Monday, September 21, 2009


I am tired. Weary down to my bones and even further,if that is possible. Life has become such a trial and I begin to wonder. Is this why I am alive? Is this why I escaped my mother's fate? So I can spend my days working myself to a state beyond exhaustion, only to go home to world of hurt and stress?....I am weary, yet I do not sleep....and sleep is what I crave more than anything, to close my eyes and turn my back on all but oblivion. I am bereft of all feeling, other than that of being tired beyond all measure. I know there is no escape but I wish for it all the same. And yet, to run away would be to run from all of the things in my life that I hold  most dear. Ah, me oh my. I can no longer run, my knees are shot. There is no where to go is what it is the world over.   I am just...tired. It will pass.

Tuesday, September 15, 2009


Hooray!! Gus is home! With a huge (12"x10")shaved area on his back! and a 5" stapled together incision straight down the middle of his spine!! In his crate for 23 3/4 hrs a day! For 4-6 weeks!! Wow what a ride...I'd send a photo, but it is not for the faint of heart....
He is in fine spirits, does not seem to be in any pain...fentanyl patch anyone? He needs extremely serious rest, is on steroids, antibiotics and pain meds for the next 2-3 weeks (the fentanyl patch comes off tomorrow) and seems glad to be home, albeit crated.

I am the one suffering severe anxiety over his every move. I am a nervous wreck, but hopefully after a week or so I will be used to this routine. We went out for a 1/2 hour this morning and though I tried to be cool on the outside (Greg already thinks I've totally gone over the edge) inside I was so worried I felt sick. Of course he was fine when we got home.

Thanks again everyone for your support through this travail. It has been a huge help to us.

Thursday, September 3, 2009

Waiting For My Boy to Come Back

These past few days I feel, have been suspended in time. The air seems too thick to breathe. Waiting ,waiting, waiting. Waiting for a steadiness, waiting for a straightening of what has been rendered crooked, waiting for bits of angry inflammation to subside, waiting for strength to return. And I am holding my breath, fearful that none of what I am waiting for will return. I look into eyes so soulfully deep, so trusting and bewildered, I smooth a coat always softer than a baby's cheek, I hold up what was once so sturdy, what has held me up more times than I care to remember, that is now so frail and fragile.

Waiting is work: it saps one's will, it drains one's strength, it weakens one's spirit, leaving a hollowness bereft of hope. And yet those same soulful eyes look into mine and say it's OK, don't cry, I'm here now. I am lying right beside you where I have always been. Believe in me.

I want to, it's the waiting that I can not abide.