(no subject)
It's been a rough couple of weeks, this week being the hardest. I'm just posting so that I can document things for later on, just so I can remember dates and things like that.
We lost Bonsai on Wednesday. We took him in around 8:30 in the morning, and we were told to call after 12, because all the surgery was done before then. "No news is good news." So when noon hit, we let ourselves believe that everything had gone well. Maybe a minute or two later I got a call from the vet, and I knew instantly from the sound of her voice that things weren't good. She told me that the tumor had spread through most of his small intestine, and into his lymph nodes. "There's nothing we can do." So Byron and I went up there and stayed with him while she put him to sleep. It was hard to see him on that table, he looked so tiny. We talked to him, and stroked his favorite spots, his ears, cheeks, chest, jaw. I hope he knew we were there. I think he did. He died quickly without as much as a twitch. We went home and waited for Pop to get off of work, and when he walked in, he broke down. We're all going to miss the little goober. It's weird, you're in shock for a bit, but at the same time you accept it, and you let him go. You go home and rest, and think about how he's not in pain anymore, how he's happy and free now. But then you start to look for him, or you think you see him out of the corner of your eye. You see a toy he played with lying on the floor, like it's waiting for him to come back and play with it. So in that moment, you start all over again as if you had completely forgotten that he's gone. I think those moments are harder than the initial shock. I don't know that it'll get any easier, but I think it'll evolve, like pain always does, into something softer that's a little easier to look at.
My mom went to get her ultrasound done last week. Initially, it was to see what her gallbladder was up to, because she's been in pain with a low-grade fever for a few weeks now. They didn't see anything wrong with her gallbladder, and instead found a mass on her pancreas. The doctor says it could be cancer, but he doesn't know yet, so they sent her for a CT scan on Friday. We'll know what it is on Monday, and if it IS something bad, the scan will tell us if it's spread anywhere else. She told me not to worry until there's something to worry about, and I'm trying. She's my mom, so I do worry. At this point I'm more anxious than worried, but it's borderline, heh. I always knew that the possibility of losing my parents someday was there, most people get to a certain age, and it's common to hear them say "I wish you could have known my parents." I'm not that old, though, and neither are they. I didn't think I'd have to think about things like that so soon, or maybe ever. Even though the possibility was there, it never felt real, just something in the far distance that I didn't need to acknowledge. I know my mom will be just fine, even if this turns out to be something we don't want it to be. She's a tough lady, and the word cancer doesn't automatically mean sudden DOOM anymore. It's just scary to think about. I'll know more Monday.
My bloodwork results will be in on Monday, too, but I'm not that concerned about those anymore. Whatever comes of it, I'll deal with.
I started my job today, and so far I really like it. It's easy, and the knowledge that I'll have money soon is awesome. I feel like a huge weight has been lifted in that department, and I'm closer to getting my independence back. So that's really good news in the middle of all the crap right now.
We lost Bonsai on Wednesday. We took him in around 8:30 in the morning, and we were told to call after 12, because all the surgery was done before then. "No news is good news." So when noon hit, we let ourselves believe that everything had gone well. Maybe a minute or two later I got a call from the vet, and I knew instantly from the sound of her voice that things weren't good. She told me that the tumor had spread through most of his small intestine, and into his lymph nodes. "There's nothing we can do." So Byron and I went up there and stayed with him while she put him to sleep. It was hard to see him on that table, he looked so tiny. We talked to him, and stroked his favorite spots, his ears, cheeks, chest, jaw. I hope he knew we were there. I think he did. He died quickly without as much as a twitch. We went home and waited for Pop to get off of work, and when he walked in, he broke down. We're all going to miss the little goober. It's weird, you're in shock for a bit, but at the same time you accept it, and you let him go. You go home and rest, and think about how he's not in pain anymore, how he's happy and free now. But then you start to look for him, or you think you see him out of the corner of your eye. You see a toy he played with lying on the floor, like it's waiting for him to come back and play with it. So in that moment, you start all over again as if you had completely forgotten that he's gone. I think those moments are harder than the initial shock. I don't know that it'll get any easier, but I think it'll evolve, like pain always does, into something softer that's a little easier to look at.
My mom went to get her ultrasound done last week. Initially, it was to see what her gallbladder was up to, because she's been in pain with a low-grade fever for a few weeks now. They didn't see anything wrong with her gallbladder, and instead found a mass on her pancreas. The doctor says it could be cancer, but he doesn't know yet, so they sent her for a CT scan on Friday. We'll know what it is on Monday, and if it IS something bad, the scan will tell us if it's spread anywhere else. She told me not to worry until there's something to worry about, and I'm trying. She's my mom, so I do worry. At this point I'm more anxious than worried, but it's borderline, heh. I always knew that the possibility of losing my parents someday was there, most people get to a certain age, and it's common to hear them say "I wish you could have known my parents." I'm not that old, though, and neither are they. I didn't think I'd have to think about things like that so soon, or maybe ever. Even though the possibility was there, it never felt real, just something in the far distance that I didn't need to acknowledge. I know my mom will be just fine, even if this turns out to be something we don't want it to be. She's a tough lady, and the word cancer doesn't automatically mean sudden DOOM anymore. It's just scary to think about. I'll know more Monday.
My bloodwork results will be in on Monday, too, but I'm not that concerned about those anymore. Whatever comes of it, I'll deal with.
I started my job today, and so far I really like it. It's easy, and the knowledge that I'll have money soon is awesome. I feel like a huge weight has been lifted in that department, and I'm closer to getting my independence back. So that's really good news in the middle of all the crap right now.