“Daisy
And Life, In General: Sometimes—Quite Unexpectedly—Things…Just…Happen”
09/20/12
To
my very precious friends, and always constant readers,
Today I just feel tired; tired and exhausted. Bankrupt emotionally, and so very dull-witted
of mind that even simple ideations will not come. And all I want to do is stay in bed,
covered-up, tuckered in, listening to the sound of my box fan as it stirs the
air; it is a sound that competes with the mechanical susurrus of the compressor
as it cycles-away to send life-giving oxygen through twenty-five feet of green
tubing which is attached to a seven foot long, nasal cannula, which I wear
almost every second of every day.
Sometimes, the house is SO quiet that even the absence
of noise produces a perceptible sound that is felt—more than heard—by the ears.
I cannot in truth admit to being angry, happy, sad,
or really…anything. Perhaps this emotive
‘shutdown’ is the mind’s way of protecting itself from auto-destruct.
It could also be something of an anti-inertia,
whereby, when—for example—life problems become too large, or too many, leaving
one unprepared, and—consequently unable—to make accurate decisions as a way to
solve them…ever to solve them, and…to move on to the next round of problems.
Occasionally, there’s just too much negative stimuli
flying about. And so—there being no one
or best way to encompass and deal with the unexpected (thrown in with all that
is expected, and routine—sometimes the mind—for its own safety’s sake—closes in
upon itself, coping, by refusing to consider really anything of moment.
And that is more or less how I feel today; this
diary entry, for example, has been almost painfully difficult to think upon, or
to write. At times words—themselves—do not
look right; they do not sound right. And
sometimes, they do not sound at all. And
so it becomes a titanic effort merely to link them together, one by one, by
two, forming sentences, weaving paragraphs, crocheting thoughts here and there
into an entire document.
Oddly-enough, it is not in any way due to my
constant pain, for that waxes and wanes with the hour.
But, dearest friends, and loyal readers, I think I
can isolate a recent set of incidents that have left me in the present shape
that I am in.
From last week, over the weekend, and into the first
part of this week, my loving canine companion—Daisy—seemed to have gone into a
marked state of decline. I had made an
appointment the Dr. Weston (the mobile vet) to come out to see her, but, just
before, I cancelled, postponing the appointment to yesterday, as I was not sure
of myself, and so often in the past, read too much into a situation. And I was worried and upset 1) because Daisy
did not look good, and, 2) because—frankly, as it was still before the middle
of the month—I did not have ready financial resources to pay for her visit.
This ‘watching and waiting’ just killed me, my
dearest friends. I felt horrible and
guilty, and quite unable to do anything to help Daisy myself.
This past Monday leading into Tuesday, Daisy seemed—to
me—to have gotten much, much worse; she ate, but irregularly, and on Tuesday—in
particular—I did not see her drink any water at all. I did still continue to give her her
medications, in fact, giving her more pain medication, and more tranquilizer to
calm her.
November 17th is Daisy’s arbitrary
birthday; that is about when she adopted my late mother and me in 1999. When I took her to the vet, he said he wasn’t
sure, but that Daisy might have been 1.5 to 2.5 years old by the time she came
to us.
My dear friends, life was SO very different in those
days. My mother—at eighty-two—was home,
happy, and free of health problems.
I was still employed full time, working the night
shift at a small, geriatric, residential treatment facility in town. I would not become deathly ill, and in subsequent
lasting and intractable pain until July 4, 2002.
My wonderful father had passed away in December of
1998, and mom and I were still grieving his loss, and lived quietly—all three
of us—having settled into a sort of reliable routine that, although it may have
been clockwork, still, was undemanding, ‘safe’, and secure.
That was the effective end—for me—of the ‘golden
time’ in my life…or, in retrospect, how golden it seemed in comparison to the
present!
And while there are many things I have never
understood regarding some of Daisy’s behaviors, I think I can aver—with acuity—know
when she is in pain, or is hurting.
Often, just by the ‘way’ she would ‘look’ at me. Of course, I have always take these looks to
mean, “Daddy, quick, please come and help me feel better!”. At least in my
imaginings, that is what I believe she would try to say.
And—over the ensuing years—I do think I have done my
best to take care of her, and to provide for her needs. Only time, and—hopefully—a
kinder God will decide.
So when Daisy began looking especially awful this
time (about which, I could no nothing but stress and worry), I could hardly
wait for Dr. Weston and her assistant to come to the house to examine my dear,
little ‘Dais’.
Frankly, my dearest friends, I fully expected that
the good doctor would say that it was ‘time’ to have Daisy put down.
Emotionally, and without doubt—selfishly—I was torn
and upset. While I did not, nor do not
ever want Daisy to have to suffer needlessly, yet, I am too accustomed to her
companionship, and, maybe I am—at last—afraid to be alone. And, it must be said
that with Daisy’s passing, truly, everyone close to me whom I love would now be
gone.
And, with each passing…first, my dad, then my mom, I
feel somehow spiritually diminished in a way that is difficult to describe; its
almost like special parts of my heart have been removed. Shit…I don’t know.
After an almost two-hour visit, and evaluation, Dr.
Weston again said she thought that Daisy was indeed on a slow decline, and that—in
time, but a non-specific time!—Daisy might succumb to a heart attack, or to
cancer, or to a stroke.
Dr. Weston did find evidence of an ear infection,
and a possible urinary tract infection, for which she prescribed ear drops, and
an antibiotic sufficient to cure either infection.
She also refilled Daisy’s scripts of heart medication,
and for her pain pills, and tranquilizers.
In addition, she gave me three, brand new syringes (without needles), so
I can crush the medications, and administer them in a liquid through the
syringe.
According to the doctor, Daisy’s gait was much
improved, and that she seemed to be responding very well to the medications.
Last night, Daisy ate better (though not as much as
I’d like…and, BTW, Dr. Weston also prescribed a medication for Daisy that
should improve her appetite; the funny thing is, is that its one of the same
medications I take, only—for me—it is an antihistamine!), and drank frequently
from her water bowl, and made a number of trips—outside—to pee, and other
duties.
And, so, once again, we are in a ‘watch-and-wait’
mode.
And, Dr. Weston drew blood from Daisy for a
comprehensive metabolic panel, which includes her liver, pancreas, thyroid,
glucose, kidneys, red, and white-blood cell count, and electrolytes.
Admittedly, none of this is inexpensive. This
morning I calculated that yesterday’s visit, plus exam, plus lab work, plus
medication, plus two new bags of treats (that Daisy loves!), will more than equal
54% of my next month’s S.S.D.I check!
I am already reeling from having been depressed,
sad, and weary about my thoughts of life without my Daisy.
Add—now—to that my most profound concerns of just ‘how-in-the-utter-Hell’,
are ‘we’ going to survive October?
I did what any desperate, upper-lower-class citizen
would do: I threw all the charges on my credit card, on which there already
were charges for medications, physician co-pays, medications (for both man and
dog!), the cost of having had Daisy groomed, and, some much-needed groceries!
My dearest, truest friends, should you care to (or
can stand to) review my diary entry entitled. “Where DOES The Money GO!?”, you
will have a good idea of how and where my income ‘goes’ each month; pretty much
how I imagine that for so many of you—here at MDJunction—your’s probably goes
as quickly, and as well.
Strangely, this whole, ‘hand-to-mouth’ shit is
something I had never, ever expected, and, it is living (?) at a level of subsistence
far, far below what I could ever have imagined it would be. And, I do not think
much of anything I ave purchased could be considered feckless, or really
impulsive! Frankly…it is killing me. I
am always depressed, and very rarely happy.
In such a State of uncertainty, how could any,
sustainable joy be found?
In the past, I have been both flush, and broke;
certainly, often-enough to know that I prefer being ‘flush’! All my life, I have always valued a roof over
my head more—even—than having food in the house. Especially when I was much younger, and
living on my own, I could endure a growling stomach more than I could the
thought of having to live out in the streets.
Once, I recall an entire year---almost—during which
I had NO food in my duplex. After graduation, I was employed full time night
shift at a private, psychiatric hospital.
Since the cafeteria was closed at night, the kitchen
would send up to each unit a tray of sliced bread, lunchmeat, lettuce, and tomato
slices, and little packs of ketchup, mustard, and mayonnaise. THAT, was my ‘supper’.
In the morning—after shift—I could go through the
cafeteria line, and get two scoops of scrambled eggs for twenty cents, and two
pieces of toast, for ten cents.
And that...was that.
And I wasn’t the only worker on the night shift who thus survived on the
hospital’s largesse!
I still can remember when I finally in a financial
position to really go grocery shopping!
By then, it almost seemed unusual to actually have food in the house.
Last evening, my ‘supper’ consisted of two packs of ‘beef-flavored’
“Raman” noodles, and—friends—I was grateful to have had that; I am not exactly incognizant
of the millions and millions—across the space of this globe—who are starving,
and have no shelter, nor access to any kind of health care at all.
But, my dearest friends, this is America…and please
forgive my stupidity in expecting something more! From myself, from society, from or culture…certainly,
from our aggregated wealth. Certainly
from a system I worked in for years, and gladly contributed to for the
continued welfare of our citizens.
Part of the reason why I feel so outdone, and ‘spacey’
is naturally the concerns of not having a financial ‘cushion’ to back upon in
an emergency.
Too, it would seem particularly worrisome having no
idea how I shall make it through the next month.
But, dear friends, what staggers me with concern, and
outright fear is: what about six months from now? Two years from now? Ten years from now? Or…until I am no longer able to care for
myself, or, until I croak?
In a moment of idleness some time ago, I happened to
be reading comments on Yahoo from posters re: the ability to buy, maintain, and
keep a home in America.
As you might guess—considering it was on ‘Yahoo’—that
posts ran from the gleefully, self-promoting, to the skewed-political, to the—frankly—unhinged. But—amid the drivel, I recall a post that
said something to the effect of: “I am on S.S.D.I., and yet, managed to save
up, and buy a home.”
Really, now.
On what planet? Those individuals
whom I have met who are disabled, and on S.S.D.I. are much too busy trying to
make each nickel shit eight pennies. Or, for those of you more delicate of
heart, of ‘trying to squeeze each nickel, until the Indian on one side is
riding the Buffalo on the other!’
With the exception—perhaps—of that famous, 10%, who
have skads, and skads of cash; old money; senile grandmothers, and idiot
grandchildren, frankly, I believe that everyone is hurting in one way or
another, and all are stressed, all are confused. And many a household is marked by contention,
argument, or insurrection.
I, and, many others like me are just a little bit
nearer the edge of the cliff, perhaps.
The question remains: ‘shall we jump off…or shall be pushed?’
My dearest friends, and ever-loyal readers, what I
would most like to request is your kind comments. How DO you survive? What must you live without? Are you
comfortable? How do you grocery shop, or
purchase clothing, or other goods? What
are your financial priorities? Are you
in more debt than you can presently pay off in a month? Six months?
A year? What have you given
up? What have you retained? Are you happy??????????
I very, very much rely upon your kind comments for
guidance, direction, advice, possible solutions, or ways and means that—perhaps—have
not occurred to me.
For now…my dear Daisy is holding her own, but—clearly—we
cannot sustain many more vet visits at this price.
And…we still have the remainder of September to go
through until the 3rd, of October, when—once again, my little,
S.S.D.I. check will arrive.
As always, I wish for you wonderfully pleasant, and
balmy days, able to enjoy the weather as we move further into Autumn.
I wish you be in full-surrounded by friends and
family members who love and treasure you for who you are. I wish you safety, and security, and that
your goods be plenty, and your tables full to overflowing.
I wish for you golden afternoons, free from worry or
despair. I wish you be able to have ‘fun’ and enjoy life in full measure.
I wish you quiet, peaceful nights. Freedom from pain or weariness, but—rather—to
a soft dreaminess that comforts. And a
night of blissful and restorative sleep…as ever watched over, and kept safe by
gentle angels.
I thank you, my dearest, dearest friends, and think
of you often, and fondly! I am ever
grateful to you, and count you as one of my greatest blessings!
And,
please always know that I love you very dearly!
‘Zahc’/Charles
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