I had a tough week, there will not be any pictures of the hard parts

The fall rains have come
All grey awashed, storm ridden
The road has gone under

Lotus flower
Your boat is launched
I set you free

It has been a really hard week for me professionally and personally. That is all I can say, really. As many of my generation do, allow me this quote from the Princess Bride: "life IS pain, Highness."

I found myself silent the last week. I have not written for my blog or created anything. I had to stop and evaluate. Something had to change. It was time.

Several people have told me recently that I was a catalyst for change in their lives. One lady, a kind and thoughtful member of the cat rescue community, told me "you know you sent me on this path? You know that, don't you?" I did not realize, but do acknowledge that I indeed did guide her in that direction. I was profoundly touched. This was the day before I left my office one last time.

My thoughts ran "If I can be a catalyst for positive change in others, why can I not change my own life?" And so I did.

I decided to quit working as an office manager this week. I left the office behind. It was tough, really, so hard that I do not even yet have words to describe it. I had worked there about 18 years. I am aware that my years with the doctors were the longest relationship of my life, other than my biological family and my reenactment family. I guess the doctors and long-term staff were my "third" family. But it was time to say good bye.

There are few things I have ever done that were harder. It had to be.

I left the office for the last time as an employee on Thursday. Today is Sunday. I am still finding I have a tendency to think of the middle of next week as taken up by "work." My life will need a need pattern, a frame work, structure.

I guess this is where the second half begins. A play of two acts, the curtain fell on Act I, now the curtain rises on Act II. I wonder what will happen? And I hope the set designer and play wright are both good.

I leave my reader with some photos of the truest companions I could know in this life time:

Yes, cats, my cats

And my dogs. I am coming to believe that we incarnate, some of us, on purpose to experience love, pure love. And sometimes loyal truest love can only be given by a dog.

Indy, Professor Jones, my sweetheart

Torvald a' Bigbootee, my husband's heart dog

And Kona, the Queen Bee, our "Nugget of Evil"

State Director Program - ACA

State Director Program - Overview - ACA | Canoe - Kayak - SUP - Raft - Rescue

I really considered this and am still thinking about it. I feel well qualified for this position. I would propose using meetup to inform people and boost participation. I believe this can be done by using meetup's enormous member base. I think it is especially useful when getting volunteers together for clean ups, etc.

The reasons I didn't apply mainly have to do with time and money. While I can afford the time for a position that pays me something I cannot afford the time for a position that does not. Sadly, my art has suffered neglect as I pursue my dream of learning to make my kayak dance. This level of learning has severley impacted the time I have to paint and make. If I cannot make time to paint then I must enforce the rule that I cannot make time to volunteer, either.

And then, I am only working part time and actually need to be working more but with business being slow at the clinic I cannot take any more hours. If and when there are more hours I will be taking them. This will reduce the number of hours I can spend in my kayak. But at this point in our evolving plan to leave the area making money is really very important. Very much so.

So I must sadly let this position pass. I think the application process closed around the 15th April. But I had a big dream for it. Time and money aside, I could have done so much for the ACA. Maybe next time. There may always be another chance.

I am awake and a bit afraid

I wrote this post during the night some time ago when I couldn't sleep. It's sat around in the queue for some few weeks. I am not sure if it sounds wimpy or whiny. But I finally decided I would post it. Yeah, I am engaged in a battle to be healthy. I do not want to be taking handfuls of pills for the rest of my life. Palliating my problems with medications only masks the symptoms, not cures the underlying problem.

So here it is, almost the "full Monty," the details of what haunts my nights:

I wake up in pain and having weird tremors and other symptoms fairly regularly. Sometimes I lay awake for hours with sheets of fire running down my arms.

Bad shit has been going down for years but I never really have had the opportunity to talk about it. The broken neck, hysterectomy, and hip surgeries were just incidental to a well-worn body of a woman, mother, and stick fighter. It's the creeping neurological symptoms that terrify me. I don't need sympathy, because I'm pretty tough, but finding myself accepted by the ladies in my old reenactment unit was heart-warming. Sometimes I need shelter.

My bad stuff, you don't have to read further but I feel the need to say it:

My original symptoms started with my colon and bladder. They were getting mixed signals, and eventually my colon just stopped doing its job. It doesn't receive signals from my nervous system anymore. I'll spare you the details. My bladder is still getting signals but they are crazy mixed up. These two issues resulted in a massive tear in the tissue between my colon and vagina. The side of my colon fell through my vagina and... I can draw you a diagram in person if you are that interested. Of course, my coworkers were so interested, right after the doctors diagnosed the rectocele, there I was in the treatment area drawing diagrams for them on the white board. Veterinary people are a funny breed.

Oh, and jokes on me: the mesh they used to repair the tear is the one that's been recalled. My surgeon still won't give me my records. I'm sure he is fearing a lawsuit but in his favor, I have other worries.

Sometimes, like right now, I am scared. My newest symptoms relate to my ability to talk. I will have trouble talking suddenly, episodes that last 30 minutes or so. These are typically preceded by distinct paresthesis in my tongue. Knowing I am waiting until December to see my neurologist is just ramping up my anxiety.

(Update: Amazing to me but the "wait list" paid off in my neurologist's office and I got a call one evening for a mid-day opening the next day. Great luck! Turns out my doctor thinks the "marble mouth" thing is caused by nerve entrapment, possibly scar tissue from either the broken neck or the surgery to fuse and plate the neck. Ah. Okay, now I have a forming plan to go back to Dr Chow, my sports chiropractor, and see if we can do Active Release Therapy on my shoulders and neck. Maybe I can get this one thing fixed. And so now I find myself less afraid, better armed against this new enemy.)

Hey, I can type and I can paddle, and paint. At least for now. I have already lost some ability to do fine detail on my paintings so my style is evolving to "Impressionism." No one needs to know it's because I can't do the detailing anymore. I have thought of drafting my son to do some detailing for me. It's worth revisiting if he ever recovers from his own problems. And I might regain some abilities that were lost. It seems nothing is certain and I have no firm diagnosis. Peripheral neuropathy, interstitial cystitis, dis-functional colon, foot dropsy (don't remember the correct term), degenerative disc disease... maybe there won't ever be one name or over all diagnosis. (Update, I got a new one to add to the list: Myofacial Pain Syndrome. In reading up on it I understand it is more of a symptom than a disease in and of itself. I think, in the end, that my body makes a lot of scar tissue anytime it is challenged with a physical assault. Unfortunately the scar tissue can be a problem in and of itself.)

And here I am today. Editing photos and blogging and wishing I was paddling instead. See, sh*t ain't so bad!

Been thinking about my friend Pat

Bear with me while I wander about my neural synopses for a  moment.

And so my friend Pat has been on my mind a lot. I found him dead from a heart attack the morning of September 22, 2010. He was laying face down in his backyard. I still see his body when I close my eyes sometimes, just in a flash, a beautiful fall day but the harsh sunlight falling on him, unfiltered by the large oaks on the edge of his yard... While the event was unfolding I kept thinking "this isn't real," and the memory of finding him still feels unreal to me. It plays out like a film. Someone else's memory.

I wrote this last year: "I can sometimes be found working at a vet hospital. It's not a "calling" or a "vocation," it's more like an unpleasant pastime that pays the bills. Please don't get me wrong, I love working with animals." The first part of this statement was an untruth, not real, born out of a desire to distance myself from my real life. One must accept that sometimes the truth of what I do for a living haunts me; is so painful I must create distance to avoid losing my fruit completely.

What I do to earn money is, in fact, a vocation, one that I am as dedicated to as some priests are to their chosen religion. One of the doctors I worked with in the past said once that, should anyone question her religion, that she would say seriously with a straight face "I worship the cat." I thought she was being a bit kooky, but now I believe she was on to something.

I don't worship the cat but I do honor the relationship we have with our pets as though it is my religion. It is the single driving force that keeps me working in field of veterinary medicine. The reason I keep returning to this and to the thoughts of Pat is this: Pat LOVED cats and so it naturally combines with this second thought about something I read recently; that a satisfying way to honor a deceased loved one is to strive to be more like them. To find the best part of that person, the part we found most good, and work to display that same goodness.

My friend Pat would help anyone he knew out. He lived to help, I truly think it's what he enjoyed most about life; being needed. And he was so needed, but I never told him so. If there are two things I learned about losing him the first is: the next time someone tells me something is killing them more than once, I am going to take that thing away from them. In Pat's case it was a total re-do of his roof, he stripped it down to the studs and was rebuilding it. But the project just kept taking longer and longer, it stretched into 6 months and he kept telling me "this roof is gonna kill me, kiddo," and I guess it did. The other thing I learned is that I am very bad at telling people how important they are to me, and that I can fix.

This morning I hugged my husband and told him sincerely how very much I love him and how very lucky I feel.

Today would be Pat's birthday. I do believe that Pat remains, in some part, Pat, even on the other side. It is not necessary to be incarnate in order to be one's self. I do believe. So, in Pat's honor I will stroke the office cat even longer today, and I will truly endeavor to be a better person, more like Pat. I will make myself more available to people in need, in order to offer help.

As I collected Pat's cats and found them homes, and helped his distant family manage the details, I said to several people "Pat called in every favor I owed him." I believe those two weeks after his death took several years off the length of my life. But I am truly grateful that I was there to help Pat when he needed me. And that's part of honoring him; that I was there to help, and was needed.

I love you Pat, where ever you are. Happy Birthday.

Had a birthday

Some how I thought I'd be more upset by my recent birthday. I'm not yet at the half-century mark but encroaching steadily. I did okay, better than I expected. Evidence I am slowing down, went to quiet mid-afternoon dinner with the husband and then came home to a quiet house, played with the dogs, snuggled the cats. I fell asleep listening to spotify (my present to myself) at a reasonable hour none-the-less.

I really like where I am at this moment. Yeah, I got some not-great things in the offing, but I am psychically comfortable and pretty happy. The husband and I adjusted the household expenses to allow me to work outside the house less. This experiment is only in its third week but so far so good. I especially needed more time to devote to healing and less on making money.

I spent a fair amount of time worrying about my job but am trying to focus more on personal growth and health now. Money is great, especially when you are getting ready to crest that hill, but why focus on retirement when you might not be around to enjoy it? Coming out of this is also having more time to paint and make stuff, something I really love and find personally very fulfilling.

"Steal like an artist," have you heard that phrase? A friend showed me a photo of a quilt she is working on. And I will, a bit, thieve from her idea. From one crafter's idea another idea grows in another crafter's brain. It reminds me of the way some house grown orchids put out bloom spikes one growing off another. From one flower another blooms. It feels like a sweet idea. I am good with it. And can use the time I am now at home to work on it.

Here's to winter's end, around the corner, and a year of fulfillment for both of us.

More surgery. Yay.

Talked to the surgeon, that's that, my right labrum has a full-thickness tear. It's as shredded as the other was before surgery. I also picked up a good case of bilateral bursitis as well, just to mix things up. No wonder nothing feels right down there. More surgery. Great. Can you hear the lack of enthusiasm just dripping?

As you might imagine, I am having a really tough time holding it together now. Things like paddling trips and bike rides are high points in an otherwise miserable pain-soaked existence. I am even having a hard time finding funny cat memes to post on my employer's facebook page, which I maintain as part of my job. I think my sense of humor crawled out back and died. It's rotting away in the mulch pile with the summer grass clippings as I type.

None the less, I am digging around for something funny to say. Oh, hey! The Lorax quit drinking around Christmas. He hasn't slept well in years and I swear a couple of drinks will give me insomnia. So he stopped and actually started sleeping better. Anyway, we were at our outdoor club's happy hour and he told the waitress not to bring him a beer. So she didn't. Later he ordered one and she said "oh, have you quit quitting already?" with a big smile. And it was funny. Yeah, okay, that was a stretch. Maybe I'll come up with something funny later.

Thanks giving and all of that

Sometimes you have to say goodbye. And it sucks.

I can sometimes be found working at a vet hospital. It's not a "calling" or a "vocation," it's more like an unpleasant pastime that pays the bills. Please don't get me wrong, I love working with animals. The people, not so much. I am lucky in that I am still employed despite the truly atrocious economy. And that I am employed despite being a middle-aged plump female of middling health.

Don't laugh, you have no idea how lucky I am. Or maybe you do? Maybe your Aunt Edna lost her job when her company office downsized and she can't get re-employed to save her life. Now she's living in her geriatric parents' sun room, working at Walmart part-time just to pay for her car note and food. This is, all kidding aside, exactly the fate of many 40 & 50-something aged gals.

The incoming young people, fresh faced and right out of college, look so much more appealing to the HR department. I know, I AM the HR department at my place of employ. And it's not like I am some lecherous creep. I just foresee less management problems with the younger crowd. Although, come to think of it, one of my teenaged coworkers called me at 9:45 last night, waking me from a sound sleep. She wanted to discuss more hours. Believe me, calling me at that hour is a sure way to get me to agree to anything just to get you off my phone. She's not stupid, that one.

But in the end, even despite the "Gen Y" peculiarities, I am saying I wouldn't hire myself, if there were a younger option.

Because I am still recovering from one surgery and getting ready for another I have a lot of time to think. I am thinking about where my life is going. And whether that's where I want to go. Do I really want to "keep fighting the good fight" with my clinic? Or would I rather be painting and starving? The painting and starving options might not be as bad as it seems. I need to lose some weight, and I need to get these ideas up on canvas so I can move on to other ideas. And make those happen next. Also, I need time to focus on getting healthy and stronger. I don't have much time between work & home duties.

My chiropractor said it would be a full-time job to fully recover in a year's time. He wants me to cook all this special food, and eat a very "clean" diet. Then, walk 4 plus miles a day, and fit in all the exercises both he and the physical therapist have prescribed. And resume cycling, etc.

And where does that leave me-time? Me as in painting, and knitting, braiding, sewing, making...? I am not getting any less tired, that's for sure. So here's my Sunday after Turkey Day blog. Lamentable as always, an Eyore for sure. And on that sad note, a last photo taken by me of one of my all time favorite patients:

Good bye Max. We will never forget you.