Feeling the Blues

I’m sort of through with my meltdown….maybe not entirely however I’m no longer crying.

I actually wrote a heart-felt, deeply personal post about my day, today, Saturday, which started out fine, just fine, and then declined into one of malaise, then malcontent, then anger bordering on rage……..the latter of which was precipitated by a WordPress glitch. I wrote a wonderful post on my iPhone, sitting outside on a chaise lounge next to Zolton, also on a chaise lounge.

Looking blue

It was a bittersweet time. Filled with photo-ops and reflections. And then POOF. It’s gone. Not auto-saved as it was promised to be by those invisible WordPress support people that come to the rescue 6 weeks after the fact.

My boys went to a Phillies game and I was left to my own devices, without much of a plan. I love that! But not today.

I started my day, around 1:30 pm (told you: I’m depressed), after reading a bunch of magazines while drinking coffee in the kitchen in my pajamas. I put on my sneakers and started out to my gym…to lift some weights…since I’ve been very, very weak these last few weeks.

Zolton picked up on the sneaker-part…a wardrobe item I loathe and will never be caught dead in unless I am going to exercise. Sidenote: When I was single if I ever met a guy wearing running shoes with jeans, he was immediately dismissed as geek. But I digress.

So Zolt knows that sneakers equate with movement and if he’s lucky he can redirect that movement from the gym to the road; from the television and weights and treadmill to that of the open road…..trees, weeds, wildlife and maybe another  occasional canine on the loose. These days, he usually gets whatever he wants.

Off we head, up the hill around the corner from our place. He is moving at a reasonable clip. I wonder if he is feeling the sadness I feel….the looming goodbye on the not-so-far-distant  horizon? How can he not? He can’t be feeling well. Cancer originating in the anal gland; moving into the pelvic cavity; lymph nodes; liver; both adrenal glands; both lungs and possibly brain. I’m not sure where the mammoth sized 9.8 cm (4-5 inch) mass which is blocking his femoral artery fits in this equation but it can’t be pretty. In fact, it’s probably going to be a cataclysmic disaster any day now. Hopefully, I won’t be alone.

As we press on, I call the vet-tech who works with the at-home-euthanasia-vet. I need to know when I should be intervening. They tell me that I will know. I’m not too sure. Where is the kindness in watching the sad look on your dog’s face every day?

Just not smiling much anymore…
…but I’m still aware

If it’s not severe pain, it is severe discomfort….perhaps a shared malaise….not too sure about much right now. I just don’t want him sad and uncomfortable and certainly not in pain (and NO! They don’t tell you when they are in pain until that pain is severe….they put up with a lot before they let you know it).

This vet-tech woman is a doll. She has empathy and time. She is listening…..until I lose it. Some jackass on a tractor mowing his dumb lawn is freaking out at me because, in my distraction, in my grief, I didn’t notice Zolt was taking a whiz on his lawn. And when I say “lawn,” this is Bucks County, Pennsylvania. There are farms and estates set way off the roads. There are pebbles and weeds along the road where dogs go to the bathroom. I never once thought of bringing a clean-up bag out here in the country. No one does. So Zolton had to take a pee. And we all know that #2 likely succeeds #1, so LOOK OUT. He throws his arms up. I yell, “…sorry, but he didn’t do anything…and he’s got cancer and dying!” Like that would mean something to such a neanderthal!!! And do you know what this moron says: He calls me a f**king whore!” Yes. That’s right. I actually live within a mile of such a low-life! “You F**king Whore,” he says to me. I’m honestly flabbergasted. So is the woman on the other end of the phone who hears my line of defense. And so, likely, is Zolton, the poor angel that is on steroids and pain meds and feels like shit.

I’m now rattled. I can’t accomplish much this fine day. I can’t focus and get paperwork done. I don’t feel like watching a movie or reading just yet. I want to clean up my desk but I just can’t direct my attention anywhere. I start a DOGBOOK Facebook page for Zolton, The Wonder dog. Friend him. Friend us.

Zolton wants to go out so I decide to join him with a glass of wine and a magazine. We head out to our pool which isn’t really open. I mean, it’s the northeast and it’s only the middle of April. I grab two chaise cushions, one for me, one for Zolt, and I start writing a blog entry on my phone.

I’ve already told you how this ends.

Now I’m crying. I am becoming unglued. I wonder if anyone else can relate? I’d love to hear from you.


One thought on “Feeling the Blues

  1. Hi, Melissa:
    Across the country I extend my thoughts, sympathies, and prayers to you on a day, and series of days, that are filled with grey drizzly rain, haziness, a darkness it is difficult to see or get through
    One time, after the death of someone very dear to me, I was driving to the sounds of Peabo Bryson’s “Can You Stop the Rain?” and I was stopped by the line of, “I’d give anything to see the sun again.”
    Yes, I thought. It’s been rainy for a long time. I want to see the sun. Even at the time I knew that that wasn’t going to happen anytime soon, but for a brief moment, as if the sun were peeking through the clouds, I saw what it would be like when the sun came out again. It would be good.
    The sun will come out again. It may be awhile. But just knowing that the possibility exists got me through a lot of grey days.
    On another note, I am amazed and impressed that you can create a blog on your phone. I can’t even imagine doing that. I do know, however, what it feels like to have your electronically written essay disappear — poof — because of a very brief brown out. Empathy on that.

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