PJ does MLB
Saturday, November 25, 2006
Monday, September 25, 2006
Thursday, June 22, 2006
Tuesday, June 20, 2006
Lucy ~ April 1999 - February 21, 2006
Poor Lucy, it occured to me today that it's been four months since she died and I haven't posted her tribute yet. As you can see from the too-many tributes I've posted in the past year - and especially in the past six months - it's been a trying time here at Poppy Hill. January and February were the worst two months of my life so far. As if Guinness passing away on Jan. 9 was not enough, Wyatt died less than a month later on February 4 and then Lucy died on February 21.
I've already told the stories of Guin and the Earp, so here's Lucy's story. She was Henry's sister - they were two of five kittens I bottle-raised from ten days old. Henry died suddenly back in Nov. 05, still don't know why but my educated guess is that it was his heart.
I noticed that Lucy didn't seem quite right about a month before she died. She'd always been perfectly healthy. Long story short, she turned out to have multiple-cavity (chest and abdomen) carcinoma. Basically one of the worst kinds of malignancies, and no treatment worth pursuing (unless you're into torturing your pet to maybe wring out a few more weeks or months with them, which I'm most definitely not - I'd go to the ends of the earth to help my animals but only when it is in THEIR best interest, not mine, as hard as that can be sometimes).
So....she lived and she died. She was an awesome cat. Not fair that she got such a bad disease at such a young age.
Lucy and Miltie, another of the bottle babies
Poor Lucy, it occured to me today that it's been four months since she died and I haven't posted her tribute yet. As you can see from the too-many tributes I've posted in the past year - and especially in the past six months - it's been a trying time here at Poppy Hill. January and February were the worst two months of my life so far. As if Guinness passing away on Jan. 9 was not enough, Wyatt died less than a month later on February 4 and then Lucy died on February 21.
I've already told the stories of Guin and the Earp, so here's Lucy's story. She was Henry's sister - they were two of five kittens I bottle-raised from ten days old. Henry died suddenly back in Nov. 05, still don't know why but my educated guess is that it was his heart.
I noticed that Lucy didn't seem quite right about a month before she died. She'd always been perfectly healthy. Long story short, she turned out to have multiple-cavity (chest and abdomen) carcinoma. Basically one of the worst kinds of malignancies, and no treatment worth pursuing (unless you're into torturing your pet to maybe wring out a few more weeks or months with them, which I'm most definitely not - I'd go to the ends of the earth to help my animals but only when it is in THEIR best interest, not mine, as hard as that can be sometimes).
So....she lived and she died. She was an awesome cat. Not fair that she got such a bad disease at such a young age.
Lucy and Miltie, another of the bottle babies
Wednesday, April 05, 2006
Tuesday, March 14, 2006
A weird week
Monday, January 30:
Get up at 4 am to get Wyatt to Santa Rosa by 6 am for an MRI. Get really bad news and bring Wyatt home, I am devastated. The crew at home doesn't even get to have breakfast til noon.
Tuesdsay, January 31:
Get up at 4:30 am to get to work by 8 am for a vidcon. Surreal. Also have 1:1 meeting with one of my bosses, he asks how my dog is and I promptly burst into tears. He is kind and offers me a kleenex, a hug and comforting words. I somehow manage to pull my shit together and carry on with the meeting. How professional of me.
Wednesday, February 1:
Stay home with Wyatt. Relish that he is here with me and agonize over the decision I know I will need to make soon.
Thursday, February 2:
Back at work for more meetings. Must have cried at least three times today in front of co-workers. Said I had "problems at home." Left early and got a call as I was driving home from a good friend I work with. He said he understood I was headed home because of a problem with one of my dogs and that his heart went out to me. He said, "go take care of your family." I cried some more.
Friday, February 3 :
Wyatt had a bad night despite good pain meds on board. Stayed home again. I decided that today had to be the day I would let him go. But then I gave him an extra special cocktail of narcotics and he slept soundly. I chickened out feeling like a big loser that I could not do right by my friend.
Saturday, February 4:
Another bad night for Wyatt after the extra special cocktail wore off. Feeling guilty and selfish that I had made him endure another bad bout of pain, I promised him that I would make the pain go away forever today. Gave him more good drugs, spent the day with him wishing he could live forever. Let him go around 8 pm. Hardest thing I've ever done in my life.
Sunday, February 5:
Took Wyatt to be cremated. What a fucked up thing to have to do.
Other random thoughts about the recent past:
Sitting on a conference call the morning after Guinness died hoping nobody would want me to say anything. Wondering why I even dialed in.
Trying to grieve the loss of Guinness and trying to face the impending loss of Wyatt so close together was really hard. Grieving the loss of both of them within a month just plain sucks.
The process of diagnosing Wyatt's cancer was hard too. Constant pain, me always telling him that this next trip to the vet would provide answers so we could help him...the constant progression of worries each worse....the worry of arthritis gave way to the worry of a blown cruciate, which gave way to the reality of untreatable cancer. Never thought I'd be wishing for a fucking blown out knee. Funny how what you once thought would be the worst news in the world turns into something you so wish were the case.
Trying to have professional conversations w/ co-workers etc. while sitting on the floor comforting Wyatt so he would not cry in pain.
Hating that I had to leave him even for one day ever, especially after I learned he was dying. How could I go to work when I knew I only had days left with him?
Coming to terms with the cold reality that after seven years of miraculous living in the face of bad disease that his time was finally coming to an end.
Saying "we have to do it now"
Bless you my dear Earp.
Monday, January 30:
Get up at 4 am to get Wyatt to Santa Rosa by 6 am for an MRI. Get really bad news and bring Wyatt home, I am devastated. The crew at home doesn't even get to have breakfast til noon.
Tuesdsay, January 31:
Get up at 4:30 am to get to work by 8 am for a vidcon. Surreal. Also have 1:1 meeting with one of my bosses, he asks how my dog is and I promptly burst into tears. He is kind and offers me a kleenex, a hug and comforting words. I somehow manage to pull my shit together and carry on with the meeting. How professional of me.
Wednesday, February 1:
Stay home with Wyatt. Relish that he is here with me and agonize over the decision I know I will need to make soon.
Thursday, February 2:
Back at work for more meetings. Must have cried at least three times today in front of co-workers. Said I had "problems at home." Left early and got a call as I was driving home from a good friend I work with. He said he understood I was headed home because of a problem with one of my dogs and that his heart went out to me. He said, "go take care of your family." I cried some more.
Friday, February 3 :
Wyatt had a bad night despite good pain meds on board. Stayed home again. I decided that today had to be the day I would let him go. But then I gave him an extra special cocktail of narcotics and he slept soundly. I chickened out feeling like a big loser that I could not do right by my friend.
Saturday, February 4:
Another bad night for Wyatt after the extra special cocktail wore off. Feeling guilty and selfish that I had made him endure another bad bout of pain, I promised him that I would make the pain go away forever today. Gave him more good drugs, spent the day with him wishing he could live forever. Let him go around 8 pm. Hardest thing I've ever done in my life.
Sunday, February 5:
Took Wyatt to be cremated. What a fucked up thing to have to do.
Other random thoughts about the recent past:
Sitting on a conference call the morning after Guinness died hoping nobody would want me to say anything. Wondering why I even dialed in.
Trying to grieve the loss of Guinness and trying to face the impending loss of Wyatt so close together was really hard. Grieving the loss of both of them within a month just plain sucks.
The process of diagnosing Wyatt's cancer was hard too. Constant pain, me always telling him that this next trip to the vet would provide answers so we could help him...the constant progression of worries each worse....the worry of arthritis gave way to the worry of a blown cruciate, which gave way to the reality of untreatable cancer. Never thought I'd be wishing for a fucking blown out knee. Funny how what you once thought would be the worst news in the world turns into something you so wish were the case.
Trying to have professional conversations w/ co-workers etc. while sitting on the floor comforting Wyatt so he would not cry in pain.
Hating that I had to leave him even for one day ever, especially after I learned he was dying. How could I go to work when I knew I only had days left with him?
Coming to terms with the cold reality that after seven years of miraculous living in the face of bad disease that his time was finally coming to an end.
Saying "we have to do it now"
Bless you my dear Earp.
Sunday, February 05, 2006
Wyatt Earp
December 1995 ~ February 4, 2006
My heart is broken, my boy is gone.
Yesterday, I did the one final thing I could do to help my Wyatt. He was ten years old, and after seven years of doing amazingly well in the face of chronic active hepatitis, he was diganosed with nerve sheath tumors with spinal involvement after an MRI trying to figure out why he was in pain.
Prognosis was grave and options were horrid - amputation, laminectomy and intensive daily radiation therapy for a month was basically the only treatment option to consider and that would get me maybe three or six months more with him. After all he's been through, and how brave he has been for his whole life, I couldn't put him through that - I had asked enough of this dog and he had always answered with joy and love. I needed to let him go.
So after the MRI, I brought him home and got busy with super duper narcotic pain management. Sadly, even with lots of good drugs on board he still had much pain. I knew what I was doing was palliative but I just wanted a little more time with him.
By Friday, I knew that I had to let him go. I nearly did it that day but after an extra special drug cocktail he slept soundly and I couldn't go through with it. Later in the night and into the morning, he experienced a great deal more pain and as I gave him more drugs I promised him that I'd make it stop hurting forever.
So we had Saturday together and my friend Halle came over around 6:30 p.m. to help me euthanize him. It was the hardest thing I've ever had to do. I would give anything to have my Wyatt here, healthy and happy. But knowing that he was in such pain and knowing that, barring a real true live miracle, the kind of miracle that makes cancer disappear, he was not going to get better.
I miss my Wyatt Earp and I can't imagine how I'm going to get by without him. Today has been a big horrible empty hole of a day and I feel like that's all there's going to be. I know time will make this easier but today is just awful.
Wyatt Earp,
Small Jemal,
Bling,
Earple,
Mommy loves you and will see you again.
Tuesday, January 10, 2006
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