The Diaries of a Fat Chick

So I’m one of those people that bruise easily.  You know what I’m talking about?  I’m the person that if you playfully poke them they end up with a bruise.  I was in a fairly bad car accident in my early 20’s, a truck turned directly in front of us and we smashed right into him.   Luckily we were both wearing our seat belts and not going that quickly, but the car was still totalled.  David and I both returned to work the next day a little sore but no worse for wear.  However, by the second day my entire chest aned stomach were covered in rather spectacular bruising from the seatbelt.  I also had a massive bruise on my right calf from the window handle.  I had a perfect line of bruising in the shape of the seatbelt across my chest and down my ribs.  It took months for the bruises to heal; they weren’t particularly sore but they were certainly colourful.  David?  Didn’t have a mark on him.  Not one single bruise.  The Bastard.

Just recently I had to get a shot of gravol in the arm for some debilitating stomach pain.  Patty the nurse did it very gently and it barely hurt.  Two days later I had a massive bruise on my arm and a lump to go with it.  It looked like I had been hit with a baseball.  The damn bruise lasted weeks. 

Honestly, it’s annoying as hell and one of these days poor Ben is going to end up in a small claustrophobic room being interrogated by two large detectives just because his wife has unexplained bruises.   And bitch that I am, you know I’ll let him be interrogated for at least two hours before I tell them I just bruise easily.

The hell of it is - I’m a clutz so I’m constantly falling down or over or into something and I have a poor memory so it takes me forever to even remember why I have a bruise.  People will ask me, I’ll give them a blank look and stutter around for a bit before finally remembering and explain how I was walking in the kitchen, tripped over a piece of dog food on the floor and landed half on and half off the steel guinea pig cage.  Hence the gigantic bruise on my forearm.  Also, would you like to see the one on my ribcage?  It’s spectacular.  It’s too late though, they smile and nod politely and walk away thinking I’m in denial of my abusive relationship.

Very rarely do I have a bruise that I don’t have some vague idea of why or how I got it.  However, I woke up a few days ago with this:

And absolutely no memory of how I might have gotten it.  Nada, zip, zilch.

Did I run into something?  Did Hannah the dog step on me?  Did I drop something on my leg?  I have absolutely no idea and as such have decided that sometime during the night while I was sleeping a “little tiny ninja” came along and punched me in the leg with his teeny, weeny fist.  Why?  I like to think I accidentally pissed him off by snubbing his teeny weeny wife at the grocery store.  It sounds like something I’d do.

Also - I hope you people noticed that I shaved my fricken leg for this picture.

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I was about to write a post and explain how my life seems to be, frankly, going to shit.  That after losing two dogs in the last month I now have a 15 year old cat with degenerative arthritis who has bloody diarrhea, the antibiotics I give him twice daily produces enough drool to swim in and on top of that he refuses to eat and must be forcefed.  This forcefeeding is accompanied by much growling and hissing and general angsty like behaviour.  It’s stressful on both of us and I’m constantly feeling sick to my stomach because I love this cat more than anything, and I do mean anything - picture the following scene if you will:

Me:  So Dr. Kate thank you for looking at Smokey.

Dr. Kate:  No problem.

Me:  But there is one thing you should probably know, I mean Dr. Mike already knows this, but you’ve never seen Smokey before so I feel I should prepare you.

Dr. Kate:  Okay.

Me:  I love this cat.

Dr. Kate:  Of course you do, you love all your animals Kelly.

Me:  No - listen.  I really love this cat.  What I’m trying to say is, I love Ben this much (raises my hand to my chest) and I love that cat this much (stretches my arm up and over my head and waves it about frantically). 

Dr. Kate:  Oh, um okay…. *looks nervously at Ben*

Ben: *shrugs*  It’s okay Kate, I already know she loves the cat more than me. 

Me:  So expect weeping everytime we talk about him and how we can fix him.

Nearly six years ago, this same cat stopped eating.  We never figured out why and spent about 3,000 trying to both find the problem and fix it.  In the end, I forcefed him for six months straight before he, one day, just started eating again on his own.  The thought that I might have to once again forcefeed him for half a year makes me shudder.

I also thought about mentioning that my job is still going rottenly, I gained a pound at Weight Watcher’s last week and my new puppy will not stop biting me.  It’s his favourite thing to do.  Why bite a toy or a Hannah dog when you can bite your mum?  Especially if you can bite her face.  And why, for the love of all that is holy and pure, does he immediately stop biting when Sharen (Hi Sharen!) does a cute little trick of blowing in his face when he tries to bite her lips but when I do it, it just makes him angrier and more bitier?  Why Sharen, why???

And trust me people - you don’t want to see an angry chihuahua, worlds tremble at his mighty bark.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pPAT5xjiY9I

If by “worlds” I mean “Hannah” and by “tremble” I mean “look bored”.

But then I realized that this blog has been nothing but doom and gloom lately and I needed to cheer it up some.  I sat and thought about it for an hour or so before finally remembering something good that has happened lately.  So y’all remember my anger management thing right?  Where I almost ripped out the lungs of a cranky old post office lady and slammed them down on the counter in front of her?  And I’m sure you remember my vow to never go back to that post office right?  It’s worked out well so far, the mumsi entity has sent a couple of packages but makes sure to put Ben’s name on it so he can pick them up.  Still, I was sure in the future it would become a pain in the ass and so you can imagine my pleasant shock and surprise when a local online newspaper announced that said post office was closing forever.  This Friday in fact.

Do you see the power I have people?  My ego was huge to begin with but now there will be no living with me.  Pity Ben my friends.  Pity him.  I immediately phoned him to share my triumphant news and he was suitably impressed and terrified of my awesome power (if by terrified and impressed I mean, vaguely amused and mildly bored - damn fucking Taures-es and their lack of excitement; there’s no living with them, pity me folks, pity me). 

It’s all a bit of a mystery too which only strengthens my suspicion that my obvious disdain and fiery gaze at the post office woman during our last post office meeting was enough to make them get out of the business for good.  The official news from Canada Post is that “they don’t know why the post office is closing.  You’ll have to ask the business owner why he’s closing.” and the business owner’s response is “ask Canada Post why I’m closing down.”

Did I mention that I’m pretty sure it was the searing gaze and the subsequent phone call I made to Canada Post to complain bitterly about the service?

Yeah, I close down entire post offices.  You might not want to mess with me.

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What I have learned from having a puppy in the house for the last seven days:

• puppies will chew anything; this includes but is not limited to:
  • fingers
  • toes
  • puppy pee pads
  • couches
  • carpet
  • boobs (yes, boobs)
  • a dog named Hannah
  • cats
  • sheets
  • hay
  • bottoms of doors; and
  • shoes
• puppies will pee five times in a row on the pee pad leaving you to believe they have finally “got it”.
• until the next time when they pee on the floor right next to the pee pad
• a puppy that weighs less than 3lbs will always turn any person they meet into a big ball of simpering mush
• a puppy that weighs less than 3lbs can whine as loudly as a dog that weighs 100lbs
• when crated at night a puppy will whine and wake Kelly up two or three times a night to pee and be cuddled
• a puppy that sleeps in the bed between mom and dad will sleep through the entire night and not interrupt Kelly’s sleep
• Kelly enjoys her uninterrupted sleep.
• Ben is learning to live with a 3lb dog that hogs the bed
• one must practice constant vigilance when living with a puppy
• if one doesn’t maintain constant vigilance they will spend a tense evening wondering if a 3lb puppy ate a paper clip and is going to poop out said paper clip
• puppies can be smart and dumb at the exact same time
• I don’t care what Dr. Katie says, puppy breath is gross
• if a puppy sleeps too long in the evening he will keep his mom and dad up until past midnight by pouncing on them and attempting to bite their throats out
• sometimes a puppy is so hyper the only thing you can do is put him on the floor and let him run it out
• puppies grow very, very quickly
• when you arrive home from a long day of work and a puppy comes dancing towards you, his long tail wagging and a look of pure delight in his eyes - your day immediately becomes better
• puppy kisses heal a broken heart.

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Dear Ben,

Five years ago today we stood in a church in front of a small group of friends and family and promised to love and cherish each other until death do us part.   At my request we did traditional vows, although I refused to put the “obey” part in and you, bless your little heart, didn’t blink an eye at that.  You gave me just five days to prepare a wedding and when people ask why we did it so quickly I never hesitate to confess that if I had been given more time I would have totally backed out of the whole damn thing.   I would have too; it didn’t seem to be in my nature to live with someone else, to have to think of someone else’s feeling before my own.  To realize that I wouldn’t always get to watch what I wanted on tv, or do what I want when I wanted.  If I’d had more than five days to think about that; you would have found yourself waiting at the alter while I snuck out of the country to explore South America with a van of hippies.

Luckily I married you instead.   And I know on the outside we look like we couldn’t be a worse pair and I’ve lost track of the amount of people who, with the best of intentions, express their shock at our relationship.  I talk a mile a minute and tend to speak before I think.  You’re quiet and introspective and give an inordinate amount of thought to what you’re about to say.  I’ll hug anyone who needs it or requests it; you apparently give a “closed for hugs” vibe to most people (but not to me baby, I know what a huggie-bear you really are!). 

I’m an Aries, all fiery temper and passionate outbursts.  You’re a Taurus, unexcitable, calm natured and stubborn.  Did you know that according to these horoscopes, you and I are the absolute worse match ever?  According to them, you and I shouldn’t come within 20 feet of each other, let alone marry and co-habitate. 

Yet here we are, five years later, still trucking along.  And I know we’re both kind of shocked (you because you won’t believe I actually remembered our anniversary) and me because I would never have believed anyone could survive being married to me for this long. 

And, in honour of the last five years, I present a list of all the reasons why I love you and am so thankful I married you.

- you’re my best friend

- you make me laugh when I want to cry

- you’re an excellent kisser and you give fantastic hugs

- you like to cook

- you don’t care if the house is messy

- I can bring home any type of stray animal and you never bat an eye

- it doesn’t bother you that I’m independent

- you always forgive me when I say something mean

- you’re patient and even-tempered

- you’re the funniest person I know

- you’re supportive of everything and anything I want to do

- you think I’m sexy

- you secretly love my bitchiness

- you’re smart

- you’re the kindest person I know

- you love going to the movies

- you can’t resist kittens

- you love your children

- you’re very unselfish

- you’re always willing to help out a friend

- you’re a fantastic teacher

- you’re compassionate

- you laugh easily and often

- you love me.

Thank you honey, for the last five years.  I thought I loved you five years ago but it’s a shadow compared to how I feel about you now.  And I know, at our 10 year anniversary, I’ll look back at how I felt for you today and it too will be a mere shadow of what it will be.  And I can’t wait for that.

Happy Anniversary honey, I love you.

Oh and Ben?  In the last month, my heart was not just broken by the death of two of our dogs, but shattered.  And with one simple gift, you mended it.

Dexter is, and always will be, the best anniversary gift you’ll ever give me.

Love K.

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This morning we took Cuda to the park for ice cream.  Then we took him to the clinic where Dr. Mike examined him and found another tumour on the inside of his hip.  We had been prepared to put him to sleep and with the newest tumour found, that cemented our decision.  The pain in his hip had returned on Sunday morning and he could no longer lie down comfortably or walk without limping.  His appetite had diminished and he wasn’t the happy, active boy he used to be.

Ben, the boy child and I sat with him on the floor of the clinic room rubbing his belly and telling him how much we loved him and what a good boy he was while Dr. Mike sedated him.  It didn’t take long before he was fast asleep and as Dr. Mike gave him the injection, the boy child and I rubbed his belly and stroked his ears.

He entered our lives when he was only 2 days old; one of eight puppies that we fostered for the SPCA.  His mom Hannah was a good mom and they grew quickly.   We kept Hannah and the boy child was allowed to pick out one puppy.  He chose Cuda and despite how annoying and dumb and smelly and hairy (and don’t forget tumour filled) Cuda grew to be (and I mentioned the couch chewing and wall destroying right?), we’re so thankful the boy child picked him. 

Because he was a good boy.  And we loved him.

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Bad news for the Cancer Kid.  Oh fuck it, it’s not just bad news, it’s horrible, wretched, gut wrenching news.

The results came back from the blood work we did yesterday.  Basically he’s terribly anemic.  The normal range is between 39 -56 and he’s at 28.  As well, his blood platelets are incredibly low.  There at such a low level that he should be busily creating new baby blood cells like mad but he’s not.  He’s also got terrible, terrible bruising all over his abdomen chest and legs and there’s fluid build up under the skin on his chest.  I talked to Dr. Kathy just before she talked to the pathologist about the results and the original plan was to use steroids to see if it would help reverse what was happening.  When we went to pick Cuda up, we met with Kathy and the pathologist told her that the steroids wouldn’t help.  Based on the blood work and the fact that the xrays taken earlier showed nothing in his abdomen or chest, the pathologist believes that the cancer is in his bone marrow.  Which hey, hey - means he’s fucked.  

He suggested we try a blood transfusion.  If the cancer is only in a few spots in his bone marrow then the transfusion will help him feel better and buy him some more time.  If the bone marrow is full of the cancer then he’ll burn through the new blood as quickly as he’s burned through his own.

We made the decision to try the transfusion.  If we didn’t, I would always regret that we didn’t at least try and if it doesn’t work, at least we know we tried everything we could.  He goes in tomorrow for the blood tranfusion.  I requested that we get the blood of a vampire dog (hey science is an amazing thing, I’m sure somewhere there’s been a vampire dog genetically created) cause I figure if he’s going to die looking like Canada’s tallest, skinniest shit’zhu instead of a ferocious wolfhound, he might as well be a vampire shit’zhu.  Cause that’s wicked cool.  Kathy said she’d do her best but no promises.

So, in conclusion:

a little bit of cancer in the bone marrow = maybe a month or two.

a lot of cancer in the bone marrow = maybe a week or two.

Fuck.

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I’ve posted before about Cuda the Cancer Kid.   He’s had a couple of surgeries to remove the tumours growing in his armpit and chest area and the last one, back in May, showed that there was more than just one tumour.  Under the skin there were more tumours visible and while Kathy tried to get as much of it as she could she cautioned us it was only a matter of time before they came back.

 A few weeks ago we noticed the tumour was back and this time there were multiple ones.  Not surprising, although we were a little shocked at how quickly they did grow back. 

Then, just a few days ago he started limping and exhibiting weird behaviours.  He’s much quieter than he used to be and upon examination by Dr. Kathy it became apparent that both his abdomen and his back hind leg were sore.  We did x-rays and they showed a clear abdomen and lungs.  We figure the limping of the front paw is from the growth of the tumours and that the occasional limping on his back leg was from a strain or a sprain.  He spent the weekend on pain killers and we kept him nice and quiet but on Sunday when I noticed his back leg was swollen we decided to bring him back to the vet this morning.

The back leg is bruised and swollen and the area where the tumours are is also bruised.  This was similar to what it looked like the first time we had the tumour removed and we had hoped it was because of the size of the tumour.  However, with this new bruising and swelling on his hind leg which is on the opposite side of the tumours, we know something else is going on.  As well, there is a large liquidy feeling type of swelling on his side where the tumours are.  He’s pale and is having problems with blood clotting so Dr. Mike took blood today and sent it into the lab in the hopes that we could get some answers.

As Dr. Mike said, it doesn’t look good for the Cancer Kid.  We’ve taken him off the pain meds so that it won’t interfere with his blood clotting ability and we’re keeping him quiet.  Which, unfortunately, isn’t that difficult to do.  He doesn’t seem to have much energy right now.

If the swelling continues we’ll take him back to the vet tomorrow, not sure what exactly they could do for it but I’d rather have him there in case something goes wrong.

I’ll be the first to admit that Cuda has spent most of his life annoying the shit out of me.  He’s large and dumb and needy (I’ve mentioned this before haven’t I) and never stops trying to lick you.  I’ve accidentally french kissed that dog more times than I’ve purposely french kissed my husband.  (Yeah, that’s right I went there - I kiss my husband with tongue).  I’ve always maintained that I won’t miss him when he’s gone and our lives will be so much easier without him.  And I’m right - it will be easier without him (have I mentioned the two couches the big fucking mutt ate?  Not to mention the at least seven holes he’s chewed through the walls over the years) but now that I’m faced with the possibility that may lose him soon, I seem to have forgotten how much he annoys me and find myself remembering all the sweet things about him.  It doesn’t help that the last week or so he’s been so low in energy that his annoyance level is at about 1 as compared to the 10 it normally does.

And for fuck’s sake, we just had one dog die on us not more than three weeks ago, do we have to have another one go soon?  How much loss and pain are we supposed to go through?

And yeah, maybe I’m jumping the gun on this, maybe the blood work will come back fine and he’ll improve but if you believe that, I have a fucking bridge to sell you.  Cheap.

I worked at the vet tonight and at the end of the shift, when I was packing up my shit, the dog and the cat (didn’t mention that Kaneyko was at the vet too huh?  It’s good times in our house right now.  Good times) Dr. Mike was just heading out the door and he turned and took one last look at Cuda and I.  He reminded me to bring Cuda back tomorrow if the swelling increased and then said “He’s a sweetheart huh?  I really like him.”

He’s right, Cuda is a sweetheart.  I forget that because of the high annoyance factor but at the end of the day he’s a nice, dumb, sweet dog who’s lived with us since he was two days old and who’s always happy and always ready for a belly rub.

Where was I?  Right.  Me.  Not missing him. 

I think I might be wrong about that.

Fuck.

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