby a HERO in the Dog World.

And just the other day, my thirteen year old daughter came home with this one boy. Baby tried to eat him!! And who can blame her? He came through the front door!

Training? Oh she's had LOTS of training. And so have we...

Don't worry, the Post Lady was OK, and so was the boy. Despite the fact that Baby is a Bad DOG, I still love her.

Tell me about your dogs.

PS. These are life-drawn sketches. That's why they look a little different from what you usually see up here.

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