Embrace the suck

As the ball falls and the darkness of December fades into the light of January, a new year is born. With that comes a new found clarity, a rebirth and the opportunity to wipe the slate clean to start again. After 2020 isn’t that what we all want? Hope for better times ahead.

2020 began like any other year for me. When Covid-19 pulled the rug out from under us and excreted its venom upon the world, like everyone else, I found myself swimming in a sea of uncertainty. Would I get Covid? Would I lose someone to Covid? What is going to happen to my world as I know it?

I can’t look at 2020 as the year of suck. Instead, I choose to embrace it. There were plenty of things that sucked in 2020. 2020 taught me how to accept what is, let go of what isn’t and be grateful for what’s in front of me. On the home front, my husband and I quickly adopted that mantra as a coping mechanism, means of survival and a way to keep our young adult children physically, mentally and emotionally healthy. With each new issue or disappointment that arose in our daily lives, we were diligent with that mantra. The social isolation, the frustration, the hopelessness, the beginning of virtual high school and university education, my daughter’s lost senior prom, senior track season and high school commencement, my son’s lost December college commencement. The things that were not meant to be for us in 2020 only made us a stronger family unit and more grateful.

On the work front, I am an RN of twenty six years. For the past eight, I’ve been working in the pre-op unit of my hospital, preparing patients for surgery. Before that, I spent thirteen years as an emergency room RN. When the world shut down and my state’s governor cancelled elective surgeries, even though the only necessary surgeries were being done, the preoperative units were left scampering to find work so their employees didn’t have to go on unemployment or use all of their paid time off. They sent us to screen people as they entered the hospital and satellite locations. They sent us to classes. My boss told us if we had skills in other areas we could expect to be called to use them. Former ICU RNs were sent to the ICU. I was one of several veteran emergency nurses selected to be activated in the emergency department if the surge reached our hospital. On Nurses’s Day in May my father posted a picture on social media of me in my PPE, stating that I was on the front lines, “fighting Covid”. I was so embarrassed. From my Dad’s perspective, he was telling the world how proud he was of me. Deep down inside, it irked me for about six weeks that I didn’t feel like I was doing my part because I wasn’t on the front lines in the Emergency Room. Each of us in the group of ER RN veterans only worked one shift in the ER because our hospital didn’t get the surge some of the others in our city did. During my day in the ER, I took care of symptomatic Covid patients. I transported Covid patients to the ICU. The hospital was like Sombertown. The ICU looked like a war zone. I was as terrified as I was as a young nurse in the early 1990’s, taking care of full blown AIDS patients.

As time went on, my fears were replaced with caution and a new level of awareness. When elective surgeries returned and my department busted our asses everyday to get these patients into the OR, I realized that I am doing my part. All of us who work in healthcare are doing our part regardless if we are on the front lines or not. The custodial staff who clean and sanitize the hospital. The food service who feed us. The people who stock our supplies and take care of the equipment. The command center who direct us. The chaplains who pray for us.

I enjoy listening to XM Sirius Radio on my way in to work in the morning. One morning before Thanksgiving, there was a little greeting blurb from Mick Fleetwood of Fleetwood Mac. He started out with some humor about how he was learning the ukulele and how he wasn’t very good at it. He said he missed making music with his friends. He wished the listeners a Happy Thanksgiving and not in so many words stated that now was the time to be grateful, to learn, to go within. I wish I could hear the blurb again because it did resonate with me.

It has been over a year since I have posted anything in this blog. In the midst of life I have somehow lost my writing voice. The words are swarming around in my head from time to time but can’t seem to make it to the tip of my fingers, the keyboard and this page. I am hoping to find my writing voice again this year.

Happy New Year

Sick Pup Update

It’s been almost four weeks since I posted about my dog’s new diagnosis of Intervertebral Degenerative Disc Disease so I’ll just start where I left off on March 7.


After I posted about my sick pup we left the house to attend my daughter’s concert. My daughter is a junior in high school now with a heavy load of honors and AP classes but she couldn’t go to school that day knowing that our dog’s neurological status had deteriorated. We were in a waiting game to see if the steroids they’d given him were going to reverse his paralysis. My husband and I came to an agreement with our daughter; we were to go to the concert providing we didn’t hear any more bad news about the dog before the concert. I emailed the band director to fill him in on what was going on. He was extremely understanding and excused our daughter from the concert if she couldn’t go but hoped she would because maybe playing music with her peers would help her feel better. The band director was right. Our band booster family was there to support us and it being with our friends as we watched our children play a concert was helpful to our own healing.

We visited out dog late that night after our son was finished with a lab class. Our dog’s condition hadn’t changed and I noticed they put a catheter in his bladder. The veterinarian said he indeed had bowel and bladder control and sensation in his limbs but it was stressful for an animal to wonder when they’d be able to relieve themselves. He was sleepy and his eyes were blood shot yet receptive to our presence. We tried to do little things to him to test his movement that we know used to annoy him. We noticed if we touched his tail he’d ever so slightly pull it away. He ever so slightly pulled his back foot away. It was encouraging.

The following morning I returned to the animal hospital to visit our dog. The catheter had been removed and this time they did not wheel him in on a stretcher as they previously had, they carried him in and placed him on the couch in the visiting room. The veterinarian came in shortly afterward and told me to go get things ready in our home because he would be discharged later.  I asked him if he wanted to come home and he tried to move his upper torso and kicked his back legs.  It had been less than 12 hours since we saw he and he’d already begun to regain function. We were headed in the right direction.

The discharge process was a little frustrating. We had so many questions and the vet tech that was assigned to help us with the discharge had not worked with our dog. Really? We learned about toileting, medications, feeding and activity. Imagine a cartoon character who gets hit in the head with a rock. He or she is stunned for a minute, shakes his or her head and proceeds. That’s how my husband and I felt in the beginning.

Our dog, Cooper had to be held a certain way to support his back but to allow him to stand up to urinate.  So before discharge, the vet tech called in some reinforcements and we went over it until we felt comfortable. Even after training, for days after it took two of us in the family stand him up outside and days of getting our timing right. Sometimes he’d pee outside, sometimes he’d have an accident. Three days later, after work and as my daughter suggested I took him to his favorite light pole, stood him up and he peed. Victory! My daughter who had just come home from school and was pulling into our street witnessed it as she was parking her car. Although the toileting process took longer to perfect, this was definitely an encouraging sign.

The medication process was another doozy. The animal hospital sent him home on six medications. Prednisone, a steroid to reduce the swelling of his spinal cord. Gabapentin for neurologic pain and function. Tramadol for pain. Methocarbamol, a muscle relaxant and sedative. Omeprazole to protect the lining of his stomach and  Cerenia for nausea. “Oh and by the way”, they told us. “Don’t feed him tonight because he threw up.” We were to give him two of the medications that evening. Here is where I had an overwhelming feeling of helplessness, anxiety, insecurity and fear. I asked myself if we’d be able to care for him. He wouldn’t take his medications in his usual way which is a pill placed in cream cheese and rolled up on a slice of ham. His tummy hurt. A phone call to the vet advised us to dilute the pills, put them into a syringe and gently squirt into his mouth. Public service announcement: my dog was in a shelter for six months from the age of two to two and one half when we adopted him. We have no idea why he was surrendered or what happened to him. He bites to bite.

The first night home was the most difficult. As usual we brought Cooper to bed with us. After all, he is our third baby and he really did need the attention. He cried all night. His tummy hurt, he vomited, he peed on himself. In the morning I called the animal hospital and they added a seventh medication. Pepcid to reduce stomach irritation and acid. By the end of the day he was holding water down. The next day our daughter got him to eat a few chunks of boiled hamburger.

Each day we noticed he was able to do more and more things physically. Rolling over, sitting up, standing, peeing outside. Sunday, two days after discharge was his first attempt to walk. My daughter filmed him stumbling off his pillow. I posted it on social media and got so many sad comments. That’s our reality though and I wanted people to know that. By Tuesday he was walking. He still had signs of neurologic deficit but his veterinarian was pleased with his progress and felt that surgery was not necessary at this time. His appetite increased gradually. By the time our son came home a week after Cooper was discharged from the animal hospital we had finally gotten him to take meds in his ham and cream cheese roll up again but then he abruptly stopped. My son suggested maybe Cooper was sick of ham so we bought some bologna and roast beef. That did the trick. No more diluting meds, putting them in a syringe and squirting them into his mouth. We alternate between bologna and roast beef. This dog eats well. I’ve also added a spinal vitamin to his meals. It contains, cow trachea, horse tail and several vitamins and electrolytes. I open up the capsule and mix it into his food.



He isn’t allowed to go to the groomer until he’s medically cleared and he’s getting scruffy. I’ve contacted a groomer whom I know owns a has a mobile grooming service and  does multiple special needs dogs. He’s on crate rest and is supposed to be for at least 4-6 weeks. He is not allowed to go up or down stairs or jump off of furniture. That’s the challenge. Cooper has separation anxiety. He can’t just be placed in his crate and be expected to deal with it. Ordinarily he’s crated only when we leave the house.  I made yet another phone call to the veterinarian. The day after his first follow up check up, he literally paced around in the crate all day.  I fail to see how that is promoting rest for him. She advised that I could give him his anxiety meds that we use for grooming and vet visits. I have since added a natural calming chew twice daily and removed the as needed anxiety meds because I don’t want him to develop a tolerance. We have baby gates now. We allow him to be out of the crate in restricted areas of our home under direct supervision so he doesn’t injure himself. We believe in keeping him safe first and foremost but we are also concerned about his emotion health. He needs to be nurtured as he heals.

img_6971As they say, when life throws you lemons, you make lemonade. This situation definitely blindsided my entire family. My husband, our son, our daughter and I came together as a team to care for Cooper wholeheartedly with love, devotion while sticking to his treatment guidelines.

I can only imagine what it feels like receive pages of discharge instructions and a bag full of medications to bring a sick human being family member home to care for them. On May 14, 2019 I will celebrate the 25th anniversary of my graduation from nursing school. Talk about feeling like a cartoon character who’s had the rock thrown at her head. Where did the time go? I have spent half of my life as a Registered Nurse. Not only was my dog’s illness an eye opener and a life style change for us as a family, it was an eye opener for me as a nurse. There’s always room for improvement. We should never stop learning or trying to better ourselves. When life throws you a lemon, take the lemon, embrace it, make the lemonade, learn from the experience, use what you’ve learned to help others.

My sick pup

I’ve been away from this blog a really long time. I just haven’t felt inspired to write anything. I’m confused and uncertain about the direction this blog is going in. I’m not sure if I like it. During my absence, I’ve tried to follow other people’s posts, admiring their clarity and direction  and in return have asked myself the same question, “who am in in this blog?”

Today I return though.  I return brokenhearted and devastated. The world that my husband, our son and daughter live in has been turned upside down and shattered. Our dog, a nine year old male mini poodle is in the hospital with a new diagnosis of Intervertebral Degenerative Disc Disease. The vertebrae in his neck are compressing his spinal cord and he’s paralyzed.

My daughter noticed Tuesday evening that he was acting like he was in pain. I left work three hours into my shift yesterday morning to bring him to the animal hospital. His condition has deteriorated significantly since his arrival there. While I was getting him into the car yesterday to bring him, he looked like he was doing a little better. He seemed to be moving around easier and I thought he’d get some doggie ibuprofen and he’d be good to go a few days later like he was three years ago when he appeared to have back pain.

They started steroids at 0300. The night veterinarian called at 0630 to tell us he’s paralyzed and that we should come in. Surgery would cost 11K. Would he ever be the same though? Do we want him to suffer? Hell.to.the.no! The tears came, I gathered my family and off we went to the vet. It was like a death march in a parade of darkness, despair and impending doom. When we arrived they wheeled him in. He was covered up and on his side. He picked up his head when we saw us. Once again, as he has for the past 6 years and 10 months, he filled our hearts with his love. It felt so so good to see him, to pet him, to kiss him, to hold his hand, to talk to him, to bring him his favorite toys, to feed him, to touch him and to reminisce about him in our lives. We have thousands of pictures of him of simple everyday moments of life that he has shared with us. He has taught each of us to love in a way that we were unfamiliar with and he has amazed us everyday with the gifts that God has given him. He is our everything.

The morning veterinarian came in to see us after a little while. She  doesn’t want to give us false hope yet she doesn’t want to give up on him just yet though. He’s on pain meds, anti-inflammatory, muscle relaxers and steroids in hopes that the steroids will take effect in 24-48 hours. We were relieved. We thought the night vet was inviting us to come put him to sleep.

The rug has been pulled out from underneath me and I’ve been hit by a train. Our happy little world with our dog is shattering and we are holding on for dear life.  I haven’t cried this much in a day in probable 10 years. I’ve seen so many people experience what I am experiencing right now with their pets. Every time I see someone go through it I always always say a prayer of thanks for my dog. This sucks. I’m a nurse. I see this all the time with humans. I hurt for patients and families when they get a shit diagnosis. I am realistic too. I know there’s no guarantee those steroids are going to work and but am I being selfish for wanting them to? The vet said IF the steroids are effective, he’ll need weeks to months of pain meds, steroids and muscle relaxers. We as a family commit to that. I just want him home. I want to nurse him. I want to love him more. We all do.

After we left the vet went for lunch, dropped my son back at school and after we got home I took a nap. I stopped by the church. It was locked so I sat in front of the statue of Mary and asked for a Divine Intervention. God has granted them to before. Now I need another one.

The paw I am holding is his right front. In September of 2016 he snagged it on the carpet, ripped it and it bled. We took him to the same animal emergency hospital where they fixed it. From then on we called it boo boo paw.

Below are the lyrics to Kate Bush’s “This Woman’s Work”. Although sad, I like it because it’s asking for one last chance. That’s all I want.

Pray God you can cope
I’ll stand outside
This woman’s work
This woman’s world
Ooooh it’s hard on a man
Now his part is over
Now starts the craft of the Father
I know you’ve got a little life in you left
I know you’ve got a lot of strength left
I know you’ve got a little life in you yet
I know you’ve got a lot of strength left
I should be crying but I just can’t let it show
I should be hoping but I can’t stop thinking
All the things we should’ve said that I never said
All the things we should have done that we never did
All the things we should have given but I didn’t
Oh darling make it go
Make it go away
Give me these moments
Give them back to me
Give me that little kiss
Give me your talking hands
Give me your hand baby
(I know you have a lot of strength left)
Give me your pretty hand
(I know you have a little life in you yet)
Ooh you have a lot of strength
(I know you have a lot of strength left)
My loved child
(I know you have a little life in you yet)
Whatever you need baby
(I know you have a lot of strength left)
Give me your hand
(I know you have a little life in you yet)
Give me your hand
(I know you have a lot of strength left)
Oh I should be crying but I just can’t let it go
I should be hoping but I can’t stop
Thinking and thinking and thinking
Of all the things we should’ve said that we never said
And all the things we should have done that we never did
All the things that you wanted from me
All the things that you needed from me
All the things I should have given but I didn’t
Oh darling make it go
Just make it go away
Psalm 34:17-18 The Lord hears his people when they call to him. 
                            He rescues them from all their troubles.
                            The Lord is close to the brokenhearted, he rescues those who are crushed.


Emotional Oils Part 1

Release and White Angelica. I enjoy using this combination of emotional oils. Release is applied in the right upper quadrant of the abdominal area, where the liver resides, behind the ears and on the bottom of feet. It supports emotional well being by helping us let go of negative emotions.

White Angelica helps to neutralize negative energy and helps us feel strong and secure. It also helps us to feel whole.

I first started using these two together a few months ago during a difficult time and it has really made a difference for me on bla days. I also apply it when I am around people who have negative outlooks or I anticipate my inner strength and peace being tested in some way.

Emotional health and support are as equally important as supporting physical areas of your body. Life is messy.

The Old House on Memory Lane

I’ve always felt that selling a house and moving out of it was similar to ending a relationship. You are basically telling the house you don’t want it to be part of you life anymore. Who can forget the last moment when the moving truck pulls away and it’s time for you to leave the house for the last time? You get in your car to drive away and you are afraid to look back for the last time because if you do you’ll wonder, in a flurry of emotions if you’ve made the right choice. Maybe selling the house wasn’t your choice though.

Thirty eight years later, I still remember the day we said goodbye to and drove away from the house in Buffalo, New York where I spent the first decade of my life. There was nothing wrong with the house, my parents simply wanted to change careers and live in a different city in another state. So, we sold the house and moved away.

It was a great house. Built in 1920, it was the only house of it’s architecture on the street. It was custom designed for a physician so he could have his practice in his home. The downstairs floor was for the physician, his family and the practice. The upstairs was a mini apartment for his elderly parents. The rooms in the house of course changed as owners changed though.

If you are looking at the house from the street; The front room of the house had a sun room. It had a nice breeze in the summer but was drafty in the winter. After the sunroom was the living room. After the living room the dining room was on the left and the kitchen on the right. Behind the dining room was a bathroom and spare bedroom. Behind the kitchen was a pantry and an extra room that we had a refrigerator and we kids used as our play room where our toys were. The main room of the basement was finished with knotty pine walls and a half bath. The upstairs front bedroom belonged to my parents. My brothers’ bedroom was on the left, my bedroom on the right. There was a bathroom with a claw foot bathtub and my grandmother’s bedroom was in the back of the house. The back yard had my mom’s garden, a grape vine and a matching two car garage.

Every room of that house had memories that only the family that lived there would know. Memories that last a life time. Memories that you don’t think about but when they come back to you, you just pause in silence so that you can experience them again.

Memories light the corners of my mind

Misty water-colored memories of the way we were

Scattered pictures of the smiles we left behind

Smiles we gave to one another for the way we were

Can it be that it was all so simple then

Or has time rewritten every line

If we had the chance to do it all again

Tell me, would we?

Could we?

Memories may be beautiful and yet

What’s too painful to remember

We simply choose to forget

So it’s the laughter we will remember

Whenever we remember

The way we were

The way we were

I’m sure if my brother reads this he’s going to call me a sap who’s stuck in the 1970’s, BUT, my dad is a big Barbra Streisand fan and that’s a song I remember from living in that house, during the 1970’s.

We still have family in Buffalo, even my brother lives there again. We’ve visited from time to time over the years. Sometimes we’d drive by the house, sometimes not. The last time I was there was 4 years ago. My mission was to surprise my brother in front of that old house for his birthday. Once again, the house was part of our lives if only for a moment.

The house has been in my subconscious mind more so lately. It’s up for sale again and my parents are interested in buying it. My husband and I had lunch with my parents on Saturday. My dad proudly showed my husband the pictures of the house that were listed on the realtor website. As my dad went through each room with my husband, it occurred to me that my dad still remembers every nook and cranny of that house because he and mom did so much work to it through their late 20’s, early 30’s.

Memories I hadn’t thought about in years returned to me as I listened to my dad tell my husband about the house. The stairwell where my foot stuck to the hardwood steps and I gashed my chin, needing stitches. The bedroom window that I looked out one night and convinced my little brother that a cluster of stars was indeed Santa and his sleigh. The stairwell that when my brother was a baby and my mom would carry him upstairs to bed, he’d wait until they reached the top to throw his bottle, spilling milk everywhere. The dining room where we ate sauce on Sundays… yes we are Sicilian. The living room where my dad and his friend played the piano and where I used to watch that show EMERGENCY with my friend and then we’d throw my dolls on the floor into an accident scene and save their lives with my Fisher Price Medical Kit. (Who knew I’d become an ER nurse!). The Sunroom where my brother wrote on the wall with a big black crayon minutes before my dad got home from work. The fireplace where a bird flew in during a snow storm and crapped on the walls. The sun room my dad had his stereo and it it always played awesome music like the Eagles, The Bee-Gees, Bob Segar and the Silver Bullet Band, The Beatles, Paul McCartney, Chicago, Linda Ronstadt, Bette Midler, Barbra Streisand, Motown, Fleetwood Mac, The Charlie Daniels Band and too many more to count. My love of 70’s music was born in that house because, well it was the 1970’s. The kitchen that my grandma baked the most beautiful pies in. The playroom that my brothers and I played in and beat each other up in. The spare room where over night guests stayed. The backyard that held our swing set. The garage door that we’d bounce balls against. So many rooms, so many memories. It was a great house with so much potential. As an adult, I’d buy it in a heartbeat.

Hopefully I’ll be able to bring my children into the house some day to show them where I lived. I’m a firm believer in “it will happen if it’s meant to be. The same goes with buying a car or house. If it’s meant to be, my parents will own that house once again.




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