While I was in the hospital, my dog thought it wise to eat a rock and a piece of rubber from one of her toys. She's been in surgery for the past two days having them removed, but thankfully she'll be alright and she's coming home today.
I've really missed my puppy over the past week. She's three years old now, so she's not exactly a puppy anymore, but she hasn't lost any of her boundless energy and recklessness. I love having her around, because she always keeps things interesting when I'm unable to remove myself from the couch. And she's always willing to share it with me, even if she'd rather be digging up rocks or clogging her intestines with rubber balls.
It's a little difficult for me to understand, though, the thought, or lack thereof, behind ingesting a stone. Can the things that go through Josie's mind really be that simple?
"Eat that rock. Tear apart that toy. Kick that man in the nuts. Lick his face."
I know that can't constitute the enormity of Josie's cognitive and emotional capacities. She can always tell how I'm feeling, and she's empathetic and affectionate. She gets jealous when she feels left out, and I swear she can understand almost all of the things I say to her. And lastly, she's got those sweet puppy dog eyes that make me melt, even when she's bad.
I hope she's been alright all by herself in the hospital. I know how lonely that can be, and I also know how afraid she gets. She can't even go out into the backyard alone at night without someone going with her. She's so strong and athletic, though, I don't get it. I guess she's just spooked by the dark, which isn't so uncommon, but I don't want her to be afraid.
When Josie came home after being spayed, she was back to her sprightly self in no time. I'd assume most dogs would relax and recover over the course of a few days after something like that, but not this one. She was ready to play from the moment she set paw in the house.
That was a long time ago, and I'm hoping Josie still has the same vigor she had then, but I'm not worried. It's just my turn to comfort her, because she'd do the same for me. I'm anxious to have her home again.
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
Untitled
I hate it when I can taste the chemo. I can taste it in my mouth and on my tongue, and I can feel it in my stomach. It hurts. I can smell it on my breath and escaping through my pores, and I can feel it oozing out of my eyeballs. At the corners, they're welling up, but not in the shape of tears. I don't want to taste it. And I can't sleep. I can never fall asleep.
I regretted doing this the last time I did it. But what is there to regret? I don't have a reason to regret. Not tonight. I just feel like a fool for trying to find meaning where there is none. At least not right now. Maybe I'll find it tomorrow.
I regretted doing this the last time I did it. But what is there to regret? I don't have a reason to regret. Not tonight. I just feel like a fool for trying to find meaning where there is none. At least not right now. Maybe I'll find it tomorrow.
Thursday, December 17, 2009
Round 10
Today is the second day of round 10 of my chemotherapy. I'm proud to have made it this far, into double digits, and I'm hoping that the rush of accomplishment will carry me through the impending nausea and sickness. My doctor anticipated that at the end of the last round, when my hemoglobin had fallen to 9.5, that I would need a blood transfusion prior to this round to ensure that my body was fully ready. Usually, they like to administer transfusions when my hemoglobin falls to about 8 so that I'm not too tired. As it turned out, however, my hemoglobin actually rose to over 10. She also advised that I receive Neupogen shots until Sunday, knowing that I was planning to come in and have blood taken on Monday for a Tuesday admission (the way I always do, coming in a day in advance in order to minimize the headache of admission day). Unfortunately, I got a call back on Monday telling me that my white blood cell count was actually too high for chemo the next day, and that I had to wait another day at home before coming in to begin.
An extra day of staying home at the best end of the cycle, feeling good. That's great, isn't it? Well, either that or I am the only crazy moron in the world who gets inexplicably impatient when I'm given an extra good day to postpone impending misery. But I could have told those people advising us that I didn't need to take Neupogen all the way through the weekend, that I was strong after maybe seven or eight shots and that any more would be unnecessary. Regardless, we followed their lead and after eleven consecutive days of shots, my white blood cells were spiked like the punch at a junior high school dance, and there was nothing I could do but drink it.
I guess it just bothers me when other people dictate the details of my plan to me. They are they experts, after all, but I feel as if they didn't talk to each other, let alone to me, about the best way of going about this last cycle. It was my first cycle with my new doctor, and I don't want to go running around saying that I miss the old doctor, because I'm confident that this will turn out fine. I guess we just need to maintain better communication to reach the best results. She did, however, admit to me that my case has deviated so far from the "textbook" case due to my quick response times and constantly replenished strength, that it's difficult for her to predict my needs. And that was a humbling thing to hear from such a renowned doctor.
I realize that what I'm asking for is much easier said than done. A lot of times, we struggle with communication with those about whom we truly care and play a very significant role in our lives, so it might be a little unrealistic to demand optimal communication among staff at a hospital. It's in the best interest of the patients, but it's impossible for any one of them to have all of the answers. I've learned, now, that I need to be a part of these discussions because I am, in fact, at this point the one who knows most about my treatment and my reactions to the treatment, and, in effect, about what I need.
But communication is always at the very least a two-way street, yet the lack thereof seems to be the weakness in so many of our cherished relationships. I've noticed how hard it is to talk about things that cannot be changed; things that happened in the past, and no matter how much the culprit of those actions wishes to be able to take them back, it takes the biggest toll on that person's partner. A lot of times, that partner is unable to express adequately the reason or extent of their hurt, and without that communication there is little to be done. Unfortunately, it becomes a vicious cycle of hurt, sadness, and the inability to make things better, no matter how ready and willing one person might be to say the right thing and make it all go away.
I think this happens most often in regards to things that happened in the past. I've learned, however, that we can't change the past, and that to judge someone for the things they used to do, especially if they have become a stronger, more mature person now, is just utterly pointless. I'm not saying that thinking about the past is never going to hurt, but it really shouldn't effect the things two people can share moving forward. It's just not fair to either person.
Now, if these things exist not only in the past, and continue to live on in some capacity for one of the parties involved, then that's an entirely different story. It's hard to force someone out of our minds and lives entirely, for good, and it's not always something we can consciously decide, though we can prioritize and keep certain people at a distance for our own best interest and the best interests of those whom we care about most.
I still advocate communication above all costs. People are different, and what one person might consider a big deal might not be that serious to someone else. But in order to build the strongest relationships possible, we need to exhibit honesty and trust, because hiding things will only make them a bigger obstacle to cross when they eventually do come to the surface.
I feel like what I'm saying is almost second nature at this point, it's been said so many times before. But failed or stunted communication still plays a large role in my life. My doctor and I have agreed to talk more often about the phases through which I'm going, along with the following steps that make the most sense for the both of us. And good communication will continue to play a vital role in all of my relationships, big or small. Communication is so closely related to honesty and trust, which are two of the things on which I pride my relationships. If not for trust, anyway, do we really have anything at all?
In two weeks, I'll have to make the decision whether or not to squeeze in another two-day chemo immediately before New Years' Eve. I'll either have to trust that my body will feel well enough to enjoy the holiday, or I'll have to postpone the chemo until a few days later; and I hate postponing chemo. This time, my doctor and I will talk about the best option for me and my treatment, and hopefully come to a conclusion with which I am happy.
For now, though, I'm focused on defeating number 10, and in four more days returning back home, overwhelmed with that familiar sense of accomplishment. And I'll remind myself that in my relationships, communication will always be vital. There will always be things that I or someone else can't change, but I can always be open and honest about the way I am and the way I'm feeling.
I've learned to try not to judge someone for the things that may have happened before they ever knew me. Nobody can change those things, and worrying about them is about as useless as asking those unanswerable questions we all love to ask, though the answers are expectedly unsatisfactory. We can take things one day at a time, and trust that the things people say to us now, and that they will still say tomorrow, are enough to make us happy. Nobody is perfect, not on their own, but I sort of believe that what two people can share might be perfect, if not the closest thing to it that we're ever going to find.
An extra day of staying home at the best end of the cycle, feeling good. That's great, isn't it? Well, either that or I am the only crazy moron in the world who gets inexplicably impatient when I'm given an extra good day to postpone impending misery. But I could have told those people advising us that I didn't need to take Neupogen all the way through the weekend, that I was strong after maybe seven or eight shots and that any more would be unnecessary. Regardless, we followed their lead and after eleven consecutive days of shots, my white blood cells were spiked like the punch at a junior high school dance, and there was nothing I could do but drink it.
I guess it just bothers me when other people dictate the details of my plan to me. They are they experts, after all, but I feel as if they didn't talk to each other, let alone to me, about the best way of going about this last cycle. It was my first cycle with my new doctor, and I don't want to go running around saying that I miss the old doctor, because I'm confident that this will turn out fine. I guess we just need to maintain better communication to reach the best results. She did, however, admit to me that my case has deviated so far from the "textbook" case due to my quick response times and constantly replenished strength, that it's difficult for her to predict my needs. And that was a humbling thing to hear from such a renowned doctor.
I realize that what I'm asking for is much easier said than done. A lot of times, we struggle with communication with those about whom we truly care and play a very significant role in our lives, so it might be a little unrealistic to demand optimal communication among staff at a hospital. It's in the best interest of the patients, but it's impossible for any one of them to have all of the answers. I've learned, now, that I need to be a part of these discussions because I am, in fact, at this point the one who knows most about my treatment and my reactions to the treatment, and, in effect, about what I need.
But communication is always at the very least a two-way street, yet the lack thereof seems to be the weakness in so many of our cherished relationships. I've noticed how hard it is to talk about things that cannot be changed; things that happened in the past, and no matter how much the culprit of those actions wishes to be able to take them back, it takes the biggest toll on that person's partner. A lot of times, that partner is unable to express adequately the reason or extent of their hurt, and without that communication there is little to be done. Unfortunately, it becomes a vicious cycle of hurt, sadness, and the inability to make things better, no matter how ready and willing one person might be to say the right thing and make it all go away.
I think this happens most often in regards to things that happened in the past. I've learned, however, that we can't change the past, and that to judge someone for the things they used to do, especially if they have become a stronger, more mature person now, is just utterly pointless. I'm not saying that thinking about the past is never going to hurt, but it really shouldn't effect the things two people can share moving forward. It's just not fair to either person.
Now, if these things exist not only in the past, and continue to live on in some capacity for one of the parties involved, then that's an entirely different story. It's hard to force someone out of our minds and lives entirely, for good, and it's not always something we can consciously decide, though we can prioritize and keep certain people at a distance for our own best interest and the best interests of those whom we care about most.
I still advocate communication above all costs. People are different, and what one person might consider a big deal might not be that serious to someone else. But in order to build the strongest relationships possible, we need to exhibit honesty and trust, because hiding things will only make them a bigger obstacle to cross when they eventually do come to the surface.
I feel like what I'm saying is almost second nature at this point, it's been said so many times before. But failed or stunted communication still plays a large role in my life. My doctor and I have agreed to talk more often about the phases through which I'm going, along with the following steps that make the most sense for the both of us. And good communication will continue to play a vital role in all of my relationships, big or small. Communication is so closely related to honesty and trust, which are two of the things on which I pride my relationships. If not for trust, anyway, do we really have anything at all?
In two weeks, I'll have to make the decision whether or not to squeeze in another two-day chemo immediately before New Years' Eve. I'll either have to trust that my body will feel well enough to enjoy the holiday, or I'll have to postpone the chemo until a few days later; and I hate postponing chemo. This time, my doctor and I will talk about the best option for me and my treatment, and hopefully come to a conclusion with which I am happy.
For now, though, I'm focused on defeating number 10, and in four more days returning back home, overwhelmed with that familiar sense of accomplishment. And I'll remind myself that in my relationships, communication will always be vital. There will always be things that I or someone else can't change, but I can always be open and honest about the way I am and the way I'm feeling.
I've learned to try not to judge someone for the things that may have happened before they ever knew me. Nobody can change those things, and worrying about them is about as useless as asking those unanswerable questions we all love to ask, though the answers are expectedly unsatisfactory. We can take things one day at a time, and trust that the things people say to us now, and that they will still say tomorrow, are enough to make us happy. Nobody is perfect, not on their own, but I sort of believe that what two people can share might be perfect, if not the closest thing to it that we're ever going to find.
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