Saturday, January 31, 2009

Dining Room Table

We never ate here unless people came over. He ate in front of the tv. I HATED that, so I compromised by getting a pub table to put in the tv room. At least we ate at a table then. I did not enjoy having the tv on while we ate but...you know, marriage is about compromise.
I searched for a dining room set that was affordable and that we both agreed upon for a long time. I love my dining room set. It's mid-century clean lines are gorgeous even though it's not very sturdy.
Now we use it to sit at and meet about whatever we need to talk about; bills, divorce proceedings, the dog. Last week it was about taking in our new roommate. I looked at this man that I once loved and knew so well and it hurt a little not to feel the things I once felt for him. It hurt to hear nervousness in his voice, why was he nervous about talking to me? Me?
I realized then that I've been thinking so much about how I've been hurt by him, probably not considered enough how much I've hurt him. Because in his face and in his voice there was pain.
He is familiar, he knows me like no one knows me. I hate him for that but I also miss it. I wish I could no longer hurt him. I wish for us to be free of this bond that keeps us from being friends because I would like to be his friend. I just don't want to be his wife any longer.

Saturday, January 17, 2009

"My Dog has Cancer"

I sent the text through tears to Heather as I waited for Tessa to be x-rayed.
"No," She replied.
"Lymphoma," I sent back.
She text talked me through the next thirty minutes until I was able to talk to her.

Earlier this week I was on the couch cuddling with my best friend. I always love snuggling around her neck where her fur is softest. She has a lot of sebatious cysts but the large lump I discovered was different. I felt a smaller one on the other side of her neck and believed she had swollen glands, probably an infection of some sort. She had an infection not long ago, maybe it needed another round of antibiotics. When I asked her dad if he felt it too he concurred that it was abnormal so I called the vet right away and made an appointment for the next day.

Everyone at the vet's office knows us and loves us. Well, her more than me of course. We're regulars. The techs usually come out from the back to say "hi" to her and she is always happy to see them all. I know the routine: weigh her (103 pounds), wait, then go to the exam room. Dr. Cidon was off so we saw Dr. Frye. "I don't know if I'm being paranoid," I told her, "but with her history I never want to take any chances."
"No, you're right. These are swollen." She checked her other glands and found them swollen too. "We'll take some samples and see if she's reacting to something or if this is possibly Lymphoma."
"She's not allowed to have Lymphoma," I told her.

Out came the needle, I held her and distracted her with tales of how wonderful she is. While we waited for the doctor to look at the samples I started to think of how likely it was that my dog had cancer. What are the odds that a dog that has been through as much as she has would now develop cancer just before her sixth birthday?

When Dr. Frye came back in I knew by her face that it was bad. I cried, sobbed, told Tessa, "bad dog. I told you, you're not allowed to be sick again." Dr. Frye explained that with chemotherapy we could extend her life a possible year beyond the few weeks the cancer would normally allow her to live. "Does this sound like something you're interested in pursuing?"
"Yes, I have to. I am not ready to let her go. I thought I'd have another four years with her. I'm not prepared to lose her anytime soon."

So, yesterday she was given her first round. I sent a text to her dad during the day, "How much did your morning suck today?"
"Pretty bad," he sent back.
"My stomach is in knots."
"I just want to curl up with her and cry."

We found out she had stage four lymphoma after more tests yesterday and needed to start on the chemo immediately. When she got home she was normally peppy.

Today she started on her meds. She's a little sleepier than normal. Another challenge for her to endure and us to support her through.

Saturday, January 10, 2009

Blue City Lights

Implanted by Chicago's finest, at first I thought them hideous and intrusive. You know the lights, right? They're posted high and blink and have the signature black and white checkered strip to let you know that you are being watched. Very Big Brother but now I love them.

A few years ago I got an email from my friend in Hinsdale telling me of how cool it was the other day to watch the sun set and see coyote gather around their kill as an owl perched nearby watched. This was all happening in her backyard.
I replied, "That's so cool, something similar happened in my backyard just yesterday. I saw a couple of crack heads in the alley gather around their new score and jitter about nervously as they waited their turn." She found that very funny. I guess it is but it happened all too often.

On the 4th of July I like to climb the fire escape and watch the neighborhood displays of fireworks. Two years ago I also got a show of a john with his prostitute in the front seat of his car. (Sure I called 311 but it was the 4th of July and the cops never showed.) When she finished her job she was given her prize and exited the car to partake. After inhaling and getting through her euphoria she did the strangest little dance, then got back in the car and they took off.

Another time I was leaving my garage to go to work when I noticed a man with his back against the garage wall across the alley from me. I was alarmed and about go back into my garage keep my gate shut when I noticed he wasn't alone. So fucking creeeeeeeepy. I shared eye contact with a twenty year old gang banger as he was getting head. Not cool. So not cool.

The apartment building at the end of my alley was a regular scene from HBO's "Wired." Regular games of dice took place on the sidewalk and frequent stops of cars made it apparent you could get all kinds of goodies from the guys hanging out in the parking lot. I'll give them this: that store was always open. I saw clients stopping in at all hours. I could always tell when there was a new salesman because he'd see my white face and think I was shopping. I'd resist the urge to give him the finger and instead avoided eye contact and drove on to my garage.

Then came the blinking blue lights. Suddenly my alley is so boring. I love the blinking blue lights.
I'm having students grade worksheets from another class. We get to number 15 that asks, "explain how an artist creates the illusion of three-dimensional form on a two-dimensional surface."
"The answer," I say, "is shading and using value changes." I then read what a lot of students copy directly from the book and explain that they are to mark the question 1/2 off if the paper they are grading copies directly from the book.
"Wait," says Brian. "Could you read that again?"
"Can't you just tell by reading it that it's coming straight out of the book?" I ask him.
"No."
"Really? You can't tell by reading it that it wasn't a kid that said it?"
"No, I know some kids that actually talk like this."
"Like what? Read it to me."
"Ok...wait." He looks down at his paper and then back up. "What number are we on?"