Unexpected revelation

OK darling ones, so I’m in South America, in Home Country A, visiting family and friends.

I had mixed feelings about coming here. Didn’t really want to do it. Too many memories I didn’t feel like exploring, too many people of my past I didn’t want to mess with.  But I wanted to see my grandma and one very pregnant best friend. So I came, even though I was too afraid of things, to sensitive to deal with it all.

36 hours into being here, I even had a really stressful night that ended in a way I didn’t want to and which had me on the verge on a panic attack (thanks, Fabulous! for being there at 4am). It brought  back all the insecurities, all the stupidity. It had me feeling one thing: I didn’t really want to be here.

Yet, in the past two days, things have found a balance. I am reminded of how much I like it here, how much I cherish the good memories I have.  Lots of that has to do with the fact that  *certain* people who cause me discomfort are not here and I’ve  mostly  been hanging out with those closest and truest to me.

This is a surprise. I didn’t expect to feel this comfortable, this… OK with this place.

Make no mistake. This doesn’t mean I want to move back here. It’s just that I … I thought I was done with this place, all that it meant and all it reminded me of.

Apparently not so. We’ll see.  Strangely enough, I’m at peace with it. Will post more about all this later in the week.

Apologies if this is rambly. I just have no better words for it.

Protected: Confessions

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Protected: Suck on this

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Resolutions and Security breach

I’ve decided to make it my commitment to write here daily starting in May.

However….

The anonimity and security of this blog has potentially been breached. Because of it, I’m considering password protecting the whole thing, not just posts.

However…

I think that if I password protect the whole blog, it won’t update to your feeds, and you will have to manually come see if something’s new.

So. I will investigate and, if feeds still work, you, faithful readers, will have to get a WordPress account to log in and read the posts.

If feeds get stuck, then I will just password protect every single post, like I’ve been doing so far. Thing is… do I want to retroactively password protect almost three years worth of posts? Ugh!

Email me if you want the password. I know who is a faithful reader and therefore will allow you in. I don’t think I have lurkers, so I think pretty much everyone who reads, I know, but still.

Protected: In Memoriam

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I’ve been walking in your steps

It came to me one day in Mexico City while we were walking out of the metro. Dad was in front of me and I could see that he walks a little crooked and wears out one half of his shoe soles more than he does the other. I do the same.

Realizing that brought me back to the many discussions dad and I had in the past about how much I resemble my mom. Back then I would argue how I resemble him too and I would make lists to prove it. They were futile and I eventually gave up telling him about them. We no longer engage in those discussions, I think mostly because we have learned how to accept each other and love each other as we are, and because I do think he sees a lot of him in me, even though he will never tell me.

I do keep the lists of things in my head though. I think it helps me patch over the years in which I lived away from him. When I was little we were attached at the hip. We would go to soccer games together, eat corn on the cob on the side of the highway and have contests as to who could lick the yogurt cup faster. Over the years, I always wondered how I would have turned out had he been a part of my teenage years. How my life would’ve been had he had a say on where I should go to college or what I should major in. Most of the time, I just sigh those thoughts away. I can’t go back in time and for better or for worse, I am where I am and I am who I am.

Sometimes, though, I do wonder. Times like that in the metro, when I saw him walking.  I thought, “there it is: physical proof of how I resemble him.” And I wondered how else, had things been different, I would be like him. He never got to advise me on what to major in or where to do it. We never sat and talked about boys and how mean they were to me. He never got the chance to grumble at how low a pant was or how high a skirt went. We never had that. But we have today and we have those ten first years.

They say that your most formative time is from zero to seven years of age. If that’s true, then I got whatever I needed to get from him. If it’s genetic, then he was always there. However, most of things that make me truly me, I think both parents can claim as their own. Love of cooking? Both. Love to read? Both. Love for culture and the arts? Both. Being an independent, opinionated and strong woman? Both. Love to travel and meet other cultures? Both. Being curious about stuff and having a do-it-yourself attitude? Both.

I think no matter how much dad hates mom, he knows deep inside she did a good job raising me.  There are, of course, things in which I am more like one than the other. It can’t be helped. But today, sitting in his living room, listening to classical music and listening to him breathe deeply as he reads a history book, I’m coming to realize that it no longer matters.

I am me. Whole me. Eco-friendly, sunscreen wearing, tofu eating, ranchera-loving, cake baking, occasional pearl wearing, dog loving me, potty mouthed, steak loving, walking crooked, scared shitless of countless things me.

Finally, after so many years of struggling, I think I’m beginning to accept me.

Catatonic

I leave on Saturday to see my dad. It’s my “My dog died, I cannot be here and need to be hugged urgently” trip. When I come back, there’s a move. I’m supposed to leave the stuff ready so I can make my life easier when I come back. Does anyone want to help me pack and sort through a bunch of crap that I have been carrying along since Texas and I refuse to drag one more time?

Can anybody give me a shot of energy?

Anything?

I feel so alone.

Getting his wings

Last Friday my little four-legged angel went up to heaven.

I can imagine how it was when he got there and started chasing squirrells and barking at pigeons. I can imagine him now, sticking his head out of a cloud to sneak a peek at me, rolling over on his back for God to scratch him on his belly and asking Him to send me good things now that I am lonely. I can picture his black pointy ears up, looking at the sunset, sitting next to my grandpa, who is also up there. I can picture a day when I see him again and can hug him forever.

I want to write a longer, more heartfelt memoriam for him, but I can’t tonight. Tonight the battery in the laptop is almost dead, tonight it’s late, but mostly tonight I feel sad, lonely and emotionally flattened and I want to write about him as he always was: happy. So tonight’s not the night.

I know it sounds pathetic, but it seems unreal. I still cannot believe it.

State of affairs

Here’s where things are.

We spent the weekend taking it easy. I fed him some of the veterinarian-only sold special food for tummy troubles and created a chart for his medication. First he was a reluctant eater, then his appetite developed a bit more and he started eating his full serving. He also was still obsessed with water, so I held it off a bit, giving him only ¼ cup every half hour or hour. Then he peed like crazy, but it was working.  I stayed home on Monday and he was fine. Other than acting tired, he was his usual self, giving me kisses and rolling over on his back for a tummy rub.

On Tuesday I left him with a cup of water and went to work. When he came back he had vomited and peed all over the kitchen floor (not just on the little mats I provided). After talking to the vet tech we decided to wait and see, as I had the suspicion that the vomiting was due to his water intake (he could drink 2 cups easy in one sitting).  Sure enough, while I was home he didn’t vomit and drank his little bits of water no problem.

Yesterday (Wednesday) morning he pooped and there was much celebration as it was his first poop in 4 days. Hooray! I left him with only ¼ c of water this time, and ice cubes on another bowl, with the idea that he would have to wait for them to thaw. When I came home later, he had vomited again, but this time had eaten it again (dogs, I tell you. Kings of recycling).

At 6pm we had an appointment. After getting checked out, the doctor said he didn’t seem in much discomfort, but that he was dehydrated (!). I told her about the obsessive drinking, massive peeing and occasional vomiting due to the H2O. She ran some blood work to see if the pancreatitis had left the pancreas battered and therefore diabetes had developed. The result:  his kidney and diabetes panels were good. It just seems like a side-effect from the pancreatitis, which he is still recovering from. So I was sent home with an anti-nausea med and some fluids to give him subcutaneously.

You read that right. Under the skin. I had to learn how to plug him in to an IV bag and all. It’s not as bad as it sounds and he’s a trooper who took it in with only minimal fussing.

The vet said that the recovery for this is very slow, if it happens at all. Many patients never leave the hospital, so the fact that he pulled through is good, but his prognosis is still “guarded”. His other blood work results showed he was no better, no worse. Just the same as when he left the hospital on Friday night. She also said that because the recovery is so slow, “it can take time for the liver and pancreas enzyme levels to go down”.  Then we also talked about his other issues. How the pancreatitis is upsetting his liver, which is already upset by the anti-seizure med. The fluids I am giving can hurt the heart. So I mustered courage and asked the vet point-blank what I was looking at in terms of time and results.

She said that he could have “two months, six months, a year, or surprise us all by living long”. But she could not tell me with certainty he would live “years and years”. She mentioned that the combination of symptoms and issues was not good and that if, in two weeks he hasn’t shown improvement or cannot be without the meds, we will pretty much… be done.

So there it is. The next two weeks are it.  After I went through last week, I know in my heart I will not push him. It’s no quality of life to be poked once a day for fluids and have to take 6 different pills to just be OK. I will do it for these next two weeks to give him a chance to get better. But as I told him last night, he is the boss and he will decide.

It sucks to know all this, to write it, to know that in two weeks I could be saying good-bye. But I love him more than anything else on this planet and I owe him as much.

I’m no longer praying for healing. I think that is selfish. I’m praying for what’s best for him. I ask that you do the same.

This sucks.

Home, sweet home

My dog, the sweetest, best dog I know, is also one tough little fighter who came home today. We are still not out of the woods yet, but God willing he will continue to improve.

On behalf of him -and me, of course- I wanted to thank you guys for your support, concern, prayers and love. I felt super loved this week. It as also very helpful to be able to pour my thoughts and fears on this blog and know that you guys would not judge me but love us and support us.

So thanks. With all of our hearts.

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