Monthly Archives: March 2017

Tested

Kumo can run like the wind. Before I knew his given name I was calling him Ghost but felt that Arrow might be a better choice.

I learned from the get go that giving chase is of no use–Kumo can run circles around me and does. He is also smart and wily and careful not to get close enough that his collar can be grabbed.

This dog absolutely will not come when called and is not tempted by a proffered treat. In other words, approach is totally on his own terms.

With Kumo’s history of roaming, I took no chances and had him microchipped during his recent surgery. But even with that precaution, there is no question that being off leash is something that can occur only in contained areas.

Kumo arises early, and our first walk is taken while I am yet a bit groggy.

This morning my thoughts were elsewhere when I had the unsettling realization that the leash in my hands was suddenly connected to nothing–evidently I had not attached it firmly to Kumo’s collar and it had come loose. Kumo was just ahead of me but at the same moment I realized he was free, so did he. And he was off like a shot, an arrow.

I didn’t know what to do and nor did he. The call of the wild and all those mourning doves were pulling him off and away. And yet, he did stop when he was a good distance away to look back. Suddenly he was running toward me again and for one brief second I thought he would return. Rather, he ran wildly to and fro, close to me, away again, exhilarated by his sudden freedom of choice. Because it really was up to him at this point.

As I sat on the pavement in the middle of the parking lot, my heart pounding, tears quietly rolled down my cheek. ‘This is it’ I thought, my dream of a little white dog over. And so I stood back up and walked slowly to the building. Maybe, just maybe he would follow. And if not, I would go get Appa, the great white Pyrenees who is Kumo’s first and best friend at Western Avenue, and try to lure my little wild thing back inside that way.

I shut the glass door behind me and Kumo came closer. The minute I opened it he bolted. When I closed the door a second time he cautiously approached. I opened it just a tiny way this time and to my great surprise and overwhelming relief, he came inside.

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At the moment he is laying beside me on the couch, pressed up against my arm as I type. We’ve had our breakfast now and he’s licked my bowl clean for me.

I think we’re good.

Little love

I suddenly find myself in a committed relationship, and nobody could be more surprised than me.

Although there are certain things I’ve missed about having a partner, I have relished living alone. Going to bed at all hours of the night and sleeping in as well, with nobody in that bloody bed but me. Playing loud music, keeping my own schedule, eating what, when and if I feel like it. Staying inside all day long, wearing anything I want or nothing at all–a beautiful way to become more comfortable in one’s own skin. It’s been a long, blessed vacation of sorts.

But then I met somebody. Or rather, my friend Brian did, wandering around out by the train tracks.

This somebody was a wee white dog and he seemed to be lost–a bit disoriented and clearly frantic. It was cold and dark outside–no place for a lost pup–and Brian asked me if I would help corral the little fellow.

That turned out to be easier said than done as our new friend was not about to let us get close to him. So Brian and I spent thirty minutes running around and chasing this wild little dog back and forth, doing our best to corner him so that one of us could grab his collar.

The situation looked hopeless until our neighbor Howie came outside with his great Pyrenees, Appa, whom the little stranger took a great interest in. Then Marianna joined us with her two pups and between the four humans and three dogs we were able to lure the stray close enough that Howie was able to grab his (tagless) collar.

Marianna provided a crate and Brian said our guest could spend the night in his loft. The next morning Brian texted me that he had some previous commitments and so I agreed to walk our little friend. When I let him out of the crate the first thing he did was grab a cat toy and start tossing it in the air. I was charmed and ended up hanging out for two hours until he trusted me enough to approach. And then I took him back to my loft along with the crate.

Several days passed with no word from Animal Control. We decided to take the dog to a local vet to see if he might be microchipped but he was not. By this point I’d given my guest a flea bath and he was sleeping in my bed rather than the crate. And, of course, I was growing fond of him.

But then, on day five, his family called. We learned that our visitor’s name was Kumo (Japanese for white cloud–I’d been calling him ghost). And I said I’d be happy to bring him to them the next day.

That last night together was bittersweet but then again I imagined how happy both Kumo and his family would be at his return.

The reality was slightly different–although they had a teenage son, there were also lots of people in and out of what appeared to be a very chaotic household. Most troubling, Kumo had run away on a Friday evening but they hadn’t even noticed he was gone until the next day. The woman asked me if I loved Kumo (yes, I did). She told me that her husband was ill and that she wasn’t really sure if she could handle the care of a dog–and that she was considering tying him up inside the house to make sure he didn’t escape.

I left her with my name and number but my heart was heavy as I closed the door. However, the reality was that Kumo belonged to this family, not to me.

One week passed and the woman called. She told me that Kumo had run away several more times and Animal Control had warned the family that they would begin incurring fines. She asked if I wanted Kumo. I told her I would call right back–I needed a moment to think.

But of course the answer was obvious.

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Kumo

My free dog has turned out to be quite expensive between some gastric upset, all his shots and neutering (something you get a certificate of bravery for–who knew). He has severe separation anxiety and clearly has had some mistreatment in the past–he ducks when petted, gets frightened easily, and absolutely will not come when called. In other words, in need of some tender loving care.

And I have realized just how much I missed the act of nurturing as well as having a companion.

In gratitude

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So I’m about to tell you something that is either going to make you laugh or cry. Or not. Maybe you’ll just want to punch me in the face.

Sometimes I get really, really tired of being grateful.

Awful, isn’t it. I know how flipping lucky I am to be alive and most days, my gratitude is boundless. However, twelve years of being grateful for something most people take for granted (waking up in the morning) actually can get old.

As a cancer patient it is expected and accepted that you will feel all sorts of less than pretty emotions. Anger, sorrow, frustration, fear. Confusion. Depression. Bone deep weariness. All taken in stride.

But ingratitude?

The minute I start feeling anything resembling self pity I quickly self admonish. Because I am only too aware what the alternative is.

Those of us with terminal illnesses set the bar both impossibly high but also brutally low.

There is a self conciousness to life when every moment is fraught and at times I dearly miss the insouciance of before. As in, before cancer. The self awareness I have gained has been prompted by significant and persistent provocation. I am both wiser and sadder. And some mornings I’d just like to skip that part about being grateful.

Not because I’m not, but rather because there was something glorious about being so certain that something was due you that giving thanks never even crossed your mind.

I am beyond either innocence or assumption. And that’s ok. I have scans tomorrow, and an appointment with Dr. Shaw next Tuesday. The scans I could do without but the appointment with Dr. Shaw? There is no place I’d rather be. And yes, I will be feeling enormous gratitude.

How many ways can cancer break your heart

Seemingly the possibilities are endless.

Upon first hearing ‘you have cancer’ we were forced to face the specter of mortality; in our face and way too close for comfort.

Next up was the impact our diagnosis had on friends and family and if we were parents, our children–now suddenly faced with challenges that had no rightful place in the happy childhood we’d imagined for them.

Loss was a word that soon figured largely in our everyday existence, with bodies that suddenly looked and felt very different as cancer became part of our identity on both the meta and purely physical level.

Stress and anxiety—our finances, interpersonal relationships, jobs. Everything was suddenly at risk.

However, that didn’t stop each of us from trying to put a brave face on. We sucked it up and made an honest effort to find the silver lining in cancer. Certainly there was opportunity for personal growth, but at a cost oh so dear.

And then we discovered that the one really good thing to come from our disease was each other.

Since my diagnosis, I have had the privilege of knowing, interacting with and often growing quite close to an incredible assortment of extraordinary individuals. Brave, gracious, generous, kind, caring, fun. Lovely, lovely people who have made my life so much richer.

However, there is an obvious downside to falling in love with others who are battling cancer and that is the potential for heartbreak.

Last week the lung cancer community lost someone who had touched the hearts of many. Maybe it was her youth, the fact that she was a young wife and mother, or perhaps it was Elizabeth Dessureault’s radiant smile and outgoing personality that made her so appealing and accessible.

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Her passing took us each by surprise and the ripple of grief soon became a big wave. Shock and sadness turned to anger and for some, fear.

The truth is, you can have the best oncologist in the world (Elizabeth, like me, saw Dr. Shaw) and although your odds may be improved, the course of this disease remains ridiculously unpredictable.

It is all so very disheartening.

And yet. There is only one way to go and that is forward. You and me. Live and love some more. Because every moment is precious and no one is assured a tomorrow.