03 Thursday Jan 2013
Continuing the “tradition of hope” started on January 3rd 2009 when I posted my first ever Photohunt entry. The theme that week was “hope” and I put up a photo of my daybook turned to January 3rd 2010 with the words “STILL HERE!” written on it. Since then I have posted a similar photo on this date and hope with all my heart that I’ll be here to do the same next year.
01 Tuesday Jan 2013
Posted in friends, holidays, home, hope, life stuff
29 Saturday Sep 2012
Posted in cats, change, death & dying, home, hope, life stuff
When Azar died I said in another blog post that I finally understood why people want to believe in Heaven, and I also finally understood the concept of graves. Ever since I made the somewhat rash decision to bury Azar in a square near my house I realised that I actually took comfort in him still being “close to home” and that I can see the trees from my bedroom window and know that he is resting below them. I know it doesn’t make any sense, and I know it’s just his remains there, but I somehow need him to be nearby.
I actually waited almost two weeks before I revisited his grave, in case it had been disturbed, because I didn’t know what I’d do if Azar was no longer there. But I found it just as we’d left it, and since then I’ve wandered by many times and stop to say a few words.
My most beautiful boy.
11 Tuesday Sep 2012
Posted in animals & pets, cats, death & dying, home, hope
Here is the best cat in the world enjoying a sunbeam this morning. To be honest, I thought Azar wasn’t going to still be alive when I woke up today (not that I slept much!). In fact, the past two nights I’ve barely slept because he’s been tossing and turning and sometimes crying out, totally breaking my heart. I would have taken him to the vet’s yesterday but I had my own hospital day, plus a tapas tour in the evening. So today I brought him in to see Eva just to get another opinion on whether it was time to let Azar go, though when I saw him looking so content in that sunbeam I hoped there was still more I could do.
Well, the sad thing is that Eva does think that Azar is probably on his way out. Since the trauma of his exploding tumour, about ten days ago, he’s stopped eating on his own and has to be fed using a syringe. And then on Sunday he stopped drinking on his own, which was the thing he always used to do no matter what. Eva said cats with kidney problems go through a lot of low periods, but then rally again. The thing that’s hard to know now is whether this is a low time because of the whole tumour thing, which has left his only good front leg too weak to walk on, not to mention the pain involved, or whether he’s just had enough.
The good thing about taking him in this morning is that I now have a time-frame and treatment regimen to work with. I still need to keep changing the bandages 2-3 times a day – the wound is almost completely healed, which Eva still can’t believe – and I was told to keep feeding him the same amount of food I’ve been giving him (was very glad to hear I’d been giving him the right amount!). Now I also have to start giving him 20 mls of water a day, in 5 ml doses. If I do all that and by Friday there is no improvement then it will be time to say goodbye.
I did wonder if it was time to say goodbye this morning, until I saw him in the sunbeam and thought “not just yet”.
10 Monday Sep 2012
Posted in cancer, friends, health & happiness, hope, hospitals
That’s what Pat would say to me… she’d say “strong thoughts”. And I would feel comforted. One of Pat’s avatars – the black-eyed susan.
The black-eyed susans in my avatar represent two things: every-day beauty in spite of adversity, and sheer persistence. At home I have a 4×12 foot border of black-eyed susans around my front patio. Those flowers are the offshoots of a single 4-inch pot I found wilting on the reduced-for-clearance rack at the garden center in 1998. Now even the daylilies have to argue with them for water, sun and space. The black-eyed susans never lose and never quit; they are a simple, beautiful symbol of what my life with cancer survivorship has become: life out loud, no matter what the circumstances or adversities.
This morning I’m going for my umpteenth PET scan (I can’t be bothered counting them right now). But basically I’ve been having them every six months since May 2008. Since September 2009 I have been NED (no evidence of disease). But everytime I go for a PET scan I am terrified. I mean, this time last year Pat never thought it was going to be her last September. With stage IV cancer you just never know what’s going to happen next.
So in a few hours I’m going to find out whether I get yet another “stay of execution” or if I have to start thinking about chemo and other awful possibilities. Been having quite a lot of abdominal pain of late, so of course I’m scared this means the cancer has come back. Scared out of my wits, actually.
Wish me luck!
casa azahar 