Listen.
I know you like to compare me to the Egyptian Goddess Isis
but I don't really think that's fair.
To her, not me.
For one thing:
Sometimes when I stub my toe against the china cabinet
as I'm going to refill my glass of wine,
I loudly exclaim
Fuck Shit Ass Damn
and call my wine bottle a son of a bitch.
I don't think Isis would do that.
Also:
When my street dog tears up a book I just bought,
Especially The Children of Green Knowe,
I tell him I fucking hate him
and I wish I'd never brought him home.
Of course, I love him
but he drives me batshit insane most of the time.
I doubt ol' Isis would hate anything
And check this:
Just the other day, one of my employees
sensing my utter desperation,
rolled a fat ass joint for me and left it in the door of her car, the lighter on the seat.
"Go take you a couple hits, you'll feel better."
So I did.
And I don't even smoke, really.
But sometimes life is a heartless little bitch
and you can't escape it any other way
than to go sit in the parking lot of the gas station, in a tinted car,
on the corner of Highway 80 and nowhere,
and cry your goddamn eyes out while you inhale a blunt so strong that you cough and sputter
because you haven't hit that shit since college,
and college was 80 years ago on another planet.
Do you think Isis would do some shit like that?
My kid knows every cuss word and in different languages
AND I ALLOW HIM TO USE THEM SOMETIMES.
Isis would die.
I curse under my breath at old people, babies, and animals
even though I love all three.
I take the lord's name in vain on a daily basis, sometimes for the entire goddamn day.
I am wildly unhinged and prone to sadness and would rather watch the flowers wilt
under the weight of your absence,
than to see them thrive in a garden where you are not their gardener.
Isis would never stand for it.
You once told me you could read between the lines
but I'm not giving you enough space to do that.
I'm dirty, broken, worn out, tired.
I'm offensive, lewd, crass.
I'm a mediocre mom with no goddamn blueprint.
I'm a half-assed daughter who doesn't do enough.
I'm just ok at being the boss.
I'm nobody's someone.
But I have this heart and for some reason it's huge and cavernous
and there's all kinds of back alleys in it where I keep people and animals.
One of those alleys is named after you.
It's littered with all the debris you left behind and I don't bother cleaning it up.
I just wallow in it until your scent is all over me.
And I'm not ever coming out of that alley.
So Listen.
If I may speak on behalf of Isis:
Please don't compare her to a derelict like me.
11.30.2019
11.29.2019
every single day
every single day
By John Straley
and I wrote the words “king salmon”
on a piece of paper
and mailed it to you.
When you opened it
would you remember that afternoon we spent
together in the yellow boat
when the early whales were feeding
and we caught our first fish of the year?
Or would you remember that time off Cape Flattery
when you were a little girl:
your father smoking, telling stories as he ran the boat,
then the tug and zing of that very first fish
spooling off into the gray-green world;
you laughing and brushing back your hair
before setting the hook?
I know I am hard to understand sometimes
particularly when you are standing
at the post office with only a piece of paper
saying “king salmon” on it
but just think of it as a promissary note
and that electric tug, that thrill
pulling your mind into deep water
is how I feel about you every,
single day.
Wreck Me
Good Girl
Look at you, sitting there being good.
After two years you're still dying for a cigarette.
And not drinking on weekdays, who thought that one up?
Don't you want to run to the corner right now
for a fifth of vodka and have it with cranberry juice
and a nice lemon slice, wouldn't the backyard
that you're so sick of staring out into
look better then, the tidy yard your landlord tends
day and night — the fence with its fresh coat of paint,
the ash-free barbeque, the patio swept clean of small twigs —
don't you want to mess it all up, to roll around
like a dog in his flowerbeds? Aren't you a dog anyway,
always groveling for love and begging to be petted?
You ought to get into the garbage and lick the insides
of the can, the greasy wrappers, the picked-over bones,
you ought to drive your snout into the coffee grounds.
Ah, coffee! Why not gulp some down with four cigarettes
and then blast naked into the streets, and leap on the first
beautiful man you find? The words Ruin me, haven't they
been jailed in your throat for forty years, isn't it time
you set them loose in slutty dresses and torn fishnets
to totter around in five-inch heels and slutty mascara?
Sure it's time. You've rolled over long enough.
Forty, forty-one. At the end of all this
there's one lousy biscuit, and it tastes like dirt.
So get going. Listen: they're howling for you now:
up and down the block your neighbors' dogs
burst into frenzied barking and won't shut up.
Kim Addonizio
Look at you, sitting there being good.
After two years you're still dying for a cigarette.
And not drinking on weekdays, who thought that one up?
Don't you want to run to the corner right now
for a fifth of vodka and have it with cranberry juice
and a nice lemon slice, wouldn't the backyard
that you're so sick of staring out into
look better then, the tidy yard your landlord tends
day and night — the fence with its fresh coat of paint,
the ash-free barbeque, the patio swept clean of small twigs —
don't you want to mess it all up, to roll around
like a dog in his flowerbeds? Aren't you a dog anyway,
always groveling for love and begging to be petted?
You ought to get into the garbage and lick the insides
of the can, the greasy wrappers, the picked-over bones,
you ought to drive your snout into the coffee grounds.
Ah, coffee! Why not gulp some down with four cigarettes
and then blast naked into the streets, and leap on the first
beautiful man you find? The words Ruin me, haven't they
been jailed in your throat for forty years, isn't it time
you set them loose in slutty dresses and torn fishnets
to totter around in five-inch heels and slutty mascara?
Sure it's time. You've rolled over long enough.
Forty, forty-one. At the end of all this
there's one lousy biscuit, and it tastes like dirt.
So get going. Listen: they're howling for you now:
up and down the block your neighbors' dogs
burst into frenzied barking and won't shut up.
Kim Addonizio
11.28.2019
A Thousand Starved Sunsets
You gave me your words: beautiful, erotic, poetic, hilarious, thoughtful, direct, insightful. Everything all at once.
You gave me your soul through your music and poetry; the movies you recommended; the passages and quotes you shared with me.
Now you've taken them all away and left me here alone without any way to get in touch with you or any reason as to why you've gone and every time I think there won't be anymore tears because surely there's not enough salt water left in the ocean for one more droplet to squeeze out of my blood shot eyes....
It starts to flood.
Without answers all I can do is blame myself and plead to the universe and to God and to you (in the hopes you'll hear me) for a chance to atone for whatever wrong I've done. Or at the very least: A proper goodbye from you. If this is goodbye(please don't let this be goodbye), let me have that goodbye in your words and not this sudden expulsion from your life. Your words are so beautiful and if I'm never going to hear them again, give me one final paragraph.
Love in the Digital Age: One Passage Among Many
J: "Sing like a Siren to this wayward sailor. I'll crash into your shore."
S: "I will hold you there while you feast like a thousand starved sunsets are waiting to rise. And I won't let you go until you've scratched every surface"
S: "I guess I'm starving
J: "You're apparently as famished as I. May we devour each other simultaneously. Insatiable hunger."
S: "I've never been this way with anyone before. What the fuck are a thousand starved sunsets? I don't even know what that means."
J: "Having sat in the strand of the Pacific yesterday afternoon, I would say a starved sunset would likely happen on summer solstice, the sun never quite going down, like a mongrel hanging around until you finally toss it a crust of your bread even though you’re still hungry, a beach punk yourself. Times one thousand."
J: "Funny enough, I was imaging the opposite, a sunrise, the emerging sun a long sought after blinding release after a night of passion.".
S: "That was beautiful."
You gave me your soul through your music and poetry; the movies you recommended; the passages and quotes you shared with me.
Now you've taken them all away and left me here alone without any way to get in touch with you or any reason as to why you've gone and every time I think there won't be anymore tears because surely there's not enough salt water left in the ocean for one more droplet to squeeze out of my blood shot eyes....
It starts to flood.
Without answers all I can do is blame myself and plead to the universe and to God and to you (in the hopes you'll hear me) for a chance to atone for whatever wrong I've done. Or at the very least: A proper goodbye from you. If this is goodbye(please don't let this be goodbye), let me have that goodbye in your words and not this sudden expulsion from your life. Your words are so beautiful and if I'm never going to hear them again, give me one final paragraph.
Love in the Digital Age: One Passage Among Many
J: "Sing like a Siren to this wayward sailor. I'll crash into your shore."
S: "I will hold you there while you feast like a thousand starved sunsets are waiting to rise. And I won't let you go until you've scratched every surface"
S: "I guess I'm starving
J: "You're apparently as famished as I. May we devour each other simultaneously. Insatiable hunger."
S: "I've never been this way with anyone before. What the fuck are a thousand starved sunsets? I don't even know what that means."
J: "Having sat in the strand of the Pacific yesterday afternoon, I would say a starved sunset would likely happen on summer solstice, the sun never quite going down, like a mongrel hanging around until you finally toss it a crust of your bread even though you’re still hungry, a beach punk yourself. Times one thousand."
J: "Funny enough, I was imaging the opposite, a sunrise, the emerging sun a long sought after blinding release after a night of passion.".
S: "That was beautiful."
11.27.2019
Come and Find Me
I woke up this morning optimistic that I would hear from you today. I felt calm. I felt at peace. I played the only song I've been able to play since Monday when I realized you were gone. I can't listen to anything else. I feel like it's this message I'm sending out into the universe and hoping like hell it will find you and then you, in turn, will come and find me again.
But now, as the morning has worn on, I'm starting to suffocate again and the only way I can breathe is to write these words to you.
Tomorrow is Thanksgiving and I've never cared one way or the other about that but now, suddenly, it means something because it's a holiday and I probably won't hear from you or get to ask you what you ate or tell you about mine and that all of a sudden seems so goddamn tragic and awful and I don't even want to look at a turkey and think about all the ways I had been so thankful these past couple of months. I was practically walking with my feet above the ground, happy and vibrant for the first time in a long time.
I was still happy when I got the news about you Saturday. I was actually relieved it was just that. That was a thing we could handle. Something being wrong or happening to you was not. I waited to hear from you Sunday. When I didn't, I thought you might have been overwhelmed and exhausted and it was probably no big deal. But then Monday morning rolled around and still no word from you. I knew you had to take care of some things and I didn't want to appear needy so I waited until that afternoon before I emailed you. I didn't know it but by then it was too late. You were already gone.
And I can't get you back. You've just vanished back into the nether and I've no way to find you. And it feels like a death even though I don't know what that feels like. But maybe it's actually worse than death because you're still out there but I can't find you and that's more torturous than if you were dead and I knew your light had left the earth. Your light is sill shining but I can't see it. The agony. The hopelessness of it all is killing me and I just want to hear you again even if the only thing you have to tell me is to kiss off into the air and you're done. At least that's something. I'd take anything.
One little morsel of anything.
But I'm not giving up. I told you that already and I meant it.
Someday you will read these words and I will still be sitting on this shore waiting for you to wash up again.
I hope it will be soon.
POST SCRIPT:
There were/are moments of today I couldn't/can't breathe. It felt like the air was thick and heavy and dripping and I couldn't suck any of it in through my parted lips. As if it had turned to syrup and if I were even able suck any into my lungs at all, it would only coat them in a thick goo but do little to give me life.
I have moments of clarity where I know in my bones that this will pass and I will, once again, read your words. The ache and emptiness I feel without them is unlike anything I've ever known and I wish I could describe to you the utter despair I feel at the thought of no more you.
It's been 6 days now.
Six days.
Six days doesn't seem like much but it's too many at once.
I keep reading the last email I sent to you. The one you actually got before you closed your account. The one I'd rather replace with just one of the 36 I've tried to send to you since. But they keep showing back up on my step. I don't even think they make it halfway to your place before they turn around and come back. They already know you don't want them or maybe you are only just not ready for them. My heart believes the latter but my head is trying to kill me with the former. I keep sending them out though, shooing them out the door on their way to you. But always they come back and I don't want them here. I want them with you. To clean and mend and enfold and love.
My words to you are all I have.
And the last words you read from me when you got home and felt the sting of betrayal from your roommate and perhaps shame at what happened (although you shouldn't) were not words of love but of playful admonishment. If I had known then how me knowing your secret would make you feel, I wish for a thousand catacombs to hide it in so that I may never discover it.
I'll never forget the grin on my face that Saturday night as I pressed send. I was very pleased with myself and stupidly thought you would find it amusing also. Oh, to be so dumb and near-sighted. I wasn't taking into account the trauma of the experience you had just endured and was focused solely on the banter between us that has brought me so much life these past months. I thought I was being witty and confident and self-assured and you would find the humor in my silly reprimands.
I don't know how you feel and I want desperately to know how you feel so I can make it better for you. All I can do is grasp at straws and my mind is running 1700 miles per minute thinking of every possible scenario, every minute detail I may have missed, every single word I may have said that caused you pain or anger. And I want to take them all back and I wish R had never emailed me with what happened because if I had never known, you would not feel whatever it is you're feeling now. A feeling I'm helpless to navigate with you with because you have shut me out so completely that I have no way back in and I might literally be dying over here. I'm not sure. My heart feels like it's trying to push its way out of my chest; the bruising on its surface so deep and complete that the blood coursing through it and around it is leaving lacerations in its wake.
But now, as the morning has worn on, I'm starting to suffocate again and the only way I can breathe is to write these words to you.
Tomorrow is Thanksgiving and I've never cared one way or the other about that but now, suddenly, it means something because it's a holiday and I probably won't hear from you or get to ask you what you ate or tell you about mine and that all of a sudden seems so goddamn tragic and awful and I don't even want to look at a turkey and think about all the ways I had been so thankful these past couple of months. I was practically walking with my feet above the ground, happy and vibrant for the first time in a long time.
I was still happy when I got the news about you Saturday. I was actually relieved it was just that. That was a thing we could handle. Something being wrong or happening to you was not. I waited to hear from you Sunday. When I didn't, I thought you might have been overwhelmed and exhausted and it was probably no big deal. But then Monday morning rolled around and still no word from you. I knew you had to take care of some things and I didn't want to appear needy so I waited until that afternoon before I emailed you. I didn't know it but by then it was too late. You were already gone.
And I can't get you back. You've just vanished back into the nether and I've no way to find you. And it feels like a death even though I don't know what that feels like. But maybe it's actually worse than death because you're still out there but I can't find you and that's more torturous than if you were dead and I knew your light had left the earth. Your light is sill shining but I can't see it. The agony. The hopelessness of it all is killing me and I just want to hear you again even if the only thing you have to tell me is to kiss off into the air and you're done. At least that's something. I'd take anything.
One little morsel of anything.
But I'm not giving up. I told you that already and I meant it.
Someday you will read these words and I will still be sitting on this shore waiting for you to wash up again.
I hope it will be soon.
POST SCRIPT:
There were/are moments of today I couldn't/can't breathe. It felt like the air was thick and heavy and dripping and I couldn't suck any of it in through my parted lips. As if it had turned to syrup and if I were even able suck any into my lungs at all, it would only coat them in a thick goo but do little to give me life.
I have moments of clarity where I know in my bones that this will pass and I will, once again, read your words. The ache and emptiness I feel without them is unlike anything I've ever known and I wish I could describe to you the utter despair I feel at the thought of no more you.
It's been 6 days now.
Six days.
Six days doesn't seem like much but it's too many at once.
I keep reading the last email I sent to you. The one you actually got before you closed your account. The one I'd rather replace with just one of the 36 I've tried to send to you since. But they keep showing back up on my step. I don't even think they make it halfway to your place before they turn around and come back. They already know you don't want them or maybe you are only just not ready for them. My heart believes the latter but my head is trying to kill me with the former. I keep sending them out though, shooing them out the door on their way to you. But always they come back and I don't want them here. I want them with you. To clean and mend and enfold and love.
My words to you are all I have.
And the last words you read from me when you got home and felt the sting of betrayal from your roommate and perhaps shame at what happened (although you shouldn't) were not words of love but of playful admonishment. If I had known then how me knowing your secret would make you feel, I wish for a thousand catacombs to hide it in so that I may never discover it.
I'll never forget the grin on my face that Saturday night as I pressed send. I was very pleased with myself and stupidly thought you would find it amusing also. Oh, to be so dumb and near-sighted. I wasn't taking into account the trauma of the experience you had just endured and was focused solely on the banter between us that has brought me so much life these past months. I thought I was being witty and confident and self-assured and you would find the humor in my silly reprimands.
I don't know how you feel and I want desperately to know how you feel so I can make it better for you. All I can do is grasp at straws and my mind is running 1700 miles per minute thinking of every possible scenario, every minute detail I may have missed, every single word I may have said that caused you pain or anger. And I want to take them all back and I wish R had never emailed me with what happened because if I had never known, you would not feel whatever it is you're feeling now. A feeling I'm helpless to navigate with you with because you have shut me out so completely that I have no way back in and I might literally be dying over here. I'm not sure. My heart feels like it's trying to push its way out of my chest; the bruising on its surface so deep and complete that the blood coursing through it and around it is leaving lacerations in its wake.
11.26.2019
Frantic Emails and Hugs from Strangers
{Blank}
Forwarding blank emails a million times just to see if they go through
Followed by:
Oh, J, my heart is all aching for you and I can't stand the thought that you might have blocked me or closed your email account. Everything keeps getting returned. I don't understand why. I'm so sorry if my email came across as insensitive. I only wanted to make you laugh. I know it was a horrible situation but I thought I was making light of it. Upon rereading it, I can clearly see that it was not the right response to send to you in your emotional state. I hate myself for thinking it was. I'm so sorry.
And:
I wish I could talk to you. I'm losing my mind
Also:
Please get this
Then:
I am devastated and feel like the air around me is suffocating me.
HOW IT FEELS NOT TALKING TO YOU:
It feels like suffocating
It feels like drowning
It feels like heavy thick molasses air
It feels like a sturdy rope suddenly severed
It feels like looking into the bottom of a well
It feels like staring into a starless and moonless night sky
Void all the way around
You reach out to the air around you but it's not air it's rubber and it's closing in on you
And it's squishing you there between it until your heart beats so hard against it
That all of the walls start to vibrate to its rhythm
And then you can't breathe
And then your heart actually really explodes
And it rains down all around you until your cheeks are hot with tears
And you're in your car
You say his name over and over again
Then you switch to God's name
Asking, pleading
DEMANDING
Downright ORDERING
Contact
Just make contact
You plead to him and to God
And the ant crawling along your steering wheel
The leaf on your windshield
The darkness of your car
The greenish glow of your radio dial.
You plead.
Silently
When you pull up to the drive -thru window
Because the kid's gotta eat
But the kitchen feels like death
Because there's the table
You sat at when you wrote your things to him
And there's the speaker on the counter where you played the songs he sent
While you cooked
And the bottle of Jameson you bought just last weekend
Because he likes Jameson and you like him
And that's what you do when you like someone and oh, god!
You do like him!
Swollen, your eyes
The tears collecting in the bags beneath them
Made more cavernous by the silence
Your cheeks red
Your voice tiny and timid
As you order the kids vanilla frosty and cheeseburger
Hastily wiping your eyes as you pull around to pay
Allergies is what you'll tell her
She's going to ask
Only she doesn't
She says 'it's going to be ok'
And closes the window to swipe your card
You don't believe her but her kindness unleashes
The downpour
And your cup doesn't just runneth over
It floods
And she's running out to meet you in the parking lot
Of the drive thru at Wendy's
On a Tuesday night in the rain
And she opens your car door
You rise to meet her
And throw yourself into her short arms and hold onto her
Hard and long
Your face buried in her shoulder, your stomach heaving in and out
Her hands running circles on your back
"It's going to be ok it's going to be ok"
The tears dry and you get back in your car
"I love you" she says
"I love you too" you tell her
Poof
Gone then, back into the hamburger joint
The person at the window hands you the burger and ice cream
And you cruise out into the night
Wondering if that lady knew
You were dying of a broken heart
Forwarding blank emails a million times just to see if they go through
Followed by:
Oh, J, my heart is all aching for you and I can't stand the thought that you might have blocked me or closed your email account. Everything keeps getting returned. I don't understand why. I'm so sorry if my email came across as insensitive. I only wanted to make you laugh. I know it was a horrible situation but I thought I was making light of it. Upon rereading it, I can clearly see that it was not the right response to send to you in your emotional state. I hate myself for thinking it was. I'm so sorry.
And:
I wish I could talk to you. I'm losing my mind
Also:
Please get this
Then:
I am devastated and feel like the air around me is suffocating me.
HOW IT FEELS NOT TALKING TO YOU:
It feels like suffocating
It feels like drowning
It feels like heavy thick molasses air
It feels like a sturdy rope suddenly severed
It feels like looking into the bottom of a well
It feels like staring into a starless and moonless night sky
Void all the way around
You reach out to the air around you but it's not air it's rubber and it's closing in on you
And it's squishing you there between it until your heart beats so hard against it
That all of the walls start to vibrate to its rhythm
And then you can't breathe
And then your heart actually really explodes
And it rains down all around you until your cheeks are hot with tears
And you're in your car
You say his name over and over again
Then you switch to God's name
Asking, pleading
DEMANDING
Downright ORDERING
Contact
Just make contact
You plead to him and to God
And the ant crawling along your steering wheel
The leaf on your windshield
The darkness of your car
The greenish glow of your radio dial.
You plead.
Silently
When you pull up to the drive -thru window
Because the kid's gotta eat
But the kitchen feels like death
Because there's the table
You sat at when you wrote your things to him
And there's the speaker on the counter where you played the songs he sent
While you cooked
And the bottle of Jameson you bought just last weekend
Because he likes Jameson and you like him
And that's what you do when you like someone and oh, god!
You do like him!
Swollen, your eyes
The tears collecting in the bags beneath them
Made more cavernous by the silence
Your cheeks red
Your voice tiny and timid
As you order the kids vanilla frosty and cheeseburger
Hastily wiping your eyes as you pull around to pay
Allergies is what you'll tell her
She's going to ask
Only she doesn't
She says 'it's going to be ok'
And closes the window to swipe your card
You don't believe her but her kindness unleashes
The downpour
And your cup doesn't just runneth over
It floods
And she's running out to meet you in the parking lot
Of the drive thru at Wendy's
On a Tuesday night in the rain
And she opens your car door
You rise to meet her
And throw yourself into her short arms and hold onto her
Hard and long
Your face buried in her shoulder, your stomach heaving in and out
Her hands running circles on your back
"It's going to be ok it's going to be ok"
The tears dry and you get back in your car
"I love you" she says
"I love you too" you tell her
Poof
Gone then, back into the hamburger joint
The person at the window hands you the burger and ice cream
And you cruise out into the night
Wondering if that lady knew
You were dying of a broken heart
Everything The Same
I'm going to post here the email I wrote to you that keeps getting returned to me. I hope you will read it someday.
I
know you have a lot going on. But I could take your mind off it if
you'd let me. You don't have to ignore me. I don't want you to. The "ghosting" email was insensitive. I realize that now. I was hoping it
would make you laugh. I was trying to make light of the situation so
you would not think I gave one single fuck about it. Because I don't. I
don't care about anything that happened (other than how it affects you)
so if you're feeling shame or guilt or whatever...don't. I have a thing
for degenerates (I don't think you are one, by the way. I'm only
playing with you). But degenerates are my absolute fucking jam.
I
have "it" for you. In the worst way. I don't know how it's possible
to care about someone you've never met in the flesh but here I am.
Caring about you. If I'd been there when you
came home, I would have hugged you so hard, made you a hot plate after
your shower (or drew you a hot bath and got in with you to rub your
shoulders) and put you to bed so you could rest. Maybe I'd make fun of you a little too because what's life if we can't laugh at ourselves?
Nothing's changed so don't go acting like it has.
I did remove a few lines in the event anyone other than you might actually read this. Some things are private and should stay between us (I'll let you use your imagination as to what they were).
I didn't say this in the email but had I been there that night, I would have met you there and held your hand. I'd never let you go through that alone. Never.
EVERYTHING THE SAME
11.25.2019
Smoke Signals
I composed an email to you just this afternoon. I've been waiting to hear from you all day. I didn't want to overwhelm you with my need to "hear" your voice because I thought you might already be overwhelmed by other things. So I waited until I couldn't anymore. I had been typing it for two days; going back and changing things around, taking words out, putting words back in. I wanted it to be perfect because I wanted you to know everything is going to be exactly as it has been. Everything the same. Everything the same. That's what I put in the subject line. I've been reading Lisey's Story by Stephen King and that's what Lisey and Scott say to each other to indicate all is right with their world. I wanted you to know all is right with ours.
I sent it. I breathed a sigh of relief knowing you would soon be reading it and would hopefully feel reassured for a minute and know I'm here. I may be over here and not there with you but I'm still here. Only a minute went by before an error message appeared, telling me your mailbox was not found. My heart plunged to the very bottom of my being and I felt suddenly stranded.
Alone.
I knew what it meant.
Yet I still kept trying to send the damn thing to you. Over and over. I forwarded it, replied to it, pulled up an older email and wrote something on it and sent it all to you. The same message popped up every single time. And suddenly it was like all the color was sucked backwards out of my eyes until only the gray was left.
The Gray.
It was gray before I met you. I had been living in The Gray for so many years I thought there would ever only be that forever until the end. Then you showed up and you threw your beautiful color all over the walls of my soul until it practically glowed in the dark. It did glow in the dark. It glowed so brightly in the dark that I didn't need a night light anymore. Your color was all over me; it was inside me; it was becoming me.
And now you're gone and the air is thick with suffocation and remorse and things that hurl themselves at my windows trying to get in but they can't because the windows won't open without you. They're all stuck and I can't make them unstuck and I don't even want to because what's the point... it was always ever only you.
That's the truth of it, too, isn't it?
It was always you
It was always me
We rode in on the waves of our past. Breathless and tired. We washed upon the shore at the same time, our limbs tangled together, our eyes closed tight from the salt of our wounds. The tide covered us for a moment before the sea hungrily swept her back into the ocean. There was silence then and when we opened our eyes there was a tiny shimmer of light in the darkness that surrounded us. We found each other there in that light.
I wanted to stay in that light with you until darkness found us both again, this time eternal.
But you've gone.
You walked back into the ocean.
I wasn't looking and you let your shame overwhelm you. I should have found you in that shame and given you sustenance. I should have fed you my very life.
I'm sorry.
But I'm not leaving. I'm never leaving this shore. I'm staying right here with my knees pulled up to my chest, the wind of change and time blowing through my hair until the sea spits you right back out to me. Let the waves beat your battered heart and the fish nibble at your pride; gasp the salt water until it burns your lungs and when you've beaten yourself until you can't anymore, ride the crest of the wave until you get back to our shore.
Back to me
Oh, how I'll run then to meet you and drag you to safety on our sand.
Shhh
We don't have to say anything at all.
You sent this song to me while you were sick and I'm sending it back to you.
I'll be waiting
I sent it. I breathed a sigh of relief knowing you would soon be reading it and would hopefully feel reassured for a minute and know I'm here. I may be over here and not there with you but I'm still here. Only a minute went by before an error message appeared, telling me your mailbox was not found. My heart plunged to the very bottom of my being and I felt suddenly stranded.
Alone.
I knew what it meant.
Yet I still kept trying to send the damn thing to you. Over and over. I forwarded it, replied to it, pulled up an older email and wrote something on it and sent it all to you. The same message popped up every single time. And suddenly it was like all the color was sucked backwards out of my eyes until only the gray was left.
The Gray.
It was gray before I met you. I had been living in The Gray for so many years I thought there would ever only be that forever until the end. Then you showed up and you threw your beautiful color all over the walls of my soul until it practically glowed in the dark. It did glow in the dark. It glowed so brightly in the dark that I didn't need a night light anymore. Your color was all over me; it was inside me; it was becoming me.
And now you're gone and the air is thick with suffocation and remorse and things that hurl themselves at my windows trying to get in but they can't because the windows won't open without you. They're all stuck and I can't make them unstuck and I don't even want to because what's the point... it was always ever only you.
That's the truth of it, too, isn't it?
It was always you
It was always me
We rode in on the waves of our past. Breathless and tired. We washed upon the shore at the same time, our limbs tangled together, our eyes closed tight from the salt of our wounds. The tide covered us for a moment before the sea hungrily swept her back into the ocean. There was silence then and when we opened our eyes there was a tiny shimmer of light in the darkness that surrounded us. We found each other there in that light.
I wanted to stay in that light with you until darkness found us both again, this time eternal.
But you've gone.
You walked back into the ocean.
I wasn't looking and you let your shame overwhelm you. I should have found you in that shame and given you sustenance. I should have fed you my very life.
I'm sorry.
But I'm not leaving. I'm never leaving this shore. I'm staying right here with my knees pulled up to my chest, the wind of change and time blowing through my hair until the sea spits you right back out to me. Let the waves beat your battered heart and the fish nibble at your pride; gasp the salt water until it burns your lungs and when you've beaten yourself until you can't anymore, ride the crest of the wave until you get back to our shore.
Back to me
Oh, how I'll run then to meet you and drag you to safety on our sand.
Shhh
We don't have to say anything at all.
You sent this song to me while you were sick and I'm sending it back to you.
I'll be waiting
11.10.2019
Eli's Timeline
I told Eli goodbye yesterday morning at 10:40 a.m. I can't believe he's gone. I feel so lost without him. I feel as though a part of me is gone now, too. He was a big part of who I was for so long. And he's gone. Just gone.
He would have turned 11 in February. We had 10 good years together so I guess that's saying something, huh? Still. I didn't want to let him go. I wish I didn't have to let him go. He was starting to get down in his hips last summer. His hind legs would lock up occasionally and he would be going around in circles, unable to straighten them out. So, I took him to the vet. Arthritis. Dr. Steudeman gave him a steroid shot and sent him on his way. The shot was great and Elijah did well for a long time. Until about March of this year. He started having trouble getting up and down or going down stairs. Plus, we'd started to notice a lump in his chest. It wasn't very big and not even really noticeable unless you pointed it out or knew it was there. So, back to the vet we go. He gets another shot. Dr. Steudeman says we can start giving him the shot every 3 months or so to keep him comfortable. While we're there, I point out the lump to Dr. Steudeman. He had not noticed it until I told him about it and was visibly taken aback by it. It was about the size of a golf ball. Right in the center of his chest. He wants us to come back and have Dr. Bussey biopsy it to rule out cancer and maybe figure out what it could be. We take him back a week later and she does the needle aspiration but all she gets back is blood. She doesn't think it is cancer. She doesn't know what it is. From the x-rays she took, she can tell that it is not attached to any of his vital organs so that's a good sign. We are sent home and told to watch it. This was the end of March.
By June, when it's time for another shot, the "tumor" is as large as a basketball. Dr. Bussey gives him another shot for his arthritis but doesn't know what the tumor could be. As long as it is not impairing his mobility or having an effect on his quality of life, we are told to just watch and see. Of course, she does offer to give us a referral to a veterinarian in Birmingham. She also says he can start taking the shot once a month. That there's no need to wait every 3 months. If it helps him and gives him quality of life, it can't harm him since he's already so old. She also prescribes him Tramadol. Two pills twice a day as needed.
The tumor has grown so large that Elijah is having a hard time lying down. He can no longer lie on his side without literally throwing his head against the floor. When he does lie on his side, the arm that's on top is so far in the air because of the tumor. It is hilarious and sad all at the same time. His arthritis got so bad in June that we didn't even make it a whole 3 weeks between shots. The week mom went to visit Stacy and Scott in Arkansas, he went down fast and hard. Literally, he was fine Tuesday and by Wednesday, he could not walk. He was unable to grip and his feet would slide out from underneath him if he tried to walk. That's if he could even get up. He stopped eating and drinking. All he wanted to do was lay on his dog bed and not move. I brought water to him and cooked him chicken and rice with mushroom soup. He ate it sitting on his dog bed. He couldn't even make it to his food bowl. He began to drool incessantly, also. He didn't go outside all day Wednesday. I tried to find every throw rug in the house to make paths for him to walk on. We had to block the kitchen off completely. Thursday morning, I was up at 4 a.m. because I had to be at work at five. I heard this loud thud in the kitchen. Eli was trying to get to the back door and had fallen on the kitchen floor. I wrapped my arms underneath his belly to help him stand. It was like ice skating for him on the kitchen floor. That afternoon, I took him back to the vet. Somehow we made it out the house, down the steps and into the car. He could barely move. I don't know how he did it, honestly. It was gut wrenching. I left him in the car while I went in. I wasn't about to make him move if he didn't have to. Of course, as soon as Dr. Steudeman walks into the room, I burst into tears. I tell him that Eli went down yesterday and he can barely move. He's not eating. The tumor is so freaking huge. I don't know what to do. I am sobbing. Dr. Steudeman says it's time to think about letting him go and I'm like....what!? He was ok two days ago. He says I should do it as soon as possible. I'm like...well it won't be today. I can't make that decision right now. He says to prepare for Saturday and if I have access to a truck, they can come outside and do it. Eli won't have to get up or go inside or anything. I'm like ok. Let me wrap my head around this. I ask him if he can get another shot because they really seem to help. He says he doesn't see why not. At this point, even though it's only been 3 weeks between shots, it can't possibly hurt him. So, Dr. Steudeman gets the shot ready and comes out to the car to give it to him in his rump. He walks around to the other side of the car to take a look at the tumor. Elijah has long tendrils of drool hanging down both sides of his mouth. You can tell he is miserable. We go home. I go to the store and stock up on wet dog food to try and entice him to eat. I bring his meals to him on his dog bed and his water, too. Max has one of those foam alphabet mats that I never really put down in his room. I get it out of the closet. It is perfect for Eli to walk on. I spread it out on the porch for him to walk over on his way down the steps. The steps are concrete so he does pretty well on those. He sways some when he gets up. Just getting up itself is a process. He stretches both legs out in front of him and uses them to ease himself up. Lying down, he does the same thing. He slowly lowers himself to the floor. By Friday, his left leg is starting to swell. I sit beside him and flex his leg for him to try to get some of the fluid moving along. It is obvious he's retaining fluid due to lack of use. At least, that's what I think. But I don't really know. I just feel like I am helping somehow by mimicking the movement his leg would be making if he were walking.
Fast forward to Saturday night and Eli has somehow bounced back. Back to eating and drinking and wanting to go outside. I am elated and confused all at the same time. Nathan says it must be comparable to people with arthritis. That they go through spells where their arthritis is really bad and then it gets better. Maybe he was just having a really bad spell. I am overjoyed so, of course, I don't take him to the vet on Saturday to have him put to sleep. I see Dr. Steudeman about a week later and tell him Eli is feeling better. He is pleased.
By July, I feel like we have the arthritis under control with the the monthly shots and the Tramadol. He is comfortable and still living a quality life. We are rocking along. The tumor, though. THE TUMOR! Good god the tumor. It is massive. And in his way. It is rubbing against his leg and the floor every time he gets up or down. The rubbing causes a tear in the skin which, in turn, lets fluid seep out. The tear gets bigger and more fluid is seeping out. We are constantly going behind him and wiping up fluid. It is pretty gross and phenomenal. Finally, a spot starts to open up on the front of the tumor and he begins seeping fluid from there. It's almost as if the tumor got so large it burst through the skin. We go back to the vet and they keep him there for a couple of hours. Finally, she calls me to come get him and says they have decided to go in and do surgery to remove as much of the tumor as they can and close the wound. Debridement - that's what she called it. It should also be noted that the tumor, which was the size of a basketball easily, has now shrunk down to the size of a kickball or smaller due to the fluid coming out. And the smell. Good night. The smell is of decaying flesh. It is really quite awful. I am optimistic about the surgery. Super excited. We are sent home to do antibiotics for a week prior to the surgery. From Tuesday, July 22 to Wednesday, July 30, he took two pills twice a day. On July 30, I took him in at 8:30 for the surgery. I cried like a baby because there was a possibility he would die on the operating table due to his age. They assured me they would take good care of him.
I called to check on him around 4 or 4:30 that afternoon. They had just taken him back and were still in surgery. Finally, around 5:30 or 6, the office called me and said he was waking up and he did great. He would probably get to come home the next day. Woo hoo! I was ecstatic! I could not wait to see my guy without that tumor on his chest. It felt like an eternity that he had to suffer through that. The next day, July 31, after work, I went to pick the old guy up. Let me tell you...when I saw him come down the hall for the first time with no bandage and tumor free....I was overcome with gratitude and awe. He looked 10 years younger. His eyes were clear and worry free. He was beautiful. They took him to one of the rooms and bandaged him up in figure eights across his chest and under his legs. There was quite a large open would on the underside of his chest that wasn't visible unless you looked underneath him. For that reason, though, it had to stay bandaged. We went home on Thursday afternoon and were told to come back on Monday to take the staples out and rebandage him. He does well through the weekend. The bandage is holding up and he is not messing with it too bad.
On Monday, August 4, Nathan takes him in for the staple removal. He gets a new bandage. Somehow this bandage is not as secure as the on from Thursday and by Tuesday, we are back at the vet. She takes a look at it and seems to think there is a bit of regrowth from the tumor but nothing to worry about yet. She rebandages him and then asks us if we feel comfortable doing it at home. If we can, we don't need to come back for at least 10 days. We agree. She shows us how to take a towel and then the pads. We are to spray something on the pad and add a powder to it. Take the powder and try to get it inside the wound. We are to also spray the stuff directly on the wound. How often do we need to change the bandage? Hopefully, he will keep it on for several days before it needs to be dressed again. We are given a cone for him to wear. Ok. Well, by Wednesday, he already needs a new bandage. Overnight, he has managed to get out of his cone and lick at it and tear it open so when I come downstairs Wednesday morning, it is hanging from his chest. His tongue is just a wagging and I'm pretty sure he has eaten the bandage. I get Max to daycare and go to work because I don't have time to change the bandage. I leave work around 8:30ish to go take care of it. It is pretty disgusting but it's only noticeable if you look underneath his belly. He has stitches on the side of his chest and a large gaping would underneath where she didn't have enough skin to really pull it back together. Over time, new skin will grow. The goal right now is to have the would somewhat dry up. I am pretty proud of my first wrap! never thought I would have been able to stomach it but......LOVE.
This continues for several days. We develop a routine. Every night, Eli manages to get out of his cone and tear through his bandage. Every afternoon, I come home and change it. Instead of getting several days out of one bandage, we are changing it everyday. By Friday, August 8, I am already out of all the free wrap and tape she supplied me with on Tuesday. I stop by the vet on the way home from work that day and pick up some elasticon (this stuff is awesome!) and she asks me how the wound looks. I tell her I don't really have a frame of reference since I didn't see it when it was first done but it was looking good to me? She asked if it seemed to be drying up and it did so I told her so.
By Sunday, August 10, I have FINALLY perfected the cone. I know how to secure it tightly enough so that he can not get out of it. I think part of my fear initially was that I would have it too tight around his neck and he would suffocate while I was sleeping or at work. Irrational, I know, but I worried nonetheless.
On Monday, August 11, when I return home from work to rewrap the bandage, I notice a piece of flesh sticking up through his chest. You don't have to look underneath him to see it. It is visible when I take his bandage off. It's not very big but it's there. I know it's the fucking tumor. I am so disheartened but I sort of push it out of my mind. I spary it and put the powder on it and dress it like normal. I bandage it up. Out of sight, out of mind. Except that, within hours of a new bandage, the "tumor" has already seeped through and the smell is horrendous. I try to keep the bandage on him for at least 24 hours without changing it because I somehow think this will help it to heal.
Tuesday afternoon, I unwrap the bandage. The "tumor" is larger and scary looking enough that I wrap him up and call the vet. I tell her we are dealing with a whole host of issues and I need to come in and talk to someone. I forgot to mention that several days after the surgery, Eli has lost control of both his kidneys and his bowels. Every morning for the past several days when I come downstairs there are piles of poop and pee everywhere. I clean it up. When I come home from work, it's the same. I clean it up. Elijah is drinking excessive amounts of water and urinating more frequently than I can keep up with. At first, I think, is this the end? Then, I wonder if this is an after effect of the sedation during surgery. I don't know. He has never messed in the house except when he was a puppy. I can't even recall him ever having diarrhea in the house. All of these things, I need to talk to the vet about.
So, Tuesday, August 12, I load him up and off we go to see Dr. Bussey. I tell her about his incontinence, his excessive drinking, his wound. She unwraps his bandage slightly and is taken aback by the appearance of the "tumor." She asks if Dr. Wright stapled this together and I said yes, this is new growth. This literally happened between Saturday/Sunday and Monday. At this point, she says we can either go in and debride the tumor again and try to close him back up but at the rate the tumor is growing....it hasn't even been two weeks since the surgery. Or she can refer him to a specialist in Birmingham who may or may not be able to do anything. And even if they can do something, how much longer will it extend his life? Does that outweigh the trauma of another surgery. He is ancient (almost 11 years is a long time for a lab/great dane mix) and he has lived a good long life. The other option is euthanasia. Of course, I am bawling. I know all this already but I don't want it to be true. I don't want this to be the end of Eli's chapter. I am not ready. I tell her I need to go home and get some clarity and I will let them know what I decide. I think hard about the specialist in Birmingham. I even call the vet Wednesday morning to get the number. I don't get an answer and I never call back. Strangely enough, after our visit Tuesday, his water consumption returns to normal and he is no longer evacuating his kidneys and bowels in the house. So, I guess it was an after effect of the surgery after all. Not sure.
I take him back to the vet Thursday, partly in the hopes that I will see a different doctor and they will tell me there is still hope and we still have options. Partly because I want them to tell me point blank that it's time. We've done all we can do. I guess I want them to essentially make the decision for me. But they can't and I know that. I have decided against the specialist in Birmingham. Mostly because, even if they could do something, I don't have the financial ability to cover the expenses. That is the sad reality of that and I can't deny it. I can say it's because of his age. But the truth is, if I were able to, I would spend any amount of money even if it were for nothing. Even if they couldn't do anything. I would have at least tried. But I can't. The money is not there. Anyway, I have made up my mind when I see Dr. Bussey. I tell her I need more wrap for his bandage to get us through the weekend and that I'll bring him in on Monday to say goodbye. I'd like to spend one last weekend with him. She assures me I'm doing the right thing. I know this on some level but I can't accept it. Still can't.
He would have turned 11 in February. We had 10 good years together so I guess that's saying something, huh? Still. I didn't want to let him go. I wish I didn't have to let him go. He was starting to get down in his hips last summer. His hind legs would lock up occasionally and he would be going around in circles, unable to straighten them out. So, I took him to the vet. Arthritis. Dr. Steudeman gave him a steroid shot and sent him on his way. The shot was great and Elijah did well for a long time. Until about March of this year. He started having trouble getting up and down or going down stairs. Plus, we'd started to notice a lump in his chest. It wasn't very big and not even really noticeable unless you pointed it out or knew it was there. So, back to the vet we go. He gets another shot. Dr. Steudeman says we can start giving him the shot every 3 months or so to keep him comfortable. While we're there, I point out the lump to Dr. Steudeman. He had not noticed it until I told him about it and was visibly taken aback by it. It was about the size of a golf ball. Right in the center of his chest. He wants us to come back and have Dr. Bussey biopsy it to rule out cancer and maybe figure out what it could be. We take him back a week later and she does the needle aspiration but all she gets back is blood. She doesn't think it is cancer. She doesn't know what it is. From the x-rays she took, she can tell that it is not attached to any of his vital organs so that's a good sign. We are sent home and told to watch it. This was the end of March.
By June, when it's time for another shot, the "tumor" is as large as a basketball. Dr. Bussey gives him another shot for his arthritis but doesn't know what the tumor could be. As long as it is not impairing his mobility or having an effect on his quality of life, we are told to just watch and see. Of course, she does offer to give us a referral to a veterinarian in Birmingham. She also says he can start taking the shot once a month. That there's no need to wait every 3 months. If it helps him and gives him quality of life, it can't harm him since he's already so old. She also prescribes him Tramadol. Two pills twice a day as needed.
The tumor has grown so large that Elijah is having a hard time lying down. He can no longer lie on his side without literally throwing his head against the floor. When he does lie on his side, the arm that's on top is so far in the air because of the tumor. It is hilarious and sad all at the same time. His arthritis got so bad in June that we didn't even make it a whole 3 weeks between shots. The week mom went to visit Stacy and Scott in Arkansas, he went down fast and hard. Literally, he was fine Tuesday and by Wednesday, he could not walk. He was unable to grip and his feet would slide out from underneath him if he tried to walk. That's if he could even get up. He stopped eating and drinking. All he wanted to do was lay on his dog bed and not move. I brought water to him and cooked him chicken and rice with mushroom soup. He ate it sitting on his dog bed. He couldn't even make it to his food bowl. He began to drool incessantly, also. He didn't go outside all day Wednesday. I tried to find every throw rug in the house to make paths for him to walk on. We had to block the kitchen off completely. Thursday morning, I was up at 4 a.m. because I had to be at work at five. I heard this loud thud in the kitchen. Eli was trying to get to the back door and had fallen on the kitchen floor. I wrapped my arms underneath his belly to help him stand. It was like ice skating for him on the kitchen floor. That afternoon, I took him back to the vet. Somehow we made it out the house, down the steps and into the car. He could barely move. I don't know how he did it, honestly. It was gut wrenching. I left him in the car while I went in. I wasn't about to make him move if he didn't have to. Of course, as soon as Dr. Steudeman walks into the room, I burst into tears. I tell him that Eli went down yesterday and he can barely move. He's not eating. The tumor is so freaking huge. I don't know what to do. I am sobbing. Dr. Steudeman says it's time to think about letting him go and I'm like....what!? He was ok two days ago. He says I should do it as soon as possible. I'm like...well it won't be today. I can't make that decision right now. He says to prepare for Saturday and if I have access to a truck, they can come outside and do it. Eli won't have to get up or go inside or anything. I'm like ok. Let me wrap my head around this. I ask him if he can get another shot because they really seem to help. He says he doesn't see why not. At this point, even though it's only been 3 weeks between shots, it can't possibly hurt him. So, Dr. Steudeman gets the shot ready and comes out to the car to give it to him in his rump. He walks around to the other side of the car to take a look at the tumor. Elijah has long tendrils of drool hanging down both sides of his mouth. You can tell he is miserable. We go home. I go to the store and stock up on wet dog food to try and entice him to eat. I bring his meals to him on his dog bed and his water, too. Max has one of those foam alphabet mats that I never really put down in his room. I get it out of the closet. It is perfect for Eli to walk on. I spread it out on the porch for him to walk over on his way down the steps. The steps are concrete so he does pretty well on those. He sways some when he gets up. Just getting up itself is a process. He stretches both legs out in front of him and uses them to ease himself up. Lying down, he does the same thing. He slowly lowers himself to the floor. By Friday, his left leg is starting to swell. I sit beside him and flex his leg for him to try to get some of the fluid moving along. It is obvious he's retaining fluid due to lack of use. At least, that's what I think. But I don't really know. I just feel like I am helping somehow by mimicking the movement his leg would be making if he were walking.
Fast forward to Saturday night and Eli has somehow bounced back. Back to eating and drinking and wanting to go outside. I am elated and confused all at the same time. Nathan says it must be comparable to people with arthritis. That they go through spells where their arthritis is really bad and then it gets better. Maybe he was just having a really bad spell. I am overjoyed so, of course, I don't take him to the vet on Saturday to have him put to sleep. I see Dr. Steudeman about a week later and tell him Eli is feeling better. He is pleased.
By July, I feel like we have the arthritis under control with the the monthly shots and the Tramadol. He is comfortable and still living a quality life. We are rocking along. The tumor, though. THE TUMOR! Good god the tumor. It is massive. And in his way. It is rubbing against his leg and the floor every time he gets up or down. The rubbing causes a tear in the skin which, in turn, lets fluid seep out. The tear gets bigger and more fluid is seeping out. We are constantly going behind him and wiping up fluid. It is pretty gross and phenomenal. Finally, a spot starts to open up on the front of the tumor and he begins seeping fluid from there. It's almost as if the tumor got so large it burst through the skin. We go back to the vet and they keep him there for a couple of hours. Finally, she calls me to come get him and says they have decided to go in and do surgery to remove as much of the tumor as they can and close the wound. Debridement - that's what she called it. It should also be noted that the tumor, which was the size of a basketball easily, has now shrunk down to the size of a kickball or smaller due to the fluid coming out. And the smell. Good night. The smell is of decaying flesh. It is really quite awful. I am optimistic about the surgery. Super excited. We are sent home to do antibiotics for a week prior to the surgery. From Tuesday, July 22 to Wednesday, July 30, he took two pills twice a day. On July 30, I took him in at 8:30 for the surgery. I cried like a baby because there was a possibility he would die on the operating table due to his age. They assured me they would take good care of him.
I called to check on him around 4 or 4:30 that afternoon. They had just taken him back and were still in surgery. Finally, around 5:30 or 6, the office called me and said he was waking up and he did great. He would probably get to come home the next day. Woo hoo! I was ecstatic! I could not wait to see my guy without that tumor on his chest. It felt like an eternity that he had to suffer through that. The next day, July 31, after work, I went to pick the old guy up. Let me tell you...when I saw him come down the hall for the first time with no bandage and tumor free....I was overcome with gratitude and awe. He looked 10 years younger. His eyes were clear and worry free. He was beautiful. They took him to one of the rooms and bandaged him up in figure eights across his chest and under his legs. There was quite a large open would on the underside of his chest that wasn't visible unless you looked underneath him. For that reason, though, it had to stay bandaged. We went home on Thursday afternoon and were told to come back on Monday to take the staples out and rebandage him. He does well through the weekend. The bandage is holding up and he is not messing with it too bad.
On Monday, August 4, Nathan takes him in for the staple removal. He gets a new bandage. Somehow this bandage is not as secure as the on from Thursday and by Tuesday, we are back at the vet. She takes a look at it and seems to think there is a bit of regrowth from the tumor but nothing to worry about yet. She rebandages him and then asks us if we feel comfortable doing it at home. If we can, we don't need to come back for at least 10 days. We agree. She shows us how to take a towel and then the pads. We are to spray something on the pad and add a powder to it. Take the powder and try to get it inside the wound. We are to also spray the stuff directly on the wound. How often do we need to change the bandage? Hopefully, he will keep it on for several days before it needs to be dressed again. We are given a cone for him to wear. Ok. Well, by Wednesday, he already needs a new bandage. Overnight, he has managed to get out of his cone and lick at it and tear it open so when I come downstairs Wednesday morning, it is hanging from his chest. His tongue is just a wagging and I'm pretty sure he has eaten the bandage. I get Max to daycare and go to work because I don't have time to change the bandage. I leave work around 8:30ish to go take care of it. It is pretty disgusting but it's only noticeable if you look underneath his belly. He has stitches on the side of his chest and a large gaping would underneath where she didn't have enough skin to really pull it back together. Over time, new skin will grow. The goal right now is to have the would somewhat dry up. I am pretty proud of my first wrap! never thought I would have been able to stomach it but......LOVE.
This continues for several days. We develop a routine. Every night, Eli manages to get out of his cone and tear through his bandage. Every afternoon, I come home and change it. Instead of getting several days out of one bandage, we are changing it everyday. By Friday, August 8, I am already out of all the free wrap and tape she supplied me with on Tuesday. I stop by the vet on the way home from work that day and pick up some elasticon (this stuff is awesome!) and she asks me how the wound looks. I tell her I don't really have a frame of reference since I didn't see it when it was first done but it was looking good to me? She asked if it seemed to be drying up and it did so I told her so.
By Sunday, August 10, I have FINALLY perfected the cone. I know how to secure it tightly enough so that he can not get out of it. I think part of my fear initially was that I would have it too tight around his neck and he would suffocate while I was sleeping or at work. Irrational, I know, but I worried nonetheless.
On Monday, August 11, when I return home from work to rewrap the bandage, I notice a piece of flesh sticking up through his chest. You don't have to look underneath him to see it. It is visible when I take his bandage off. It's not very big but it's there. I know it's the fucking tumor. I am so disheartened but I sort of push it out of my mind. I spary it and put the powder on it and dress it like normal. I bandage it up. Out of sight, out of mind. Except that, within hours of a new bandage, the "tumor" has already seeped through and the smell is horrendous. I try to keep the bandage on him for at least 24 hours without changing it because I somehow think this will help it to heal.
Tuesday afternoon, I unwrap the bandage. The "tumor" is larger and scary looking enough that I wrap him up and call the vet. I tell her we are dealing with a whole host of issues and I need to come in and talk to someone. I forgot to mention that several days after the surgery, Eli has lost control of both his kidneys and his bowels. Every morning for the past several days when I come downstairs there are piles of poop and pee everywhere. I clean it up. When I come home from work, it's the same. I clean it up. Elijah is drinking excessive amounts of water and urinating more frequently than I can keep up with. At first, I think, is this the end? Then, I wonder if this is an after effect of the sedation during surgery. I don't know. He has never messed in the house except when he was a puppy. I can't even recall him ever having diarrhea in the house. All of these things, I need to talk to the vet about.
So, Tuesday, August 12, I load him up and off we go to see Dr. Bussey. I tell her about his incontinence, his excessive drinking, his wound. She unwraps his bandage slightly and is taken aback by the appearance of the "tumor." She asks if Dr. Wright stapled this together and I said yes, this is new growth. This literally happened between Saturday/Sunday and Monday. At this point, she says we can either go in and debride the tumor again and try to close him back up but at the rate the tumor is growing....it hasn't even been two weeks since the surgery. Or she can refer him to a specialist in Birmingham who may or may not be able to do anything. And even if they can do something, how much longer will it extend his life? Does that outweigh the trauma of another surgery. He is ancient (almost 11 years is a long time for a lab/great dane mix) and he has lived a good long life. The other option is euthanasia. Of course, I am bawling. I know all this already but I don't want it to be true. I don't want this to be the end of Eli's chapter. I am not ready. I tell her I need to go home and get some clarity and I will let them know what I decide. I think hard about the specialist in Birmingham. I even call the vet Wednesday morning to get the number. I don't get an answer and I never call back. Strangely enough, after our visit Tuesday, his water consumption returns to normal and he is no longer evacuating his kidneys and bowels in the house. So, I guess it was an after effect of the surgery after all. Not sure.
I take him back to the vet Thursday, partly in the hopes that I will see a different doctor and they will tell me there is still hope and we still have options. Partly because I want them to tell me point blank that it's time. We've done all we can do. I guess I want them to essentially make the decision for me. But they can't and I know that. I have decided against the specialist in Birmingham. Mostly because, even if they could do something, I don't have the financial ability to cover the expenses. That is the sad reality of that and I can't deny it. I can say it's because of his age. But the truth is, if I were able to, I would spend any amount of money even if it were for nothing. Even if they couldn't do anything. I would have at least tried. But I can't. The money is not there. Anyway, I have made up my mind when I see Dr. Bussey. I tell her I need more wrap for his bandage to get us through the weekend and that I'll bring him in on Monday to say goodbye. I'd like to spend one last weekend with him. She assures me I'm doing the right thing. I know this on some level but I can't accept it. Still can't.
Drink Up, Baby
"Between the Bars" by Elliott Smith just came on. You said it reminded you of the night we first met. I can't listen to it without thinking of you and those first tentative moments of conversation when I was somewhere between sober and blackout and made some dumb comment about wanting to visit both Seattle and Washington state. Of course, I was immediately called out on this (but not by you) and asked if I knew Seattle was in Washington. The only natural thing I could see to do was admit that I was drunk and let the chips fall where they may.
You still talked to me.
I couldn't believe it. Who would want to talk to such an obvious moron? Of course, you know by now that I do, in fact, know Seattle is part of Washington. But you didn't know that then and you still dove in.
I'm so glad you dove in.
You swam immediately out to the middle, beckoning me to join you while I stood ankle deep on the steps. You waited for me to let go and meet you out there. I hovered, one foot above the step, the other pushing off gently until I swam to you in a rush. Over a month now, we've been bobbing up and down, clinging to each other so we don't drown.
You'd never let me drown and I know that.
I won't let you either.
Now you're sick and it's been three days since I've "heard" your voice. It's been three days too long. Too many hours, too many seconds. I wish you could use my body to fight, too. I'd give it to you in a millisecond and for eternity. I would inhale the purest air to fill every corner of my lungs just to exhale it into you until all the sickness is expelled.
I've called hospitals, said your name, held my breath. Waiting. Always no. No one here by that name. I want to hear yes. Yes means ok. No means I don't know if you're ok. And I need you to be ok.
Now, I'm here pacing back and forth, reading Robinson Jeffers just to feel close to you and then Bukowski to lighten the mood. I've read all of Sylvia Plath's letters to Ted Hughes a thousand times and I want to be your Sylvia Plath (except I won't kill myself because I don't want to miss one second of you). And I've been praying to a God I don't even know if I believe in because what kind of God brings me you after I've waited a lifetime for only you just to then take you away from me....
And maybe I sound frantic and obsessed and maybe this will scare you away if you read it.
But I know it won't.....
I miss you.
Get well soon.
You still talked to me.
I couldn't believe it. Who would want to talk to such an obvious moron? Of course, you know by now that I do, in fact, know Seattle is part of Washington. But you didn't know that then and you still dove in.
I'm so glad you dove in.
You swam immediately out to the middle, beckoning me to join you while I stood ankle deep on the steps. You waited for me to let go and meet you out there. I hovered, one foot above the step, the other pushing off gently until I swam to you in a rush. Over a month now, we've been bobbing up and down, clinging to each other so we don't drown.
You'd never let me drown and I know that.
I won't let you either.
Now you're sick and it's been three days since I've "heard" your voice. It's been three days too long. Too many hours, too many seconds. I wish you could use my body to fight, too. I'd give it to you in a millisecond and for eternity. I would inhale the purest air to fill every corner of my lungs just to exhale it into you until all the sickness is expelled.
I've called hospitals, said your name, held my breath. Waiting. Always no. No one here by that name. I want to hear yes. Yes means ok. No means I don't know if you're ok. And I need you to be ok.
Now, I'm here pacing back and forth, reading Robinson Jeffers just to feel close to you and then Bukowski to lighten the mood. I've read all of Sylvia Plath's letters to Ted Hughes a thousand times and I want to be your Sylvia Plath (except I won't kill myself because I don't want to miss one second of you). And I've been praying to a God I don't even know if I believe in because what kind of God brings me you after I've waited a lifetime for only you just to then take you away from me....
And maybe I sound frantic and obsessed and maybe this will scare you away if you read it.
But I know it won't.....
I miss you.
Get well soon.
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Once Upon A Time
I spent the last two hours writing to you. It's long and drawn out and I'm not going to post it here. It was an attempt to make se...
