Death Anxiety and Aging

I can't quite share my exciting news - things aren't finalized and official enough to say something publicly.

I've had real problems since moving out of my ex's place with death anxiety. It doesn't help that I turned 30 today. I'm not doing what I thought I'd be doing. I'm not happy with how my personal life turned out. I really thought I'd be married this month. I didn't expect my dog to get so sick so quickly from cancer.

Taking into account all the anxiety-reducing techniques I've learned over the years (counseling is amazing, counseling is marvelous - I did it; I recommend it), I've been managing pretty well. It's been better this week with my parents here - I haven't thought I'm going to die; I have to die one day, this is really really scary; I don't want to die; Why do I have to die before going to bed in a few days.

The worst part about anxiety is how shameful it is. When people around you don't understand and don't get that you're not really in control of how you're reacting to things. When things are good, they're good, but when you feel like you're ready to burst into tears or run out of the room all at the same time, it makes it really hard to be around other people.

I had a great birthday - I had breakfast with my parents, met someone from the Internet for lunch, went to the movie talk and screening of Monty Python and the Holy Grail. 

On the walk over to the movie talk, I ran into one of my coworkers. I told him my exciting news. He hugged me and wished me the best. I work with great people.

I'm 30. I can't believe it. I know I'm inching closer and closer to death, but I have so much life left to live that I can't be afraid of the unknown forever.

I hate packing

Two weeks ago, I found a new place to live. It's closer to work, but there's no garage, no dishwasher, and no laundry facilities. It's something I can afford. It's a short-term lease, which is good since I was invited to apply to a place I made the top seven at so, we'll see.

The whole process of packing up just half the stuff, half of what is mine, it's draining me. It's wearing me out.

Part of it the question of "Whose is this?" Is it more of a gift from my family? Was it really meant for one of us?

I don't even have anything more in me.

Wednesday, July 8, 2015, my ex had our dog euthanized because her cancer was so bad. I took the day off from work. I didn't have work in me that day. I don't have packing in me now; I keep finding her things all over the house, the places she hid her favorite toys - I can't. I can't stand all of this happening all together.

The movers are coming on Tuesday and I've got maybe a dozen boxes half-packed. I'm desperately trying not to freak out or panic, but that plan isn't going well. I'm going to have to explain they can't take every box they see, that they can't just grab stuff without asking or showing me. At least they're getting paid by the hour.

Right now, I'm an angry, angry harpy that's about to go for someone's throat. People need to fucking stop saying "Things happen for a reason." Yeah, they do - it's called he didn't want to marry me. It's called I'm an atheist who can't be out in Texas for personal safety reasons. It's called shut the fuck up about your invisible friend and his plan. M-kay?

Don't exclaim more than eight years is a long time. I FUCKING KNOW IT; I FUCKING GAVE UP SO MANY FUCKING OPPORTUNITIES ($$$$$$$$$$) TO STAY IN THIS RELATIONSHIP. DON'T THINK I'M NOT THINKING ABOUT THE SIX-FIGURE SALARY I COULD BE EARNING RIGHT NOW.

So, say, "Sorry to hear that." Then shut up. Please.

Sunday is finally getting back to normal

For the past several weeks, my knitting buddy has been gone, dealing with a family situation. While I'm happy she's back, I'm sad it's because her family member died.

I'm looking forward to my routine.

I'm also doing an Internet meetup. I feel bad leaving the puppy alone for several hours while I do this, but at the same time, I don't want to leave her for the four or five hours I'll be gone, but at the same time, I have to realize that before she got sick, I'd leave her for that long anyways.

We've had a decent week - fewer accidents in the house (a combination of discontinuing one of the medicines and us monitoring her water intake and bathroom breaks much more carefully) and she's feeling a bit better and not limping as much.

It's hard to watch her be so ill. It really, really is.

I'll keep working on the new baby blanket project. It uses Lion Brand's Pound of Love. I'm using two skeins and holding the yarn double. I cast on 134 stitches and hopefully that will be wide enough for a baby blanket. I already ripped back and restarted once, because I thought I'd do a checkers blanket. Unfortunately, the yarn held single was going to make the project take forever and then if I followed the pattern to recipe, it was going to be too short.

When making last-minute baby gifts, it's best to use thick/chunky yarn, because it knits up quicker. The Pound of Love is great, but because it is thinner, it takes longer to work with. I'm still working on the Bunny Blankie, but that's because I'm sick of the daisy stitch, even though I only have one ounce of yarn left. A Pound of Love isn't enough to knit the Bunny Blanket to recipe, sadly. However, I don't want to find another skein of it, so it will probably be about six to eight inches shorter than the pattern calls for. I don't think that will be a problem; it's actually pretty long/big as it is.

I also need to mail my Banana Bunch Blankie to my college roommate. I'm going to sit down and write the cards; the rest of the package is ready to go: the blanket, some onesies, two books, burp cloths .... all in yellow or with ducks on them because they don't know what they're having yet, and, in general, I try to avoid gendered colors whenever possible when gifting for babies. (Yes, the new baby blanket project is an exception to the I-avoid-gendered-colors rule.)

Back when I was knitting the Banana Bunch Blankie. It knit up very nicely because it only had a four-row pattern repeat.

It's great to have my knitting group back. I still have homework to do and fellowships to write up and finish, but I still need a few hours to myself today.

When it's hard to be an atheist

My dog is dying of cancer. The past two weeks have been pretty sad - she won't put weight on one of her paws and is in a lot of pain from the fluid buildup causing her bones to swell.

It's hard to be an atheist when people and things you love are dying or die.

Would it be comforting to think I'd see them again when I died? Yes, of course it would. But believing in an afterlife is like drinking ... it's numbing you to reality.

For me, this is it. Life and time is precious because I get one shot at it. Death is death.

I've known I was an atheist for a very long time. Before I was 10, for sure, but I wasn't allowed to say I was. ("Stop scaring the babysitter," was what one parent told me.)

It would be great to think the people and things I loved could hear me and I could speak to them. But I don't believe in God and I'm not going to start because death is coming.

I will grieve, but my grief is rooted in the knowledge that there is nothing after we die.

Living in the South for the past three years, I've learned to avoid talking about church and religion. Most folks don't know I'm not a believer, although I'm sure many of them suspect something is up.

Militant atheists are as annoying as militant religious people. Two sides of the same coin if you ask me.

I work for a public institution, so I am always pointing out when we may not want to come across as endorsing religion.

However, this does not mean I do not support the religious beliefs of my colleagues. Good Friday means there are like of us non-Catholics at the office that day. It doesn't bother me; if I had an equivalent holiday, I would be granted the same leave as them, so why be upset about it?

I also made sure that this Friday, when it was my turn for the weekly breakfast, to make sure nothing had meat, since it's Lent. Do I observe Lent? Nope. How do I know it's Lent? The gazillion "fillet o' fish" commercials for McDonald's. That's how.

Nevertheless, I recognize that Lent is a particularly important time for my Catholic colleagues. Thanks to the Internet, I was able to read up on the particulars of the requirements and so I was able to accommodate their dietary restrictions. (If anyone gave up anything particular for Lent, I was not aware of it.)

My atheism is not about having anyone else believe what I believe; rather, it is about what I perceive to be the truth. How can I follow any religion that says my gender is inferior? How can I believe in this all-knowing, all-seeing deity when other adherents to that belief system were exceptionally cruel to me? No thank you.

If there is a Hell, I'll see you there.

I dyed my hair purple - Coping with my dog's cancer diagnosis

For several months, our dog has been sick. It started in November right after we got back from a friend's wedding.

We came home, and the dog wouldn't eat. Three days later, her stomach was hot, like an oven, to the touch. We rushed her to the vet on Saturday, were given antibiotics, but after ten days, the cough wouldn't go away.

The vet thought it might be a drug-resistant strain of pneumonia. Another ten-day course of antibiotics.

She seemed well enough when we boarded her for Christmas break, but on New Year's Day, we got a call from our boarding/daycare place. The dog was coughing again. We were going to be home in a few days, so we said we'd take her to the vet.

We did X-Rays. There was a mass in her chest, which in November, the vet had thought was pneumonia. We paid to send the X-Rays to a specialist. The conclusion: either fungal infection or cancer.

I remembered my college roommate is now a practicing vet. I called her and asked for her professional opinion. She agreed with everything our vet was doing, but told me that if it was cancer, it would be fast since our dog was so young.

As bad as a fungal infection could be, we hoped it was fungal, but as every test for fungus came back negative, the reality of it being cancer started to set in.

We were faced with a choice: a chest biopsy or a shot of Elspar. Elspar works by starving cancer cells of an enzyme they need to reproduce. The vet said if the Elspar worked, it would work right away, but the effect would be short-term.

We decided to try the Elspar. There was a risk of allergic reaction and death, so the night before the procedure, we decided to let her have some tuna. Google says dogs can have tuna. Google failed to mention tuna can make the dog very sick.

The next day, at the vet's, the dog had a slight fever and then suddenly puked. This meant she was ineligible to start the Elspar that day. I had started to drive toward work, but then I turned around to go pick her up. The vet's office gave her a shot of anti-nausea medicine.

I had decided to take her to daycare, and I was seriously a mile away from the business, when she proceeded to vomit and have diarrhea all over the back of my car. Thank goodness for the two layers of blankets and dog covers I have in the back. May you never know was tuna vomit/diarrhea in an enclosed space smells like.

Also, remember Google can lie.

I called work and took a comp day and took the dog back to the vet, where her temperature was down and she was just fine and dandy, although she had diarrhea every couple of hours for the rest of the day. She was doing the diarrhea-I-might-shit-in-this-corner dance as I walked in with the holy mess from the back of my car. Narrowly avoided that misery.

So, the next day, we did the Elspar shot and by that afternoon ... our dog was back to herself. It was bittersweet to see her so happy and playful; it meant it was cancer.

The vet in the office handling our case was out of town the week following the Elspar shot, so this Tuesday, she called me.

The dog's life expectancy, with chemo, is six to 18 months. Without it, 30 to 60 days. We're doing the most effective chemo, the CHOP protocol. Chemo is well tolerated in dogs, and according to the literature, chemo improves their quality of life.

The specialist radiologist said the tumor by her heart had shrunk, and her liver and spleen were smaller. This mean her liver and spleen had/have tumors. This makes her cancer Stage IV (V is the worst), type b (symptomatic).

I texted my partner and lied. He's out dealing with live ammunition and I need him to be focused on his job. I texted him if the dog makes it to 18 months, we'd need to go see an oncologist. I left out that if she made it to 18 months, we'd need to see the canine oncologist because she would have beaten the odds.

Our dog is two. TWO.

We planned on at least a decade with her.

My partner loves her. We were together seven, eight years when we got the dog  and not once had I heard him sing - not even in the shower. Then we got this dog and he started making up lullabies for her, singing to her, cradling her like a baby.

I thought, how, how can I tell this man his dog has six to 18 months to live?

I've spent a lot of the past few days crying. Even writing this post, I can't stop feeling sad.

It isn't fair. I can't fix this. I can't make her stop hurting. There is no magic science to fix this and I feel so helpless.

We started chemo on Saturday. What we thought was a sprained paw turned out to be a rare complication. The fluid from the tumor by her chest is causing her bones to expand and making her limp. We can manage the pain and hopefully as the tumors shrink (if the respond to the protocol), her leg will get better.

Day one of chemo.

I hadn't realized I had schedule a hair appointment for the same time as the puppy's chemo treatment, so I rescheduled my hair appointment.

I wanted to feel something other than sad. As I drove over to the salon, I thought about what I should do. I decided, impulsively, to dye my hair purple.

It's a temp dye that will wash out over the month, but it's something to say "fuck cancer" and "this sucks."

I dyed my hair purple to cope with the dog's diagnosis.

You can tell I went with purple if you look at my hair in the sunlight. Inside, it looks like a dyed it black. Natural light shows the purple tones.

The puppy has been more herself this weekend. Even with her hurt paw, she wanted to go on some walks. We did a longer one and two shorter ones. She's bringing me toys to play with and wants to play games. It's good to see her feeling well.

On the flip side, I have been trying to cope and deal with the grief from knowing this wonderful, loving creature won't be in my life for very much longer. I had worried more about a rattlesnake or car killing her. Cancer? Cancer was for old dogs. Not my little princess.

It's wonderfully freeing though. I mean, I got fast food the other day and I gave her a few french fries. I confessed this to my partner and he said, "Well, she has cancer. I might have given her some sausage when I made spaghetti the other night."

All the toys I keep up in reserve because she plays rough? Cut all the tags off them and gave them to her. The toys I put up and do supervised play with? Here they are, go and de-stuff them and shred them to pieces! I feel like giving her a treat, I do. She's probably not making it to ten with lymphoma, so why give a fuck about verboten people treats? (We make sure they are dog-safe, don't freak out people.)

The hard part is thinking about ... what if we get something for her and she never gets to use it?

I ordered some baking clay to do a pawprint keepsake. I want to do it while she is feeling well. I don't want the memory of the pawprint to be "we did this the day she died." I want it to be while she is feeling good and racing around the house and being a happy dog.

I'm still grieving over the diagnosis and uncertainty, but I am celebrating life with my purple hair and my happy puppy.

I'm going to miss his tweets

Any here want to make me their honorary grandfather consider it done. LLAP
— Leonard Nimoy (@TheRealNimoy) January 15, 2014

I am honored to have so many honorary grandchildren. Blessings on all. LLAP
— Leonard Nimoy (@TheRealNimoy) January 15, 2014

I'm so proud of all my honorary family. Be kind to one another and make the world a better place. Love, LLAP
— Leonard Nimoy (@TheRealNimoy) January 17, 2014

Please, be kind to one another and make the world a better place. Live long and prosper Mr. Nimoy.