My Number One Guy

I’ve taken a lot of dog photos lately, mostly of Trooper, our new foundling dog, but Zephyr at the spry age of  12 1/2  is still my number one guy. I can’t imagine my life without him. xo

Shrink The Monster

Yesterday was an angry post. Anger, anger, and fear, really. That’s what fear does in me, keeping me going and out of bed, it refuels itself into anger.

Yesterday was all pretty scary for me, but also, I’ve heard fairly common. Mammogram call-backs, even biopsies, don’t necessarily mean doom. I didn’t know.

Today, I’m just tired. It’s emotionally draining stuff all that bare prodding, kneading and squishing while standing in a cold room in a loose drape. Doctor’s really should be more attentive to their medical language (so foreign), their demeanor (they may do this a hundred times a day, but this is MY first time. Be understanding. Use common English. Skip the big medical terms. I won’t remember anyway.)

And for goodness sakes, get your patient a chair before you break this scary news to her. All the blood is about to pool in her feet. It’s the least you could do.

Today, people sound very loud. I feel like a frail bird. I wish they’d talk softly too me. Pretend I was found in the park. Wrap me gently in a blanket. Give me something nourishing: coffee, warm bread, and just sit quietly by.

I believe I am going to be okay, really, but it doesn’t make this journey any less frightening. Except for the dogs, I’m going it alone. I refuse to worry my family–Oh, we are worriers! I couldn’t bear watching their worry, while dealing with my own. Too much! I can see the furrow in my mother’s brow from here, her hands wringing at 3a.m. No, no, no.

Coming here is good. I tell you. I get it out of my head. I move on. That’s what writing does. It buoys me, even rescues me, when I can’t get my arms around the monster in the room. Writing shrinks the monster.

I’ll let you know what happens next, when it happens. I know you are quietly listening and that helps enormously. Honest, engine.

d, xo

Round Two

I got called back in for a second mammogram. It was a rough day. Too tired to be meaningful or thought-provoking. This is simply how it went down:

1) Call-backs sit in a separate waiting room. I’m not sure why. My stupid gown was missing its tie. I kept having to hold it close–like could you AT LEAST give us gowns that close for the waiting room, already.

2) In the x-ray room, when the technician says “hold still” and then asks me two minutes later to hold my breath, I’ve been holding it the whole time. I kept having to lean over and breathe. Plus, the room was freezing, but she was kind.

3) She x-rayed every imaginable angle of both boobs (I hate the word breasts, but that’s another post), then sent me back to the waiting room with a hot blanket (nice)…then she called me AGAIN for MORE.

4) During the second round of x-rays I got a horrible sense of foreboding. I made myself reaching for different thoughts, over and over.

5) Finally called in to meet the doctor, who was sitting in a dark room, surrounded my monitors, boob x-rays everywhere. I got a perfunctory introduction as he jumped into his soliloquy, pointing at x-rays.  All I heard was “clusters”, “could be pre-cancerous”, “calcium deposit” and “biopsy”. Mostly what I heard was cancer and biopsy. He didn’t even pause to explain ANY OF IT. I nearly fainted on his floor.  He looked uncomfortable.

6) I stopped everything, asked him to back up and explain again what this all meant. “It’s probably not serious” he said. I wanted to slap him. “That’s easy for you to say,” I said. “You don’t have boobs.” This flustered him. I hate him, immensely.

7) My mind kept dumping and scrambling. So…if they are precancerous, what does that mean? “Well, we’ll scoop them out and test them some more…” Scoop them out? Now, I am ice-cream. I am snow, with a big old hole in me.

8) There will be stitches, perhaps, and a scar. IS THERE ANY FUCKING PART OF MY BODY THAT I GET TO KEEP WITHOUT SCARS? Seriously, just how many stabs, cuts, slices and scars does one woman have to survive in one life time! (I suddenly HATE men.)

9) The x-ray technician helps me with my sweater, sees me out, but I have to stop, before the waiting room, before the other women see me. All this fear is coming up and I need to get it out, but I need to hear from her what the fucking doctor can’t oblige me.

10) All I remember her saying is: Very common, 80% of these clusters are benign. (I make her clarify benign–even knowing what it means. It suddenly sounds foreign, like I could misinterpret its meaning.) She asks me, kindly, as my eyes fill up, is there anything else I can tell you. I couldn’t think to ask a single intelligent thing.

11) Suddenly I hate pink, the Komen foundation, foot races, collections, pink ribbons, men, anyone who dares to walk within 80 yards of me. In the car, I burst into tears. I am a pressure cooker, release, release, release. I breathe. I focus, I dab my eyes, blow my nose, breathe and declare this all okay. It will be okay.

12) I go to Starbucks: coffee, a sandwich AND gingerbread. I want to eat everything. I want to make more of me. I sit outside, where it is cold, cold, cold and no one else is. I sit in the sun, breathe in the quiet and eat. 

13) In less than 4 hours I have yelled at three people for being stupid, too noisy, inconsiderate, basically, near me.

13) I walked the dogs, got snarly, felt confined, brought them home, then walked too hard, too far, by myself.

14) My dad calls. Where have I been all day? …running icky errands, is all I’ll say. I’m not interested in distressing my family, adding more worry than any of them all ready carry. We are really good worriers.

15) I’m really tired. I need a hot bath. I hope Hart of Dixie is on. I want my own blanket, my couch, by audio book, hot tea, doors locked.

16) I am sorry this is long, that you had to read it–that you possibly did read it. I just needed to say it out loud. Say it and let it go.

I am scared, but it’s all going to be okay. It really is. Tomorrow I have errands to run, my schedule to keep, shop items to post!  Dogs to walk, and it’s  library day.

I’ll let you know when the phone rings, when I have to go back. I took you all with me in my head today.

You were awesome. Thank you, d xo

Contrast

Some days are just metaphors for the rest of my life. This day screamed at me, reminded me just how much I’d like a little less contrast, a little more unity in my life.

At present, I do not have medical insurance, and as such, am receiving what basic medical coverage I can scratch up through the county. It’s loads of fun, but they help cover my medications, ridiculously expensive, otherwise.

I should feel lucky, and mostly I do, but I don’t have to like it. Any visit to the med clinic is a dark, edgy visit to a cacophonous world of chaos, standing in lines, loud conversations, phones ringing, muttering, shuffling, shouting, slamming, anger, sadness, sickness, frustration. There are security guards and paroles, high-fives, ghetto jive, sad stories told too loud, too much–way too much. And, if you are me, it seeps in and sticks inside my head, like a sea sponge, and hard to dispell.

Today, I waited 45 minutes for a prescription that wasn’t ready, with no apology other than wait in the next line–if you really want it that badly; “have a nice day”.

Another 20 minutes later, I had two pills, Celebrex, for my arthritis-migraines-fibromyalgia, or whatever anyone would like to call it, as no two doctors have managed to pin-point or agree upon what it is. I had TWO pills. The rest may or may not be ready tomorrow.  Yay, me.

An hour later, I had a mammogram appointment at a medical plaza far, far away, in beautiful new building, landscaped, no graffiti, no loitering, no noise. There was a parking attendant, carpet in the hallways, flowers in the waiting room, the soft murmur of  HGTV on the widescreen television–not Jerry Springer blaring on the tube.

There were current magazines–Golf, Oprah, Yoga, a pitcher of ice water, coffee, cream, sugar, stir sticks. I sank into the waiting room like it was a mammoth marshmallow and took a deep, relieving breath.

Soon, I was personally received for my appointment. The woman was so kind I nearly wept. There was a dressing room, more carpet, dim lighting, a clothes locker, a soft cotton wrap, more flowers, the scent of lavendar and absolute quiet in the corridors.

My appointment went fine. The x-ray technician was lovely, helpful, informative. And when it was over, I left without issue, floated through the clean, glass partitioned doors and out to my car, neatly waiting  in the impeccable parking garage.

Tomorrow, I have to go back to the med clinic and pick up the other 28 tablets of prescription. I will remember my headphones, keep my eyes averted and remember to breathe. I will pretend there is carpet under my feet and concern in the air.

Lost Dog, Day 4

Just a short update. I posted a donation bar over on my other blog and money poured in, just like that. Amazing. So, the little guy is going to the groomers later this morning and hopefully the vet by Saturday. I’m a little terrified that he could have something, a cold, or worse, and that Zephyr could get it.

But all seems well, other than my pre-dawn freak outs. So, really we are good. I will try and take my focus off panic and put it back on “All is well.” *repeat*

d xo

here’s the link to my other blog and the donation bar: http://snowflowerstreet.blogspot.com

 

lost dog

I wrote this long blog post last night about this little guy & the whole text seems to have vanished. Ugh.

The short version: we found this mangy looking little dog last night scurrying down the street headed for traffic. No tags. Of course.

He’s in pretty bad shape–perky & moving, but just not well, physically. And he smells awful, even after a bath–it just occurred to me–he’s probably been skunked. Which is wonderful since I wrapped him in my favorite coat.

So, if you’ve lost a small dog in Sacramento (midtown, Curtis Park, Land Park), a Yorkshire Terrier, I believe, Twitter me at @dahlila & identify it’s collar. It’s been out on the street for a while and no telling how far he’s gone. xo

Stoneware

My kitchen is collecting old stoneware bowls:  heavy, earthy, a bit raw. I love mixing oatmeal molasses batter in them, or sipping bok choy soup.  My new favorites.

Mostly Zephyr, At the River

When you travel alone with a dog, inevitably you’re the one shooting all the photos. My life in photos features them with hints of me via the camera teetering on wobbly fence posts or stacks of rocks. Sometimes, though it works.

The long dirt road. We have walked this road a thousand times, maybe more.  

Zephyr posing along the river. Oh, I would have loved to put in the kayak today. Gorgeous.

We wandered through the trees look ing for the coyote. She likes it here & in the tall grass. I caught a glimpse of her a few weeks ago. We used to find her curled up in the tall sunny grass.  If I were a coyote today,  that’s where I’d be.

Photo: camera balanced on sand dune, caught in grass. Hm…

And the winner of the day, me & Zephyr, yellow chaparral, big blue sky. That pretty much says it all.

p.s. I have a very similar photo taken with Shadow, years before we found Zephyr. I should hang them next to each other: My Life In Dogs.

d, xo

Zephyr’s Weather Report

Zephyr is always hot. He hates being in the house, lounges on the cold cement outdoors, in the garage, in the dirt. The first sign of cold weather and he’s begging to get in the jeep. He can sit there for hours. It’s officially Fall.

How could I not love this guy?

d, xo

Overheard

I am an avid people watcher. Always mesmerized, surprised, moved, shocked by what people say and do; I can not help it. Nothing beats real life for crazy, touching, frightening, tear provoking.

 

Today, Zephyr and I walked in McKinley Park. It swarmed with serious runners, huffing, panting, plugged in, tuned out, racing around the park in the metaphorical fast lane. There was soccer practice, tennis matches, a few strollers (most mommies and nannies walk on week days), but everyone moved with purpose, looking ahead, talking on phones, distracted, missing, what I thought, was a beautiful day. Zephyr stopped to smell every tree and bush. I sipped my coffee. It was all good.

We wandered through East Sacramento–capital E,  the trendiest neighborhood to live in, populated with the next generation of preppy:  upper class, mobile (imports from the Bay Area) and fashion forward. It’s like watching reality tv.

These are my two favorite moments overheard today:

At a yard sale, a Latina woman, who didn’t speak much English was asking about a pair of shorts.

The woman selling: “Those are $8.”

The buyer, shocked went to set them down.

Seller: “Well, I bought those at Abercrombie & Finch. They’re not USED. See the tags are still on them, and well, I gained a bit of weight…but they’re still NEW!”

The woman walked away.  New or not, it’s a yard sale, lady. Ugly yellow shorts after Labor Day go for a dollar, maybe two. That’s why they’re for sale in September in your YARD.

* * *

Back in the park, Zephyr stopped to attend to some business. Two women were sitting on a park bench near us and this is what one said, rather loudly:

“Oh! THAT’S  why I don’t have a dog. The POOP. It’s disgusting.”

I turned around and looked straight at her. “Well, YOU poop TOO. I hope THAT hasn’t stopped someone from loving you.”

She looked aghast. A little poop is hardly worth mentioning for all the companionship Zephyr brings.

As for yard sales, I picked up a genuine Louis Vuitton handbag for a dollar. I’d call that a successful morning.

d, xo

P.S. After much research, the Louis Vuitton bag is a really good fake. Still, it was interesting research and I did only pay a dollar for it. The excitement in learning never ends in.