Second half of 2020

I received a sad bit of news yesterday. Joey D's dad passed away. It was not COVID-related, and it was not a complete surprise as his health has been failing for a while, resulting in his recently entering hospice care.

But still... right on the last day of June, arguably the final day of the first half of the year, 2020 has managed to fetch us all another swift kick. This year has been nothing short of brutal so far.

I am praying that the second half of 2020 is less grueling than the first half was. The bar is set immeasurably low on that score.

Saints preserve us if we haven't yet seen the worst this year can throw at us!

Sad PUPdate

Things started out good this morning. The vet sent me some pics of Baxter looking alert last night, and I was happy to see them when I woke up this morning and checked my email.

His numbers had improved a little, too, and the vet was all set to update me this morning with good things.

But then his blood pressure crashed. They had to move him to the intensive care unit to get him stable. It took a lot of effort to get him stable, but he was no longer alert.

At this point, I knew there was really only one option. The treatments all week barely budged his liver and kidney numbers and they were still pretty bad. He was diagnosed with severe cardiac issues from having leaky heart valves in all four chambers. And the little momentary "zone out" moments that I had noticed a while ago, but thought nothing of because they were so brief, were diagnosed as seizures, to my great surprise. Unfortunately, in a dog his age, the most likely cause would be a mass in the brain.

Even with all this, if there was any chance of achieving quality of life, I would have been interested in hearing about it. But now we are talking about his blood pressure being ready to bottom out without warning. No. I can't subject him to that, too. It took a team of ICU vets in the best animal hospital in the region to straighten his BP out this morning. Suppose by some huge miracle he had come home, and it happened here? I don't have the equipment or the training to bring him back from an episode like that. He'd be gone on the spot.

I had to recognize that all these thing point to just one answer. It was not the answer I wanted, but I have to be honest with myself.
We were at the point where prolonging his life would have meant suffering, not recovery, and under no circumstances would I let him suffer. Mark and I drove up to the animal hospital to be with Baxter while he had the Final Act of Mercy.

We are grieving, but we know that it was the only real option.

Blast all these ailments that impact our innocent little furbabies. All they ever do is love us unconditionally.

Baxter was brought in to a local rescue as a stray in 2013, and the vet there estimated him to be six years old. We never knew his birthdate, so we marked his Gotcha Day as his birthday. We treated him like he was 12 and would be 13 in the Fall on the anniversary of when we got him.
They let both Mark and me in the room with him, and he sat getting cuddles on my lap the whole time. My lap was his favorite place, and cuddles were his favorite thing. I told him over and over how I will love him forever and ever.

Rumor-mongering Idiots

There is no problem on this earth that can't be exacerbated by RUMOR-MONGERING IDIOTS.

In the 90s, when the terrible Rodney King riots were devastating Los Angeles, I worked in Center City, Philadelphia. I went out to lunch, as was my wont, and when I got back to the office, I heard people talking excitedly that a riot was breaking out at Broad and Walnut. I joined the conversation to say that I had just eaten lunch at 13th and Walnut (which, for non-locals, is a block away from Broad), and had to cross that intersection on my way there and back. There was nothing out of the ordinary going on at Broad and Walnut.

At the end of the day, I took the Broad Street Subway home, getting off at Snyder, and walked home.  When I got to my street, neighbors were excitedly talking about how a riot was breaking out at Broad and Snyder. I told them, "I just got off the subway there, and nothing was going on. So unless the problems broke out within the last five minutes, I am going to say that's not correct information."

It was a Friday, and my parents and I were going to a benefit dinner in NE Philly that night. While we were there, the chatter started. "Someone said there is a riot at Cottman Avenue." I responded, "I already heard two false rumors about Broad and Walnut, and Broad and Snyder. People said riots were going on over there, but it wasn't true. I will bet anything that this report about Cottman Avenue is baloney." Which it was.

OK, so fast-forward nearly 30 years to just now. I had an eye appointment this afternoon. Had, being the operative word. They called me to reschedule and said they are closing early, because of looting on Oregon Avenue. Well, the stores they mentioned are mere blocks from here. Mark got in the car to go look, and of course, nothing is out of the ordinary there. I called the eye doctor back and told them everything I just wrote.

But clearly, some smacked arse(s) decided to create fear and loathing by spreading outright lies. Poxes on these lying imbeciles who do this stuff.

If you hear any of these "OMG WOE HORROR DISASTER IN OUR BACKYARD" rumors, take it with a massive grain of salt unless you can verify it. Because there are some sick wretches out there who get their jollies by upsetting people needlessly.

Carmela

God rest our dear friend Carmela, who was 103.5 years old. She survived the influenza pandemic as a baby, and cancer as an adult. But then COVID-19 ran through the nursing home where she was a resident. 


Thanks and blessings to Carmela for the many dinners at her house, and for consoling us when we wandered over to her home in grief after seeing our friend Joan in the ICU and realizing that Joan was unlikely to rally.

I'm just so sad right now.

It has been a really dreadful week

It's taken me a week to work up enough energy to write this post. Even then, I still feel so blindsided by life that I am copying, pasting, and editing something that I wrote to one of the mailing lists a few days ago.

The long and short of it is that a week ago today, both my mother-in-law and my dog passed away. We had our hearts broken twice in the space of one hour. Here is the timeline.

On Friday, 9/20, we got a call from my sister-in-law (my husband Mark's sister). My mother-in-law's health, which previously had been pretty stable, was suddenly failing acutely. Hospice, which is a service dedicated to end-of-life care, had been consulted and a hospital bed was being delivered to my MIL's house that afternoon. This all started happening so abruptly, everyone was blindsided, even my sister-in-law who lived nearby and saw her daily.

During the course of the same week, my little elderly Chihuahua, Mini, started showing signs of a reduced appetite. But until Friday, every time she seemed uninterested in food, I found something different that she WOULD eat.

Friday night was the time that I couldn't get Mini to eat anything but some nutrient gel from a feeding syringe. So it was time to see the vet.

We visited my mother-in-law on Friday night, and she was lucid enough to know everyone who visited. If we spoke to her, her responses were clear and made perfect sense. But her breathing was terribly labored and she was incredibly weak. It was clear something major was wrong.

On Saturday, 9/21, I took Mini to the vet. He diagnosed an infection and gave me meds, plus an even more potent nutrient gel to feed her. Then we went to see my mother-in-law; she slept through most of the visit thanks to the meds she was on. They'd had to provide morphine as she was getting extremely agitated and increasingly confused, trying to get out of bed even though she hasn't been able to stand unassisted in about seven years. She couldn't get comfortable and she was really having a hard time, so the meds were a necessity, but sadly that meant we couldn't really interact with her anymore.

On Sunday morning, I got up to find that my dog had taken an abrupt downturn. But I was able to get food and medicine into her. We went to Mass. Upon coming home, we saw that Mini was even worse, so we headed to the University of Pennsylvania emergency vet clinic.

At about 2:05 PM I was in a consultation room discussing Mini's condition with the vet, wile Mark remained in the waiting room. She said an emergency bloodwork showed Mini was in acute renal failure, and there was no real hope for Mini to have any more quality of life. As this news was being broken to me, Mark appeared in the doorway, and I gestured for him to come in. He said "Mom died." His sister had just called; my mother-in-law had just passed away at 2 PM. So of course we hugged as I reacted to this sad news.

Then I gave the vet a quick explanation of the fact that we actually had TWO family crises simultaneously: my mother-in-law's failing health and the dog's extreme sickness. I swear, I thought the vet was going to burst into tears right in front of me. Here she was, most likely doing the hardest part of her job (telling a pet owner their beloved pet has no hope), and suddenly she was witnessing the pet owners getting a massive amount of OTHER bad news right at the same time. God bless that nice vet -- it was clear that she cares a lot about both the pets and the people who come through the emergency clinic.

But the fact remained that there were no medical answers for what Mini was going through. So we made the merciful decision to have her put to sleep. Mark and I were with her right through till the end.

But between 2 and 3 PM on 9.22, the world lost my mother-in-law, a sweet, kind, loving woman, someone whose devout faith made her en even NICER person. And the world also lost a tiny little bundle of pure affection. I don't think I know which end is "up" right now.

Mark made me smile, though, when he said, "I bet Mini waited until Mom went first, so she would have a lap to sit in." I just bet she did. My mother-in-law loved people and animals, and Mini took her calling as a lap dog VERY seriously.

Anyway, do please send some prayers my family's way. We could all use it.

9/11

Still working on wrapping my mind around today

I'm still wrapping my mind around the events of the day. Disappointments from yesterday will have to be set aside and dealt with some other time. If they even NEED to be dealt with, that is... it's entirely possible that the most constructive thing I can do is just let that other stuff drop. That's how I'm inclined to handle it, anyway. I need my energy to deal with much larger issues. Everything else is getting filed under "Don't sweat the small stuff, and it's all small stuff."

Hospice. I am actually in favor of this step, largely because I feel like we have reached the point where it will be beneficial to have a trained person on hand for as much of the day as possible. Plus, it's not news to the family that the best thing to do is engage in palliative care. Heck, we've known *that* since the MRI results came back in April. It's not easy to accept, but we all know it's the truth. At least we don't have to deal with anybody walking around with false hopes, or acting like seeking hospice care is a form of giving up. It's not. What it IS, is doing the right thing.

Still, it's emotionally painful to realize that we are most likely looking at a short time frame, rather than a long one. Even knowing in advance that this is a fast-moving disease, it's still a little surprising that we've reached this point after only three months. Wait, I take that back -- it's not EVEN three months yet, not until later this month. Wow. Geesh, that was fast. No wonder the specialist in May said to her that she should eat whatever she likes (even though she's diabetic). Maybe he was well aware that she might as well not postpone or turn down enjoyment.

I keep consoling myself with the fact that there is no pain. Lethargy, yes; weakness, yes. But no pain. The presence of pain would make this infinitely harder to deal with.

Aunt Rita's Birthday

On Friday, Aunt Rita. It was her 86th birthday. She liked seeing everyone. That's the good news.

The bad news is that the disease is sapping her strength terribly. All she really wants to do is sleep. My cousin Maryann (who is a nurse) said it's possible that her body is starting to shut down.

She gave my mom and me a very large amount of clothes that don't fit her anymore, because she has lost so much weight. She's down to 100 pounds.

She was a trooper, though, and managed to get up both to eat dinner with everyone, and (after a rest) dessert with all of us, too. My cousin Joe made enough ravioli to feed half the island. Aunt Rita ate soup instead -- her lady friends are very sweet about bringing her care packages of soup they make. The rest of us had ravioli, in some cases multiple helpings, plus everyone got sent home with doggie bags. (But sorry, Mini, those ravs are getting fed to the hoomins in the house.)

My parents gave her a new set of PJs. I gave her several things from the St. Rita of Cascia Shrine's gift shop. I think she liked the statue a lot. I got it for her because I realized that even though she's very devoted to her patron saint, she didn't have a St. Rita statue that I knew of.

Plus, it's hard to think of an appropriate gift for someone who is in this state of health. But her faith is as devout as ever, so I figured that presents that are connected to that would be something she could still appreciate.

It was so hard to see her like this. There has been noticeable deterioration in the past couple weeks... and my parents and I were distressed over her state of health two weeks ago! Now, two-weeks-ago's state of health would look like improvement. :-(

At least she's not in pain, thank God. As hard as it is to see her losing weight and becoming progressively weaker, if she were suffering, too, it would be infinitely worse.

OK, I'm done ranting. Pardon my venting. I guess I'm still de-stressing after seeing my aunt looking so weakened. I've never seen her look like this before.

Moreover, when I came home, and went on Facebook to decompress, what did I see but additional bad news coming from another direction entirely. One of my former fellow Phantoms Season Ticket Holders, who we'll call D.N., was diagnosed with cancer in 2010. I have always felt a particular connection with her battle, and have rooted for her extra-hard to beat the disease, because she got her bad diagnosis on the same day I got a good one. Back before we knew for sure that my health troubles were caused by a giant fibroid, they sent me for a CA-125 blood test: that's the test that helps diagnose ovarian cancer. The same day I got my GOOD news, that there was no cancer, D.N. posted to Facebook that HER doctors had diagnosed her with lung cancer. So I've always been cognizant of the fact that although I had dodged a giant bullet, there are a whole lot of other bullets flying around, and many people are not so lucky as I.

Months later, when D.N. was pronounced cancer-free, everyone celebrated the news. But unfortunately, last night, I saw her post that in one of her followup exams, they have found a mass in her brain. If I were to make a list of things I never wanted to see happen in a billion years, that post would be on it.

So, when you're sending your prayers and positive thoughts out for people, please remember both my aunt and also D.N. .

I really hate, loathe, and despise cancer, especially right now. LOATHE. Every form of it needs to be stamped off the face of the earth. I'd stamp it out myself if I could.

My family suffered a terrible loss on Sunday night. My 25-year-old nephew died in an accident while ATVing. There was a sharp turn in the road at the end of a downhill grade, and he failed to negotiate the turn; he was ejected from the ATV and struck a tree. The official cause of death was blunt force trauma.

To describe everyone in the family as being terribly shaken by this loss is the understatement of the century. No one, no one, no one could have seen this coming. Luke was a careful, conscientious, and goal-oriented young man. His stepmom joked that they used to tease him for driving like an old lady. But even careful people can make a mistake. I suspect he wasn't familiar with that stretch of road, as he and his fiancee were vacationing in her grandmother's cabin in the mountains. If he'd been aware that the sharp curve was coming up, I'm sure he wouldn't have been going too fast. We're lucky that a neighbor happened to see him moving way too quickly on that road, and called state troopers. If he hadn't done that, it would have taken far longer to determine where he was when he didn't come back from ATVing.

So please send prayers and good thoughts my family's way. This has caused a great deal of heartbreak for everyone.

On leftover symptoms

The Phantoms left Philadelphia after the 2008-09 season. While I can *hardly* say I took their departure well -- far, far from it, to put it mildly -- I have been able to move forward from the grief of losing my team to a city 300 miles away. (Their alleged move to Allentown, two seasons from now, is small comfort, at best, as I still won't be able to attend every game anymore, as I did when they were where they belong: in the Philly area.)

However, to my surprise, in the past few weeks. I've been having some serious "I miss my team" spells. Again. I thought I'd processed the grief and moved forward, but here it was coming back again, and I wasn't sure why. When the grief is connected to a loss like that of a loved one, sometimes the sadness will make a resurgence at times like the anniversary of their birth or passing. But the Phantoms' departure anniversary isn't until the middle of April, so what was up with these feelings *now*?

Then I realized. It's because the impending opening of the Spectrum-killing abomination, Xf*n*ty L*ve, has been widely publicized in recent weeks. My normal reaction, on the sight of the logo or hearing of the name, has been to hiss at it. But unbeknownst to me, all those sightings of the logo, and all those hearings of the name, apparently were digging away at some remaining, buried remnants of sadness that I've been unwittingly carrying around for the past three years. And finally, in the past couple of weeks, they've finally reached the surface.

Today is the opening of the abomination. So it's *really* all over the freaking news. Ugh. Guess I'll have to dodge the local news channels for a day or two, until the hubbub dies down. They won't be seeing any of MY money, not in that location nor in any other location that's affiliated with the Spectrum-killing Cordish brothers (of which I've already boycotted the ones in Baltimore, Atlantic City, and Louisville).

I have to say... there is not ONE FREAKING THING that was in their original plan that's currently in place on their site. Luxury hotel? None. Not any kind of hotel, in fact. Boutiques? None. Outlet stores? Nada. Theater? Nope. The only thing that they did that was on the original plan was tear down the Spectrum. B@st@rds.

RIP Brad McCrimmon and KHL team Lokomotiv Yaroslavl

Dreadful news has come out of Russia today. The plane carrying the KHL team Lokomotiv Yaroslavl has crashed, and aside from two survivors, one player and one crew member, everyone else on the plane is confirmed dead. That includes the team's coach, popular former Flyer Brad McCrimmon, part of the best defense pairing ever to don Orange and Black, and several other former NHL players.

Besides the pang of grief at McCrimmon's untimely passing -- he was only 53 -- I was also specifically saddened to see that one of the funniest people on my Twitter feed, player Pavol Demitra, was listed among the victims. RIP, sir, I always got a snicker from your tweets.

It's just a crying shame, no matter if you are an avid hockey fan or never heard of the sport. Of course, every accident with casualties is tragic, but in this case, there are additional layers of grief besides the losses to families and friends in ten countries. The victims were also a significant part of a larger community, all of which is reeling at their loss. Pro hockey in general, not to mention the Kontinental Hockey League, and every league for which these people played and worked in their histories, is hurting right now. And as a human being, as well as a hockey fan, I hurt along with them.

Thoughts and prayers to all the bereaved, be they families, friends, or fans. RIP to the many people who've left us far too soon.