Hurting

Actually, my heart is not just hurting, it's breaking. Our sweet Molly has bone cancer in her front leg. We were thinking it was a bad sprain or her arthritis acting up. But the x-ray showed otherwise. Dr. Norris said the treatment is normally amputation. That's when the severity of what was going on hit me and the tears started flowing, even though I had both boys with me. Then he broke the news that even with amputation, prognosis is not good, only adding 6 - 9 months to her life. If we don't do the surgery, this type of cancer usually causes horrible pain that doesn't respond well to pain meds.

Oh, how I had hoped that this moment wouldn't come for another couple of years. But with a big dog, you have to think realistically. She is nine now. She's been in relatively good health, other than arthritis in her hips.

The vet gave me a card with a surgery center number to set up a consultation to help us make a decision. I made the appointment for yesterday, Monday, morning. I cancelled it last Friday. Even though I treasure every minute I get with her, I just can't put her through something that drastic for such a small amount of time. I hate that money had to be a factor, but of course it did. Honestly, though, I think even if we had the money I don't think I would have done it.

We had her on the milder pain med, and she seemed to be responding pretty well. I even walked her twice last week, which the vet had said was fine if she felt like it. But Sunday she started having a much harder time getting around. So yesterday we picked up the stronger pain medicine. It's morphine based and might make her a little dopey. It may be helping a tiny bit, but her limp is still pretty bad and she has a pretty hard time getting up. I HATE our hardwood floors right now. I wish we had carpet just to help her out a little.

I'm trying really hard to live in the moment. I've had more time this week to sit on the floor with her head in my lap and just love on her like crazy. But sometimes I get so sad I have to go off by myself and have a good sob. Gabriel knows I'm really upset. We have told him that Molly is sick and her leg is really hurting. I am spending alot of time checking to see where she is and making sure that they won't step on or stumble over her. I know she would never hurt the boys in a normal state of mind, but pain can cause some abnormal behavior.

I've been through this before with Stanley. It was agonizing, trying to decide when the time had come, and not wanting to do it too soon. This isn't any easier, although I think I learned that that dog will let me know when the time has come.

10 things...

I love about summer are:

-going to the farmer's market and the of bounty fruits and vegetables available.

-playing in the kiddie pool or the sprinkler with the boys, and going swimming in big pools.

-going for early morning walks in the quiet with Molly (although this is a little tough now - more later).

-working in the yard after the boys have gone to sleep - mostly watering, watering, watering.

-air conditioning.

-the toads that visit our yard, and finding them in all of the shallow water bowls I have sitting around the yard.

-adventure Thursdays with the boys.

-grilling, now that I finally got brave and made a successful and delicious meal all by myself!

-sweet tea.

-air conditioning!!!!!

I hate about summer are:

-mosquitos (biting the boys; they never bite me).

-sunscreen, and having to apply it to wiggly boys who are ready to swim.

-feeling pressure to keep my toenails painted and looking pretty all the time.

-working in the yard after the boys have gone to sleep. Yes, this is under both categories. It just depends on my mood.

-having to get the all the laundry done by 2 pm so the garage won't be even more of a hotbox when Bones goes out for the night.

-sweating, sweating, and more sweating, and feeling like I need a shower sometimes two or three times a day.

-loading the kids in a boiling hot car.

-windy days that don't bring rain.

-my hair. It just stays up.

-worrying about the city running out of water. I know, it's ridiculous, but it's what I do.

A thank you to my son

You had me nervous before you ever came out.

You see, I didn't prepare and learn about all the issues of nursing a child before I had your brother. I thought it would be easy and simple. After all, women had been feeding their babies this way since the beginning of time. But your brother came out hungry, and we could never make it all work. Which broke my heart a little. So when I found out about you, I thought to myself that I had a second chance. But would I be able to pull it off? Make that would WE be able to pull it off?

Well, we began our journey really well. You were so laid back about everything, and didn't seem to mind that your mother is a complete control freak. Something that goes against the nature of nursing. But you were patient with me. You were probably amused by my late night phone calls to my friend Sue, who I consider the equivalent of a sponsor to an AA member - only my drug was control. Every time I spoke with her, she had to patiently remind me that you were the one who should be running the show, not me.

We got into a real rhythm by about your fourth month, and I was finally able to get it. THIS is why women breast feed. It felt like an extension of the miracle of pregnancy and birth. Not only could I grow you inside of me, but I also had this ability to feed and nourish you, almost like the umbilical cord became magically attached again every time you nursed. I was nervous at first about nursing you away from home. But we learned together to do it. No need to cart around bottles, or formula, or anything. We just needed you, and me. And even though you were too big to ever feed out in public (no blanket could keep you covered up), as long as I could find a bathroom stall or empty room, we could be comfortable. Anytime you needed it, anywhere we happened to be, I could give you food.

Early on I read a book or watched TV while you ate at home, but sometime around your sixth month I decided to only pay attention to you. I sang songs to you, which you really seemed to like. I stroked your downy, fuzzy head which I know you loved, and still do. But the things you gave to me were so much bigger than anything I gave to you. I felt a connection to all the other women who came before me and did this. I felt in touch with the rhythms of the earth. I felt a relief from just letting go. But I mostly felt really, really peaceful. No matter how crazy our day had been going, or how frantic you seemed if you woke up at night, all it took was five minutes to get us both so relaxed we could go to sleep.

We had some rough spots here and there. You started getting your teeth in, and had to learn that a biting boy ends up a hungry boy. OUCH! But it only took two interruptions for you to figure that out. You are so big that we had to try a couple of different places where we could both be comfortable, ending up on an ottoman that we stuck in the middle of your room. That became such an important piece of furniture, and even though it is back in its place in the living room I will never sit on it without feeling the weight of you in my arms, remembering the sight of your sweet profile and the feel of your little hands on my face.

I find myself looking at you doing different things around the house, playing or watching TV, and I can feel my milk start to come in. I have an urge to grab you and let you eat, and start it all up again. Because even though you have been ready for this for weeks, I am still not ready, and I don't believe I would ever have been truly ready. Because when we were together, doing our thing, my addiction to control had finally given way to an addiction to peace. And because I know I will never do any of these miraculous things again. This ending brings an ending to the magic of having a baby.

But see, here's where you have come through for me again. Bedtime, which could have been hard for me to get through, has turned into a special, fun time each night. After I came up with the idea of singing one song with you before rocking and singing you to sleep, you decided to start playing a new game. You point to different squares on the wonderful quilt that Susan made for you, and want me to tell what it is, and sing a song about it. And hearing your funny babble, seeing your little thumb and index finger pressed together pointing, and knowing how happy you are has made it so easy for me to move on. Instead of the wistful sadness I was sure I would feel each night, I find myself looking forward to bedtime now just as much as before. And I realize, every night, watching you and holding you, that not only did we pull it off, but we did a fantastic job. We should both be so very, very proud.