I can't believe I didn't mention this in one of the earlier blogs today: On July 9th, at about noon, my husband took our dear pet, Acie, to the vet. She hadn't eaten in a few days, and she'd been just dragging herself around for a couple of days. We knew there was something seriously wrong with her, so as I put her in her carrying cage for the ride to the vet, I said "Good-bye, and thank you". I went in the house and cried, while my husband struggled with his own tears and drove away. It turned out that she had had a stroke, a blood clot had settled in her back, and her temperature was 4 degrees below normal. Frank had fifteen minutes with her, to say good-bye, and then they took her from him and put her to sleep. She was 17 years old, and a very dear firend. We miss her.
Oh--I mustn't neglect to tell you about the giggle she gave everyone during this tough time: You see, her cage and her litter box were always kept side-by-side in the bathroom. In the cage, I kept a folded towel and her food and water dishes. So, for her, the cage was her dining room and a place of comfort and refuge. At the vet's office, then, she kept trying to get back into the cage every time the vet tried to set her on the table. Eventually, the vet had to turn the cage to the wall in order to keep Acie on the table. Apparently, cats don't usually like their cages. Acie loved hers.
Thursday, July 12, 2012
The "nanorhythm" writing method lasted a while and then fizzled out. It's not that I'm especially busy, it's just that I can't tell from one minute to the next when I'm going to be busy. Ken keeps track of his meds pretty well, but there's one procedure (a Fentanyl patch) that has to be changed every 72 hours. Seventy-two hour blocks have never been part of my life, so they have been missed a few times. This is serious because they are pain blockers for my son, and when we (he and I) forget that "today is patch day", then he wakes up in pain. ----- Now is a good example of what I started to say--about being busy unexpectedly from time to time. Here I am, sitting at the computer, getting ready to blog, hoping to get the writing juices flowing if only a little, and the phone rings. It's Ken. He'd like a yogurt, and the creamsicle that's in his freezer and the orange crush in his fridge. He's going to make himself a float with the creamsicle and crush. I'm delighted to jump up and oblige, because it means he's going to eat a few calories. So, I'm back now, and am about to leave off blogging for a while (you know that could be for quite a while) and maybe get some writing done. I still haven't visited my novel for several weeks, or is it months. Can't be helped.
When Ken was diagnosed with "advanced lung cancer" last January, he was given "2 weeks to 2 months" to live. Praise God for miracles. No, he isn't cured--nowhere close to it. He weighs less than 100 lbs (6' tall), and is in pain and suffers nausea. But his spirits remain pretty good, considering. He loves company, and gets lots of it. He doesn't have enough energy to work on his book, and that grieves him. I certainly understand that grief, and wish there were some way I could help him with that. But, here it is six months after the devastating news of his illness, and he's still with us. I celebrate every day that we have this blessing.
The trouble with computer "geeks" is that they keep fixing things that ain't broke. Like blogger, for example. I haven't posted anything on my blog for a while, so I thought I'd pop in and jot a few words of wisdom or foolishness. And what do I find? When I just go to read the blog, everything looks the same, but I have to sign in so as to post. Then what? I don't know. I eventually found a little thing to one side, along with a whole lot of other things, that says new post. So here I am. I wish things wouldn't get fixed that don't need fixing. It makes the computer so much more mysterious than it needs to be. Cyberspace is mystery enough, without the constant tweeking that the geeks do to justify their jobs.