thursday is over

I was listening to a song, intently I thought, until I noticed I was silently mumbling the words of another so I turned music off, hoping for silence that never shown its face before me. I sucked the nicotine out of my cigarettes a little deeper today, toying with my lungs, releasing as I finished a complete thought.

I thought about Mrs. Karley, my sister's Scottish terrier that had to be euthanized this morning as she was suffering from dementia caused by
liver failure.

I thought of the series of words, ones that I laughed at, but now feel were inappropriate as I was told and shown by movement and gesture what I might look like walking in circles, similar to Mrs. Karley, from my own liver failure. And when I laughed back and told the teller my hope was not to be taken to the same veterinarian, the laughter stopped and he quickly changed the subject.

I thought not knowing what my mother thought when she delivered the dog to the vet, what the dog thought as she last lay eyes on my mother, and whether my mother, like I, was having visions of my death, my own failure. And then I thought of my sister and how she would be told and wondered what her thoughts were, whether she would be affected by the loss of losing a companion that at best guess has been part of her daily thinking for ten years.

I thought of the other dogs my immediate family has lost since I have been in Dallas and wondered why change has become so insensitive to our human emotions, why illness has hovered above like a dark cloud and why we have each suffered personal loss, individually, but also collectively and I began to realize that each loss has been a fore shadowing to the eventual loss of me. I, being the only immediate family member not experiencing direct loss, meaning I could not claim ownership, whereas I do claim ownership of me and have been reminded loss is coming with vengeance.

I thought of my postponed trip to Florida later today and felt content in my decision to steer clear of other dark clouds in the form of a tropical storm named Ernesto and I reveled in the beauty of others wanting me to spend time with them this holiday weekend now that my plans have been changed, temporarily.

I thought of my options for future travel outside of Dallas and have decided that until I near another venture to California, I will plan to visit Santa Fe and the challenge of high elevation and then visit Florida, the place that will forever remind me of becoming so ill, with such intensity and such quickness I did not even have time to clearly think about what I was experiencing until after I had relocated to Dallas. And I know my reasons and my rationale for returning to my symbolic beginning of my symbolic end, Florida, are greater than my thoughts, certainly less powerful than my soul.

I thought of how sporadic my communications have been with long time friends, my e-mail messages cut in half at least by simple vision, not count and my cell phone rings are less from those that have been familiar with me only more so with a different set of numbers to dial. And I thought of the new relationships that continue to form, the door of communication more open, more blunt, but the laughter is the same although my voice feels different.

All the while, I looked at Ashley Marie and threw her a ball, watched her jump, whine and demand, so innocently, my attention to her playtime, my attention period, noticing that she too must be thinking today as she did not eat as she normally does and refused food from my hand as if to tell me she thought of the emotion filled day that is now a memory, short term, but concluded as the thoughts continue. August has ended until another year and Thursday is over.

eating chinese food before dinner

Tonight I was talking to my RN friend and I brought up the word intrepidation to explain my upcoming trip to Florida and after I painted her an accurate picture of what was causing such anxiety and fear she mentioned, as simplistic and routine as one could, me to take a hydrocodone, one at least and an ativan as the intrepidation was being brought to the surface for reasons, most uncontrollable but one, controllable. My lack of medicating or taking what I want or refusal to take a medicine that has been prescribed faithfully and regularly out of the 'I am afraid of feeling high' rationale, I was in no uncertain terms, sabotaging my physical well being and living through avoidable pain and expected fear.

Interestingly enough, in different conversations with my hospice team on more than several occasions , I have been told that I 'use my medication too sparingly'. I always have agreed, knowing what they meant, but not how to justifiably, in my mind, correct the situation, but promising to do 'better'.

Tonight, the simplicity of her words and comfort of her voice, made me realize that I do fore go needed medication, not intentionally per say, but out of the unknown and fear that it might possibly kill me. And during the course of our conversation I was able to rationally and completely understand how correcting my medication and the dosages, even the time at which I take it, can have a significant bearing on my overall well being, keeping the 'ME", for the most part, comfortable and pain free physically and to a higher degree mentally too while allowing me to still function in every day life with the limitations my disease has already placed before me.

The difference in my understanding and wanting to understand is key. I can relate to what she says and I fully trust her opinion and her capacity in knowing that she only wants the very best for me as we have developed an unbreakable and strengthening bond in the short time we have been acquaintances. She speaks from a point of being well versed in her knowledge of medicine and my condition as well as taking the time to ask pertinent questions out of genuine concern and sometimes curiosity so that she knows, in her mind, that I am feeling the best I possibly can during this most awkward stage and point in my evolution. Not to mention we laugh and cry and view the world from similar perspectives and plain enjoy communicating with one another.

No one on my current medical 'team' has taken the time to speak so direct and humorously, but truthfully to me about the cause and effect of each medication. Instead, I am asked a symptom, I respond with my own verbiage to either confirm or deny and I am prescribed a medicine and it arrives in the mail several days later. Now during this several days of waiting, I have taken the time to google each and every letter of the medication, can speak about the PDR past laymens terms and down to molecular data and research studies and make an assuming guess as to whether I want to TRY something that MIGHT have a side effect or simply push the medication itself to the side not realizing the full advantage, the WHY I am prescribed and HOW MUCH and most importantly WHEN.

So more often than not, I 'toy' with the medicine and try it because I like the color and watch for a side effect and once I am convinced that a side effect is taking place, I discard the medication or stop taking it or only take a fraction of the recommended dose to prevent the side effect altogether. In turn, I am, physically, in a constant state of imbalance and allow my pain level to increase to the point where my thoughts can become irrational and even dillusional, my mind wandering elsewhere because it is over worked with questions that I CANNOT answer and CANNOT get answered until I meet my creator. The imbalance plays havoc with my sanity, figuratively and I, deep in thought, remain perplexed and experience something magnified and often quadrupled.

Having made myself aware and having been made aware of my medication issues, she has offered to sit me down and explain, as she would to her own child or lover or me, the friend, HOW, WHY and WHEN to take my medication so that my quality of life can improve, and any improvement is angelic in my thought process. She will explain, as only she can and only she has offered, and calls it an honor to teach me what I need to know to assist me in relieving the pain and more importantly by doing so, allow my mind the ability to calm and sooth and enjoy in comfort rather than in constant battle. So instead of guessing and wondering and even occasionally wishing, which I so try to avoid doing, I can be confident with the peace I am making, my path, my life until I am but a memory.

circles

I counted sheep until there were no more to count, they remain at a distance now sleeping as my mind races in circles or actually and probably my body races in circles and my mind just follows or tries to play catch up to the damage that has been done so deep, so internal.

I think about finalities, a final game, a final season, a final goodbye but finalities one after another after the other continue to spin loud then soft and then loud again by that little voice that only I can here. I beg it to stop, tell it to stop, pretend it has stopped and it continues. Topic after topic and thought after thought leading me to nowhere, sleepless and exhausted from the spinning of the circles that continue in a pattern of sorts on a canvas that is larger than my life and the lives of those around me and around those who might happen to read my thoughts.

And they are thoughts and I tell the thoughts to go away and the circles get bolder in color and deeper in texture and the tone of that voice I here deepens and dissipates at once, like a child that lay motionless and toxic from a night of binge drinking, helpless and afraid.

I hear of the pain and I feel the pain and the circle reminds me again about the pain all while that voice tells the pain and the thoughts to go away. I think of a glass of water and can feel the taste on my tongue, soothing through my throat, no choking and I tell my arm to reach for the glass of water needed and my arm remains still. My eyes open, I see the glass and the condensation formed on the outside and my arm remains still.

My breath labored from a marathon I never ran, but a marathon of thoughts that remain continuous and over and over again and until I know not when, hoping my body decides to absorb the medication it has been fed to relax so that sooner than later I can savor the feeling of the water and shut my eyes without fear and worry and know that there will be something other than thoughts to focus my attention on at daylight.

I wait for a singing bird or a gust of north wind out the window of the room where I sleep and wonder how many other people are awake and subconsciously giving their thoughts, mindless and uncontrollable thoughts, the ability to fester and grow in circles and continue for a count of over one hundred and two minutes as the tick and the tock is heard from one ear and to the other while the clock, a circle shaped clock becomes another prop in my thoughts.