Three is a Magic Number

End times

In the last year, Oklahoma has experienced an invasion of locusts, drought, fire, extreme record high temperatures, extreme record low temperatures, and now earthquakes. Oh, and OSU's football team is #2 in the country and #1 in the Big 12 conference. Coincidence? I don't think so. As J says, it's in Revelations, people.

Great questions of our time

How did I get on CMT's mailing list? You can't fool me... that C stands for Country.

Why does my eye shadow start out pink/ivory and turn orange?

Why can't I find oval-shaped Kleenex boxes any more? I love them!

Daisy

Last year's other major theme was the illness of my sweet dog Daisy.

I think it was September when we found a big lump in Daisy's abdomen/pelvic area. I'm lucky enough to have a friend who is some kind of kick ass super duper fancy schmancy veterinary surgeon, so she was the one who took it out and gave us the bad news. Very aggressive form of cancer. Both the pathologist and the oncologist were surprised to see it in such a young and asymptomatic dog. Prognosis: three to five months with treatment, another three to five months with chemo. We decided not to do the chemo; it didn't seem right to put her through that just to wring another three months of life out of her.

So we opted for some diet changes to boost her immune system instead (vitamin supplements, high protein diet) and somehow she thrived. For a while, anyway. She ate less and less and got skinnier and skinnier. We resorted to treats to get her to eat something, anything, but Violet benefitted more than Daisy did, to the point that she got quite overweight. But other than becoming a wraith, Daisy seemed fine. She wasn't in pain. She still jumped up on our bed (something that Violet, who is not quite so close to death, still will not do unless she thinks you're not going to put her up there, but that's another story). We watched for the signs of intestinal blockage or pain and there were none. She slowed down and slept more, but she still lasted many months as a pretty happy dog. She was just Daisy with a lump.

Eventually, by August, we knew things were coming to an end. She started licking herself constantly and we knew she was no longer comfortable, and our highest priority was that she wasn't going to suffer, so that was it.

I did a lot of second-guessing regarding the decision not to do chemo. If we had an unlimited supply of money, I would have done it to give her a few extra months. And if it had a chance of saving her, I would have done it for that chance. And if I had known she was going to live almost a year without the chemo, I would have done it, thinking that we might get another year.

Anyway.

So, now we've got Violet, who has never been an only dog. And this was not what we wanted, so we had to find her a buddy. We tried to find a rescue dog at first. We really wanted another basset hound, we wanted a female, and we wanted one who was close to Violet's age. Turns out these are few and far between, at least in my part of the world. We tried to adopt a basset puppy from a one-person "rescue" who kept a couple of dozen animals in her home, but that failed because apparently we weren't available during the one day when a home visit could be done (I say "apparently" because we were never told when the magical day was. But no, I'm not bitter. Why do you ask?). The last time I checked Petfinder, the dog was still up for adoption. Good luck with that, crazy pet-hoarder lady.

We met another dog who was advertised as full blooded basset, then described as "at least 3/4 basset" over the phone, and turned out to be half basset at best. Oh, and also she's food-aggressive. But that might be because she lives with 11 other dogs. And I think she digs, but I can't be quite sure, because she's in her crate most of the day. Yeah. Pass.

So, we're getting a puppy. Part of me is excited because, you know. Puppy!!! The rest of me is all ugh. Housebreaking.

But still. Puppy!!! Squeeee!!!

I know we'll love her to death. But I'll always miss my Daisy.

 

There and back again

In honor of NaBloPoMo, I've decided to fire up the blog again. And thanks to taking about a year off, I surely have something to talk about, right? (Actually, I always have something to talk about. The only question is whether it's worth reading.)

So, let's start with the business of my Lady Business. After all, it was pretty much last year's major theme.

After struggling for almost a year to hold onto my useless and mercenary Lady Business, I finally decided to have the whole shebang ripped out. I'm surprised my insurance company didn't suggest it themselves. "Hey you're not going to be using this stuff any more, right? Cause we're spending a lot of money, you know, trying to keep it under control. Just sayin'. No pressure."

So, I had the surgery. I was anemic when I went into the hospital, there were minor complications (adhesions which led to lots of cutting which led to lots of blood loss, and then a blood transfusion that didn't really take) and I was even more anemic when I came out. But I was hopeful for the future. Once I stop leaking iron out of my body, surely I'll have more energy, right? And once my ovaries are gone, surely my symptoms of polycystic ovarian disease will go away, right? So within a few months I'll be all energetic and have an easier time losing weight, right?

Huh. Turns out I can't blame everything on my body chemistry after all. I'm just fat and lazy in my own right. Bummer.

But at least I'm saving money on insurance copayments* and tampons.

*Will be proven wrong. Stay tuned.

Yes, I had my ovaries removed. I felt defensive about it at first, like I had to have a really good reason. But my GYN and my GP both agreed it was a good idea, so I felt vindicated. They were evil and needed to be destroyed.

The downside? So far, the only downside is that, after spending 6 weeks on the couch, I'm ready to retire. I kinda liked that.

Dear Uterus...

I think we've both seen this coming for a long time. You know things between us have never been great, and your buddies the ovaries don't make it any easier. It's been obvious since January that we're simply growing in different directions. And I realize now I was wrong to try to make you change. I tried to shut your pals the ovaries down, to reduce their influence on you. I tried to stunt your growth. We wanted different things. You wanted to get larger and larger, to bleed all the time, to cramp, to push against my bladder, to be the crazy and unpredictable being that you are. And I needed something different. I just can't live like this any more. It's not you, it's me.

Aw, fuck it. It's you. Sayonara, sucker. And goodbye to your little sidekicks too. 

Outsmarted II: The Outsmartinator

Like last year, all of Boo's summer field trips were on Fridays this year. And I'm off on Fridays during the summer. So naturally I get to go. Yay me. 

There was one trip I was really dreading. The trip to the amusement park. Which for some reason they never plan for May, when temps are in the 80s or 90s. No, we've got to do it at the height of August, because if you're going to tromp around on superheated black asphalt, you want to do it in triple digit temps, right? Of course you do.

(And no, sending her without me isn't an option. They use volunteer parent chaperones for these trips and I've seen the kind of supervision some of those other parents provide. Last year two kids - that I know of - got separated from their groups on this very trip.)

So this year I told Boo I would do anything else on that day. Anything. As long as we didn't have to go to the amusement park. We planned a trip to a pizza/game place (kind of like Chuck E Cheese but less lame) and shopping.

So naturally, it turns out the amusement park was already closed for the season on the day her daycare decided to go. And naturally they decided to go to the pizza/game place instead.

Seriously, Fate. I've entered a lot of contests lately. I don't expect to win any of them. Outsmart me, please.