"Wednesday, December 26th. Christmas: The Day After"

' Wednesday, December 26th. Christmas: The Day After '

Wednesday, December 26, 2012

 

 

 

To my ever dear, and dearest friends; and constant, kind, and loyal readers,

 

 

I

 

This was to be my considered assessment of, ' Christmas: the day after ', as I think it a most profound assay of our long-hoped-for dreams and expectations leading to a single week of often stark reality, wherein all imagined thoughts ( some yearlong in making ), were to be answered in just two days.

 

 

It is not New Year's yet; there remains--still--a slight, but real hurry to attend to all that was the year just passed, (and of shaking it from us like the briefest dusting of snow that clings to coats, upon one’s return to the warmth of home ), and--ancient, and pagan revelry made modern--turn thoughts to a looking forward, of sorts, to seek perhaps a kinder, and more prosperous time; the continued safety of true friends, and loved ones; of wishing, somehow, that we be will be different Selves, and--of course--a most legitimate desire to feel better and—somehow—to be in less pain.

 

 

II

 

It is, of course, too early to even think of 'resolutions', especially if, today, we are at least moderately happy, still well-fed, and in, thank God, some lessened pain.

 

 

 

Perhaps is not the day to even think of things, but rather, let the mind relax in thinking dire thoughts; too early, then, to give thanks for just surviving the soon-ending year still yet before us.

 

 

III

 

And so...I shall not over burden you with 'shoulds', and 'woulds', and 'coulds', for there is plenty of time for that later; I would not, for all my heart, presume to divest you of your delights and joys; of much-loved children playing with their toys. And, of tired, and quiet adults ( many still in sleepwear) sitting at your table drinking coffee, in an exhausted, but somehow satisfied mood, discussing plans of going home, and sharing muted expectations for the coming year.

 

 

IV

 

I would not try to take that from you, as it is Life, such as we are allowed to know it. The house may be a wreck, with dishes--maybe--in the sink; still burning bright your tree, and with its dwindling power to suspend a plain and--yes, painful--contemplation of the year before.

 

 

V

 

Today is NOT the day to think of pain; of too much debt, and bills yet to be paid; I beg you, stay a while in lambent dreams, tired as they may be: for, for a too-brief while, you knew a happiness, and if you but only now consider it, an ember of that love remains.

 

 

 

 

VI

 

Should you have hosted visitors, and counted grandchildren among them, their laughing innocence proudly represents your legacy to an uncertain world; too soon they must--as all adults must be--' responsible ', so let them full enjoy their childhood, as, in doing so, you will make sweet memories that, in later years, will sustain you both, for it is then, that they are most needed.

 

 

VII

 

Along the 'bell curve' spectrum of circumstance, and necessity, and custom, there will be those for whom the 26th represents a ' Christmas cleansing '; by now, provided that they even ' put' up trees, have stripped them of their gaudy splendor: for who--indeed--wants to have to vacuum dead needles in the carpet.  Many have to return to work, and so, all the lights come down, are boxed, and put away. The presents  (what there was of them ), have been ' installed' ( as they usually are the ' practical kind ' ), where they shall remain, and, all the scraps of littered, pretty paper have long-since been picked up, and along with the boxes that the gifts came in, are relegated, without a second's glance, out to the trash. And by tomorrow--at the very latest--any furniture that was temporarily moved has been returned to where they have been for years. And Christmas has been surgically and efficiently removed, until no trace of it remains whatsoever.

 

 

VIII

 

Then there are those--perhaps, much like myself--for whom this Christmas was but a twin to last year: quiet, singularly without moment ( except what I could 'make' myself feel ), spend at home, alone with dog; in many ways, I knew it must--somehow--be special, different, yet, it was not really; just another weekend passed.

 

No visitors, no passing children singing carols; not when, the children that DO live around, take inventory as the pass; and often, what they cannot steal, they imply break...or...set of fire ( its true ). No neighbors came to call, no thoughtful plates of food were brought; I understand, as early off they drove, that they have filial concerns of their own, and I no longer figure into that holiday equation.

 

 

Oh, yes, two friends called me on the telephone: so briefly were their wishes, that I could not help but gather that their cell phone plans charged them an hundred dollars-a-Christmas-minute; it was more like a duty, that when dispatched, is done.

 

I was truly grateful, and humbled to receive such wonderfully thoughtful gifts from two of my dearest friends at MDJunction, gifts from two, loving, life-long friends, and…several gifts through the auspices of,  “The Volunteer Way”; presents quite undeserved, but so welcome nonetheless, for—to me--there was the true representation of all my magic Christmases past.

 

 

IX

 

 

 

 

And then, and this truly rends my heart, are those who pain, and loneliness, and despair was--by Christmas--made an unbearable mockery. Those whose family dysfunctions almost make as breathless the credulity; those who validly disturbed the Christ-child's sleep;  those constantly a roil in anguish, depression and despair; too often steeped in poverty, wanting for a lack of love, or show of kindness or affection anywhere.

 

How very lost, are these lost souls.

 

For they have nothing, yet--in their intractable misery--still reach out for some, slight hope, despite all the laughing promises that are made, but never kept; it is--for them--the gentle and remorse-filled angels wept. As should we all.

 

 

X

I thought myself unable to write to you today; for my 26th began in the middle of the night with pain, such pain, that I--again out in the kitchen--put my head down on my arms, and tried to find some wanted sleep. My dreams came as vollies of the unexplainable and diffident nightmares; I awoke not once, but numerous times, and somehow sad, and not a little lost.

 

For those of you who understand what happens when a 'Lupus/Fibro/Chronic Pain and Chronic Fatigue flares,  it becomes a supernova of unutterable pain everywhere.

 

 The pain pills hardly touch it, neither is much-relieved the mind-fog, and a listlessness, and a migraine so severe; I am hungry, but too nauseated to even think of food, and find—although I never do so—think that I should rather stay the day in bed.

 

Perhaps you well know the irony of sitting at the computer, writing this to you, my dearest friends, while I am all-over in chills.

 

Would that all my errant clocks pick a kinder time and there stand still—between that space between drawn breaths--perhaps, one between seconds wherein the opiate has worked, in brushing pain and daily worries away to some darkened, cobwebbed corner.

 

 

 

XI

 

 

But I find I can still pray for you, my dear, dear freinds, in wishing you 'no pain', or much lessened pain; I can still be very proud of you for every little gain you make: in stepping from an Agoraphobic's home, to venture out into the world; I can still be thankful when your pains are low, or when there is some clarity of mind-fog; or when--by sheer determination--manage to let go of fears, and turn your backs upon an unspeakable past.

 

 

I laud those, whose pain--while different from mine, though just as great, or even greater--refuse to be dragged down by it; I laud your more noble souls.

 

 

And...on this December 26th, I would speak to you of my gratitude and thanks for your unwavering concern, caring, and support.

 

 

YOU are the greatest gift that I could ever hope to receive!

 

 

 

Please know that I think of you so very often, and that I love you dearly !

 

 

 

'Zahc'/Charles

"To You, My Dearest Friends, I Wish The, 'Spirit Of The Holidays', All Year Long!"

' To You, My Dearest Friends, I Wish The 'Spirit Of The Holidays' All Year Long ! '

12/22/12

To my very, very dearest friends, and ever-kind, and loyal readers:

I cannot even in half-measure speak of my heart-gladdened gratitude to you for having chosen me to be your friend; I often think, what nascent qualities I might possess that would-somehow-find favor in your kind eyes ?

It cannot be my growing list of illnesses that has, to my regret, hobbled, and made faint my former talent; it surely cannot be appearance, for you have witnessed that current caricature of Self as posted on my Profile page, particularly when compared to that photograph of me at age twenty-five, which so accurately delineates-so painfully-that ‘relentlessness of time', and pain, and yet, that younger Self was not as some deceiving card

 

 

 

trick, but, rather, that is does give evidence of three decades' past...hardly an historical second on the clock, which should, somehow, be most important as rare is the promise of another like passage of time into an unknown ( and, not wanting to be known ! ) Future.

 

How often have I come to you, lost, in raw pain, in ‘fibro-flare; in mind-fog so intense as to make memory-itself-uncertain, and oft times a lie. How many times have you with your knowing, gracious hearts welcomed me, when-in truth-I had no other place to go, nor, other place that I would chose to go.

And yet, I know your pains-while, perhaps different from mine, would so willingly set-aside your own distress, to comfort me in mine.
I can but only thank you, thank you, thank you, and still that it can't convey to you my most fond regard, except to say that now, I can only try to comfort you, by hiding

 

 

 

you, and thus keeping you safely hid, within the confines of my heart.

‘' To You, My Dearest Friends, I Wish The ‘Spirit Of The Holidays' All Year Long! "

by

'Zahc'

My friends, have you but noticed something most unusual, especially these past two weeks ?

And, yes, I know the flurry and the non-stop rest, and crowded stores...and, parking lots; of people milling everywhere from here to there, more people evidenced, than you thought might exist in some much-larger metropolis; music, carols braying out from every speaker known to man, and children skipping, happy, mostly, while their parents sigh, grab coffee to sustain, and rush around with protesting checkbooks, as they mentally try to juggle their way through January.

 

 

 

Of grocery stores packed ‘chock-a-block': with finest imported foods on end-aisle displays, pushing past the ordinary things, like milk, bread, or cereal ?

Of an holiday-rigged Mall ( which, rightfully, should be spelled, ‘Maul ‘ ) for each packed, and noisy store is as some wild thing, with sharp teeth and claws to pull one in, and, at their very best, represents the whole of Chinese construction, wedded most uncomfortably with American retail greed. For it truly is a shoddy, cornucopia of long unanswered wants at truly sobering prices; and-as well you know-this ‘uber glot' cannot be sent to be repaired, only, to be replaced.

Of just too many lights too bright, and too many, late-evening children who are quite visibly green-snotty-nosed, and cranky, as its past their bedtimes.
And the stores-themselves-a-glint with gold-paper wrapped litter, off the displays, and well-into the aisles; the clerks, exhausted, tired, and almost singularly

 

 

 

 

unpleasant. And why does Wal-Mart have perhaps fifty checkouts, and only four open ?

And...also, now, for some time made tradition, the block-long impatient line that stretches ‘conga-like', around any Post Office, where often elders push along boxes, to large and heavy to carry, only to-again, find three clerks-maybe-and four, unattended places at the counter.

However, keeping all of this in mind, there is an unusual undercurrent of what I can only refer to as ‘niceness'; oh sure, there are grumps, and Grinches aplenty, and their strident whining voices are carried aloft in time to the Salvation Army's endless cadre of bell-ringers everywhere. And for all of you who live in Northern climes, and are-perforce-made to jump into the fray, except in two feet of fallen snow.

Still, I have noticed, a guarded, but growing sense of cautious politeness; holding doors open for others; the

 

 

 

exchange of weary, knowing nods, of miseried camaraderie; for, if in a store trying to navigate with laden cart, and two small children who are as endless monkies climbing over all, should you be passed by another tired adult in same like predicament, for just a second, your eyes meet and you full well the other's lack of patience and distress.

Still, something has changed; there is-perhaps-a sense of briskness to the air; strangers have wished me ‘Happy Holidays'; I chose to believe them, as my return was, I truly hope, as sincere as theirs.

I hope all deference to the Savior's birth would be as true, and I imagine it will culminate sometime around Friday evening.

But, oh, my dearest friends, it IS a start, for there is selfless gift giving even now, and charities that are genuine know that-no matter the economy-that we, as

 

 

 

 

Americans, are-at heart-while practical, remain in large, a generous, and thoughtful Nation.

And it is simply this...not the presents, frantic bustle, occasional short tempers but of making this seemingly elusive holiday the rule, rather than the exception. And to have it expand exponentially and spread through-out, to last intact, the remainder of the year. Every year.

For it most hopefully would last, if it but could, as I do believe that still we-as Americans-in gratitude for ALL our many freedoms, are, in general, more giving, and more kind.

And should we must, in ever taking stock of our hearts, and of our souls, need some reminding, why not leave the tree up, with all its calming, and beckoning lights ? Why destroy those Christmas cards, sent to us by those who genuinely love us ? They should be looked at, from time to time, as evidence of a love that we all crave; Why should those few, but beautify holiday

 

 

 

photographs be lost, or consigned to yet another dusty album, for they are the true barometers of who we are, and who we'd like to be, if we could but have the chance ?

And, it is precisely this, my dear, sweet, friends, that I would wish for you. That, whatever undercurrent now exists of joy and wonderment last for you the entire year; along with that, I-with my whole heart-wish you ever lessened pain, ‘till it be as a thing forgotten; I wish so much for you security, that you remain as ever safe, and well; and, never knowing want, have plenty, and enough-perhaps-to share.

I wish for you contented, quiet moments, during which thanks are truly given, and a love that always surrounds you, that lets you know just how very, very special you are.

And at days' end, I wish for you a natural tiredness, not exhaustion, but that certain kind of satisfied tiredness that comes from a full days' kind industry, and one that is a guarantor of gentle, sweet, and restorative repose;

 

 

 

and in this state of balmy bliss, dream dreams that refresh and delight.

I wish for you a lasting sense of peace, of accomplishment, bravery, and Advocacy for those who have no voice, for, regrettably, small evils can be seen almost everywhere; but here, you can do what your heart guides you to do; to always expose and report abuse; for, in helping end it, you may-in fact-have saved a precious life, or lives. Dear friends, I know what a fearsome thing it is to step-away from momentary anonymity to do that which you know is right.

Start on a small scale: we ALL have seen drivers who-for their own convenience-park blatantly into an ‘Handicapped spot'; sometimes, they openly misuse an handicapped parking flag, they've ‘borrowed from some incapacitated family member'; sometimes, they park there boldly, without one. Even though I have the decal, and could use it in any car I happen to be in, I still do

 

 

 

not use it, why ? Because as long as I can still walk with cane, there's someone out there who in confined to a wheelchair. Should you ever witness such a thing, and have a cell telephone, use it for one, its wrong, and two,

"The American's With Disabilities Act" IS a law.

And so, my very, very dearest friends, forgive me for having-once again-gone ‘long', I could not express to you the grateful contents of my heart in any language less.

Please always know I love you dearly,

‘Zahc'/Charles

"Is Your Older Dog Becoming Indifferent To Meals? Perhaps THIS Might Help!"

“Is Your Older Dog Becoming Indifferent To Meals?  Perhaps THIS might help!”

 

 

12/02/12

 

 

To my very, dearest friends, and always, kind readers,

 

Sometime, about five months ago, now, my dear canine companion—“Daisy”—began to evidence a particular indifference to her food.

 

For the past thirteen years since she adopted my late mother and me, Daisy has always been finicky about her food, and was, in fact, what I would like to refer to as a, ‘nibbler’.  Rarely did she approach her food to gulp it down (as many dogs seem to do; it is actually a, ‘natural’, behavior of dogs to eat rapidly and large, as they never know when their next meal will be, or so they think!).

 

Oh, when she first, ‘found’, us, she was as a starving and lost little waif, having been on the, ‘run’, for so long before, whenever I first put food down for her, she could not inhale it fast-enough.

 

But, my dearest friends, as she found a way into our hearts, and into our home, she soon settled-into what I can only liken to, ‘wedding-reception eating’, a bite here, a taste there; and over the course of the day and evening, would almost casually stop by her food dish to sample the contents therein.

 

I understand—fully—that both dogs and cats can be fairly particular about their food, and so, over those thirteen years (and how quickly they did pass!), I must have tried at least ten, different brands and flavors of canned dog food; and probably fifteen or more various kinds of dry kibble for her.

 

On occasion, it really was quite maddening to see what I thought of as perfectly good dog food picked at, or ignored completely, until the food had become a dried, dark, and hardened mass no one would eat; and I cannot add-up the amount of untouched dog food that went into the garbage can.

 

Further, Daisy seemed to require a lot of persuasion, cosseting, and almost begging—even—to convince her to try her food.

 

Perhaps my late mother and I were more than partially to blame by supplementing the, ‘Dais’s’, food with human food, AND a lot of treats.

 

After years of experimenting, I finally settled on, “Alpo, Select Cuts: ‘beef, and gravy’, and, ‘lamb with rice’.  I finally abandoned all attempts to give her dry kibble, as she would not eat them.

 

In fact, whenever Daisy was given something she did not like, she was more than apt to place her nose under the dish…and…flip it, sending food everywhere and— in general—making a royal mess in the kitchen.

 

So finicky was she that, while she would turn her pretty, little nose up at regular, “Milkbones for Dogs”, she WOULD descend to chew upon the miniature version of Milkbones that came in assorted flavors.

 

And, now, she will not even nibble at them.

 

I have noticed that—as she has gotten older, and is now in declining health, and in some pain, besides—meal times have become a battle, with her often refusing to eat ANYTHING, while I tear-out my hair, trying to find some little something that she WILL eat.

 

Now that I have become older, ill, and am very nearly always in great pain, I know my own approach to food has changed; many times, I simply do not feel as if I can even stomach food, or the smell of it, or the taste.

 

When I am particularly ill—as I am at present—I hardly want to have to, ‘cook’, anything, and so have become sort of a nibbler myself!

 

However, some months ago, Daisy began ignoring her food, sometimes for a day or two at a time; while I know that Daisy is ill, and in pain, too, still, her not eating for two or three days at a time scares and alarms me.

 

When I asked Dr. Weston (Daisy’s wonderful Vet.), if there—by chance—might be a medication that might actually stimulate Daisy’s appetite, she first said no, but that there was such a medication for cats.

 

About a week or so later—after some research, and careful reconsideration—Dr. Weston told me that there—indeed—was a medication that would help improve Daisy’s appetite.  And, that is what I would like to share with you today!

 

While I may have mentioned it in a diary entry before, the name of the medication is, “Cyproheptadine” (in Daisy’s case, for weight), 4 mg. tablets, that I now give Daisy once or twice a day with her other medications.

 

Cyproheptadine is an unusual medication; in humans, it is used as an antihistamine, for sinus congestion.

 

In dogs, the very same medication somehow triggers a dormant appetite!  My Primary had prescribed it for me—at 4 mgs, once, at bedtime to help me to breathe better at night.  Dr. Weston ordered for Daisy, 4 mgs, taken TWICE a day.

 

My dearest friends, I have to tell you that while I am still in some despair about Daisy’s nutrition, the Cyproheptadine is absolutely amazing, and helped to turn Daisy’s appetite around.

 

Instead of indifferent, ‘nibbling’, or ignoring her food altogether, I have found that about an hour-and-a-half after I’ve given Daisy the Cyproheptadine, her interest in food perks right up, and she seems to eat better and longer, much more so than she did without the medication.

 

Of course, if you are fortunate, you will have a dog that will eat almost anything, and take medications without fighting like a dozen, wild alligators!

 

For my Daisy, I have to break her medications up with a, ‘pill-splitter’, and then render them into a powder with a pill-crusher I bought.

 

Dr. Weston sent me a number of large, 65cc syringes (without needles!), and into one I put her liquid arthritis medication, and her fish oil; I have discovered that if I use a little beef gravy (that can be purchased, already made in a small jar), and put it all most carefully into the syringe, by holding the syringe upside-down, with my finger over the front hole, so that nothing will escape. 

 

I always mix the gravy up with a little water, and then heat it in the micro wave, so that when I have re-inserted the plunger end, the powdered medications will be dissolved, and absorbed into the solution, so as to disguise the awful, bitter taste of the medications after they’ve been ground to powder.

 

Careful—then—to hold the front capped, I shake the contents up, until they are dissolved, and will more easily pass through the end of the syringe.

 

Then—oh boy!—I have to somehow sneak-up on Daisy, hold her collar, while almost sitting on her like a horse to keep her from jumping round.

 

Even so, I have to first remove my oxygen cannula, and empty my shirt pockets, and grab a few damp paper towels, as Daisy—in struggling-about—will invariably, ‘chuff’, some of the liquid on her face, my face, my eyes, my glasses, my shirt, and the rug under her, and I use the dampened, paper towels to mop her off, and, myself as well!

 

Believe me, dearest friends, I do not like to have to have her struggle so, as she can’t understand what, ‘Daddy’, is trying to do for her.  And so, because it does seem to disturb her so (making me feel like, ”King Shit”, in the process), I try—now—to medicate her only once a day, with slightly more pain medications, and some tranquillizer, unless—of course—she is in particularly, demonstrable pain.

 

And—dearest friends—I now focus a lot less on the canned, dog food, and a lot more on finding food that I hope she will eat more of.

 

Please forgive my silliness, but—even when I am strapped for cash—I will get a, ‘Lemon Pepper, rotisserie chicken from the grocery store’s deli for Daisy; of course, I—too—have a few bite, myself.  But—otherwise—it all belongs to Daisy.

 

Just yesterday, my neighbor went grocery shopping for me, and I had her buy just such a chicken, and prepared a large plate of it for Daisy.

 

At first, she ate only about a fifth of it; but, later in the evening, she circled-back, to leave an empty plate!

 

When—later—I happened to make for myself a small, deli roast beef sandwich, I fixed-up for my dear Daisy TWO, large paper plates of deli roast beef, which I tore in bite-size pieces, and then warmed—slightly—in the microwave oven so the meat wouldn’t be cold when I gave it to her.

 

And while I was sitting at the counter of the kitchen, still very much ill, and in pain, and trying to manage to eat a little something, Daisy ate BOTH plates of roast beef.!

 

And…when all the deli roast beef is gone, I have a pound of deli, sliced ham that I will at least share with my dearest Daisy.

 

Now I realize, dear friends, that I am without doubt spoiling Daisy to ruination, with such, ‘treats’, as to make regular dog food quite unattractive to her, but—frankly—I no longer particularly care.  As it makes my heart so very happy to just see her eat!

 

As it is, anyway, although I practically live on beef and chicken pot pies (the, “Marie Callender”, brand—while more expensive—is certainly worth it), I always pick out most if not all of the pieces of beef or chicken to give Daisy as a treat.

 

Sometimes, whenever I have occasion to cook-up a pound of ground beef, I save at least half of it to give to her.

 

Am I shamelessly spoiling her?

 

My thoughts—however skewed are this:  Daisy has been my most loyal companion, and (except for the brief times during which she is, ‘pissed’, at me, especially after medication times!) has—I hoped—loved me unconditionally—considering ALL my faults—for over thirteen years, now. She has always been, ‘my little buddy, and my pal’.

 

She may—as they say—‘cop attitude’, from time to time, sometimes ignoring me when I call her; but she does keep track of me wherever I may be in the house.  Wherever I happen to be, more than likely, Daisy will be there, nearby, coiled-up, and sleeping on the rug beside me.

 

I realize that she has long since outlived three out of four, breed-specific genes she carries, and is—somehow—coasting-along on the 10% or less of poodle D.N.A., as poodles are generally the longest-lived dogs.

 

The three, other specific breeds that constitute Daisy’s D.N.A., usually only live for 8-11 years.

 

So that Daisy—who might well be fourteen or fifteen years old, now—has managed to somehow, ‘outlive’, over 85% of her D.N.A. frankly astounds and amazes me.  And makes me ever so grateful for that 10% or less of Daisy’s ‘Poodle D.N.A.’!

 

And, it manages—quite clearly—to make the time I do have left with Daisy even more special and precious!  And, dear friends, anything that I can do to make Daisy more comfortable, satisfied, and—subsequently—more, ‘happy’, is more than worth the while.  At least my heart says so, anyway.

 

Both Daisy and I hope that this information may prove to be of help to you, and to your loving, older pet!  It is our hope that you AND them will be able to enjoy so many, many more years of delightful, faithful companionship!

 

I ever wish for you wonderfully, ‘pain-free’, or of much lessened pain days; in full surrounded by those (on, ‘two legs’, and well as ‘four’!) who utterly love you for who you are.  Blessed by plenty, secure, and kept safe.

 

And especially now—during this holiday season—and, really, all the year, wishes for all the happiness that your kind hearts can hold!

 

Please know that I think about you so very often.  And—my dearest friends—please always know that I love you dearly!

 

 

‘Zahc’/Charles