Category Archives: Dogs

Aging, assisted Living, Dogs, Fourth Phase, Health

A Morning at Elk Run

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Edging closer and closer to a new way of life. Assessment at Elk Run followed by a stack of legal documents requiring my signature. Lunch there, too.

Ginny and Janice got here around 9:15 on Tuesday. I was ready to go. Ginny brought up the walker, put it in their truck. They’re such sweet, kind women. Lucky to have them as chosen family.

At Elk Run Miguel, the executive director, met me at the door. Ginny handed my folders and phone to him and we went inside, the walker bumping on the metal riser, catching a bit. I felt odd using the walker again after so much time walking on my own.

Oops. Thought I finished this. Nope.

I imagined an infirmary setting, but no. He led me to the library. The library? My kinda place. Michelle, dressed in maroon scrubs pants and a cowboy/cowgirl themed top, smiled, offered me a seat in a wooden chair. She introduced herself as the director of health services.

She held a sheaf of paper. I have a lot of questions to ask you.

OK. The wooden chairs unforgiving seat ground against my bones. I’ll do my best. Post polio syndrome. Head drop. Metastatic cancer. Exercise.

We talked, too, about Shadow. The tattooed LPN who joined in just after we got started has an Australian Cattle dog, too. Name? Charlie. But wait. She changed his name to Charlie. His first name? Shadow.

After the assessment finished, Miguel came in and I signed a stack of legal documents and learned how to pay my bill. He offered lunch. Which I ate. Chicken Kyiv with a vegetable medley and pearled grain. Delicious.

Ginny and Janice came to pick me up. I slumped into the front seat exhausted.

Cancer, Dogs, Fourth Phase, Health

And you’re out

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Time for a Shadow report. Woke up last night and noticed that Shadow was up and, I thought, looking out the window. When I turned my head further I could see she was looking at me. Felt as if I’d intruded on a private moment.

Back to sleep. As I began to rouse for getting up I touched something. A paw. Shadow slept with her body tight against my pillow, her left hind leg splayed out upon it.

 

Back from then oncologist. I’m out of the trial. Too much time elapsed between today and my first (only) infusion of actinium. The irony. I went in six weeks or so ago, expecting to get my second infusion. My hemoglobin was too low at 9.5. Needed to be 10. Two weeks later I would have gone in for another potential infusion. Instead I spent 27 days getting over pneumonia. By then too much time had elapsed.

I’ll probably start on pluvicto sometime in the next month or so. It is similar to actinium but requires 72 hours of no human contact after an infusion.

Alan, a good friend, took me to the clinic.

 

 

assisted Living, Dogs, Fourth Phase, Shadow Mountain

Ready. Set.

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Natalie gave me a good idea for Shadow, walk her on a leash every 2-3 hours. I see the point; but, I can’t walk without the walker. Something I have proven to myself more than once. Falls. I just messaged Natalie asking for more ideas.

I am going to try to walk with her while I stay close to the chain link fence. One hand on the leash, one hand on the fence. Might work. It worked. Sort of. I held onto the fence, didn’t fall. She came along. I did this right after she ate, hoping she would need to pee or poop. Didn’t happen. I can do this every three hours or so. Not really a walk, but as close as I can get. Melissa can take her on a walk.

Melissa started her new schedule yesterday. She made Shepherd’s Pie and a salad for my evening meal. She also made breakfast for this morning and a lunch. That will be our rhythm for the next two weeks.

Working on moving tasks. USPS change of address. A roofer to assess my roof. A septic tank person to do a mandatory examination of my septic system. I have a comprehensive list of tasks I need to do. Checking it twice.

Joe’s coming on the 13th. He’ll leave on the 18th. Will be good to have him here during the transition.

 

 

assisted Living, Dogs, Fourth Phase, Shadow Mountain

Two Worries

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Two worries.

That Shadow will be unable to handle the transition and I won’t be able to see her through it. She goes out often during the day. She won’t be able to do that. She pees and poops on her own now. At Elk Run she’ll have do both on a leash. I’m concerned she’ll find that hard.

I’m going to try to walk her myself with the walker. Better for her and good exercise for me. Not sure I can handle every walk right now. My stamina has already improved quite a bit. More to come.

 

That there will be glitches, expensive ones, as the house gets cleared out and put on the market. Always a possibility. Most concerning. I’ll have to low ball the price and end up with less cash than I want. This would effect the length of time I can pay my own way at Elk Run.

 

Neither of these will happen for sure. The degree of impact either could have on me though. A lot.

On the house I’ve hired Matt and Robin to clear out the house, stage it, and sell it. I trust both of them. They will do the best they can which is all l can expect. Real estate transactions have many ways to cause trouble. May it not be so.

On Shadow. I will contact Dr. Josy and Natalie (Shadow’s trainer) and get their thoughts. Ginny and Janice will take her on Monday, the 14th, and keep her until the 16th or 17th. Keep out of chaos of packing and moving. That way she and I will be in as neutral a position as possible.

In both instances–and I do know this–I’ll do what I can. The rest? Beyond my control.

Neither affects my excitement about this move. I’m ready, even eager, to go.

 

Dogs, Family, Health, Politics, Shadow Mountain

Abe wept

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Looks as though winter has given way to summer, transiting from low 40’s night time to high 50’s. Spring sprang, retreated, and never returned. The vagaries of climate-change inflected mountain weather.

Mary continues her clean sweep (literally) of all my cabinets. Madam librarian brings order out of kitchen chaos. I have not yet seen her work. Soon.

Meanwhile my muster dog goes out and in, in and out. She’s a sweet presence in my life, affectionate and mostly calm.

Have now completed the length of my driveway and back. Ready for my appointment. I’ll walk in. Walk to the phlebotomist and to Christina’s office. Oh, yeah!

The angle of my recovery has increased a bit, gains coming faster. A virtuous circle of eat more, do more, eat more. May it continue.

In my day (ha) Gillette sponsored fight night. Now its POTUS. With ceremonial weigh-ins at the Lincoln Memorial. Jesus and Abe wept.

Dogs, Fourth Phase, Friends, Garden, Greenhouse, Health, Politics, Shadow Mountain

Heirloom

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Today is a red vegetable day. I get my heirloom tomato plants from the Heirloom Tomato Farm. Rather, Melissa will get them for me. Still not up to an outing.

Gotta plug in the heater, warm up the greenhouse. 39 degrees, this morning’s temp, is way too cold for tomatoes. Ginny and Janice will get them planted today. Still pretty chilly through the next week though not this cool.

My Minnesota preference for cold weather now gives way to my gardener’s sensibility. Bring on the Beltane heat. Well, at least Beltane warmth. My mini-splits stand ready to cool the house if need be.

Tara came yesterday with Eleanor. Even though Eleanor’s twice plus her size Shadow initiates most of the rough and tumble, jumping up toward Eleanor’s front, paws out, all let’s play, let’s play, let’s play! They wear each other out.

Tara has worked hard between benai mitzvah classes on Zoom on the complicated logistics of their move to Costa Rica. Dog crates. Getting the house ready to rent. Selling, donating, throwing away decades of accumulated stuff. A lot.

The new microwave is here, ready to go on top of the small fridge. I’ll be able to retrieve my meals and warm them up without having to go upstairs. My recovery depends on two pillars: more and regular meals, a return to some level of exercise. Calories and protein, movement.

My recovery is in stasis right now. Not regressing, but not much forward movement either. There is this. As my body has healed, my mood and attitude have followed. I’m wanting to live, not just exist. Adjusting to my new reality requires challenging myself physically. Not there yet.

Hey, anybody heard about the Straits of Hormuz? How about that slush fund for insurrectionists? What? You’re focused on that “triumphal” arch? Me, I’m wondering if Wemby’s Spurs can takeout the Thunder.

 

Dogs, Family, Fourth Phase, Friends, Health, Shadow Mountain

Profound Weariness

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Ruth in Vegas. A friend of hers got tickets to K-Pop sensation BTS. Took Ruth along. Nice. Got a text from Ruth last night, Good night from Vegas!

Shadow’s winter coat blew out a month ago. But in this peculiar May it’s 31 degrees this morning. She doesn’t stay outside long until the day heats up.

Friend Scott says he and his wife, Yin, protest every Friday afternoon in Minneapolis. He joins a group of drummers. Yin, he says, “smiles down” each passing car. Yin’s in her eighties.

Meanwhile, here on Shadow Mountain, the aftermath of my five sick weeks continues. Now my O2 sats run consistently in the low eighties without oxygen. Means I’ll need to dig out Kate’s Inogen, a portable O2 concentrator, for trips outside the house.

Picture me with my neck brace and the Inogen slung over my shoulder, nasal canula in. Such a fine sight to see. I mean, geez.

My big challenge lies in my weakened muscles. Still no joy on the p.t. or o.t. I need to get working. Diane, my cousin, says I gotta move. She’s right. Too easy to sit it out. And, too damaging.

Deep funk, which I experienced starting in week 2 of my illness, has passed. A good thing. In it I found each new symptom a prelude to my death. I didn’t care. Just let it go, let it have its way.

Mostly came from a profound weariness with being a patient, a man of disease and pills. All ends. We know that. Why not now?

Because friends. Family. Shadow. Reading. Writing. The Mountains. CBE. Because life is already short enough.

Dogs, Family, Fourth Phase, Health

A New Normal

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Spring and the Trial Moon

Sunday gratefuls: BJ and Pammy, Ahi tuna salad. Torah study. Ginny. Luke. Steve. Jamie. Frittatas. Actinium. My sweet Shadow.

Rene Good. Alex Pretti. Say their names.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Artemis

 

Kavannah:  Zerizut.  Zest and Zeal. Enthusiasm. Risking a gray, homebound life. Need a push. Good for another week. Still at risk.

Tarot: paused

One brief shining: Here’s how it goes. I get up, let Shadow out. I start to write. She comes back in and gets two dried minnows. Plays with her tire, her nyla bone, her lobster. I write until 6 am rolls around. Prozac in a pill pouch. A cup plus of dogfood. I sit, write. She eats, drinks. Outside again, then back in. Minnows.

 

Shadow and I have our routines. When I nap, she naps. At night I say the shema, turn on my oxygen concentrator, and Shadow scoots in, waits until I’m in bed, then jumps up and positions herself. A day.

Her arrival day is February 4th. When Ginny and Janice and I drove up to Granby, just beyond Winter Park. The Granby shelter had this small fluff ball. Who came home with me. The past year and a quarter have had their ups and downs. Which make our routines precious. We have both struggled to stay together.

BJ and Pammy got here around 3 pm. First time I’ve seen Pammy since her transition. She has a full female figure now. “I’m living my best life,” she said.

They’re looking at houses. May move here if they find something they like. Idaho has passed restrictive laws for transgender persons. Even so they’d prefer to stay in Driggs. A conflicted time for them.

I continue to improve. Keep forgetting the head drop. I imagine I can get up and do things like I used to. Nope. I tire quickly. Upstairs to the fridge requires a sit down.

Not my preferred way of living but as a friend of mine’s sister said: This is my new normal.

 

Dogs, Friends, Shadow Mountain

Paw to the Leg

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Spring and the Moon of Liberation

Tuesday gratefuls: Dr. Josy. Audrey. Shadow’s ear. Marilyn and Irv. Kate, always Kate. Joy. Ahava. Good friends. New friends.

Rene Good. Alex Pretti. Say their names.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Prairie Grasses

 

Kavannah: Areyvut. Mutual responsibility.  All humans are accountable one to another.

Tarot: eight of bows, hearthfire.  Tend to the fires I have already lit.

One brief shining: Shadow of the morning. Vitality. Tail wagging. Ready. A day, take any day, dawn to the first three stars in the sky. My day starts long before the sun appears and ends near dusk. Shadow time.

 

Early mornings belong to Shadow and me. Quiet, sheltered. No cars hissing by on Black Mountain Drive. No barking dogs. Writing into the void of a blank screen. Telling myself a story.

Shadow has breakfast, goes outside. Comes inside sometimes  with no invitation. On her own volition. For Shadow though. It’s not usual. Reluctance. A while ago. Occasional refusal. After boarding school? No refusals.

Later. Breakfast with Marilyn and Irv. Primo’s, our usual spot, suddenly closed on Mondays and Tuesdays. Aspen Perks.

Aspen Perks used to be packed in the mornings. Not now. Empty booths, chairs. I hope it’s a seasonal thing. None of the three local breakfast spots have gourmet pretensions.

Back home around eleven-thirty. The neck brace helped. Some. Very far from ideal.

Shadow would occupy the afternoon. She had been scooting her head, ear to the floor. Oh. I know this. Ear infection. I texted Dr. Josy. Whom I missed seeing after her frequent visits during care for Shadow’s cut right leg.

She came with her daughter Audrey. Before she examined Shadow, she asked about my health. The clinical trial. She understands the medical side. Healing.

After weighing Shadow, 36 pounds, Audrey held her down while Dr. Josy got out the otoscope. Right ear. A bit of wax. Nothing remarkable. Left ear. A ruptured tympanic membrane and some foreign body lodged deep in the ear canal. Not an ear infection.

Dr. Josy took Shadow home with her. Sedation required to clear the object from her ear.

After Dr. Josy left, the house went still. No Shadow. No paw requesting my attention. Rubber tires rest where she left them. I felt alone.

This morning, as I write, the house still feels empty. I miss Shadow coming over, sitting in front of my chair, staring at me. Her expressive face serious. Understand me, human.

Communication. We humans use words, too. They’re our paw to the leg. Marilyn and I dissected the latest on the Iran war. Our paw to the leg for each other. Debated the comparative venality of Trump and Netanyahu. Over breakfast. Confirming, again, our friendship with our presence. With our shared political views.

The life of March 22nd. Shadow. Writing and revising. Our morning. Time with friends. Time with Dr. Josy and Audrey.

Shadow away.
Missing her.
An empty house.

Cancer, Dogs, Health, Post Polio, Shadow Mountain

Living

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Imbolc and the Moon of Tides

Wednesday gratefuls: Taylor. Dr. Bupathi. Clinical trial. Dan Herman. Monarchs in Mexico. Honey and bud. Treatment burden.

Rene Good. Alex Pretti. Say their names.

Sparks of Joy and Awe:  Write on

Week Kavannah:   Yetziratiut. Creativity.   Keeping my lev focused on life, not treatment

 

Tarot: Three of Arrows, jealousy

Danger now. Confusing treatments with living. Treatments support living. Not the other way round.

One brief shining: Treatment burden can give us long term cancer patients blinkered seeing. Our world consumed by this decision, that lab test, the next protocol. The next. I’ve fallen into this trap. What Kate meant when she told me on her death bed, trust your doctors. I hear you now.

 

Wrenching myself back, into the life the treatments make possible. Writing. Shadow. Friends. Family. The life of the mind and body. Do not make living about surviving treatments.

Remember treatments give the gift of more life. Dig into revising Superior Wolf. Play with Shadow. Read another novel.

Living. Not for the clinical trial. Yet. Show up for the clinical trial. One pillar of a life well lived and one still worth living.

Do not descend into the swamp of the best care so I can see the most birthdays. No. No. Rise up from the swamp to live this day with as much passion, creativity, and joy as I can.

Back from Rocky Mountain Cancer Care. Thick clinical trial document signed. Questionnaires filled out for baselines. An EKG administered by Sarah, a young hijab wearing Muslim woman.

Asked her. Are you fasting? Yes, Yes, I am. When I mentioned the break the fast meal, her eyes lit up. My mom’s a great cook. We’ll have plenty of food. Sarah said fasting energized her. It’s cleansing. Ramadan in Colorado.

Met Kristine, Dr. Bupathi’s other P.A. I liked her. She answered my question about any opportunity cost to waiting six weeks to start a new treatment. Doesn’t matter to the outcome of my cancer’s progress.

Four weeks of imaging, blood tests. Also, a four week washout period for Erleada which I stop taking today. Orgovyx, Kristine said, is forever. It keeps my testosterone repressed.

After I signed the consent form and had my helpful conversation with Kristine, I felt I regained my agency. No longer floating in an uncertain time, between one treatment and the next, but headed toward a new, potentially better drug.

On another, less sanguine note. It was 70 in Littleton. 70! Shadow Mountain? 49. No Snow. Late February.

Also, high winds yesterday. Chinooks, Snow eaters. Would be fire spreaders.

Working with my writing coach, next moves on Superior Wolf. Editing, revising each Ancientrails post.

When I got back from RMCC, Shadow greeted me with hugs and kisses. Makes me want to see her first when I get home.

Found a new way to use my foam collar. A tighter cinching of it around my neck. Seems to contain the fatigue from my head drop.

A win.