Membership Has It's Rewards! Are You The Right One?

During my time in rescue, I often found myself having conversations about "the right fit." Several times I had volunteers mention to me that they thought a particular boxer was the perfect fit for a family. While I have only been owned by three boxers in my lifetime, I have learned a lot about boxer parenting. I am seriously convinced that the question is not if the boxer is right for the home, but is the human right for the boxer or even a boxer in general.

I dedicate this blog post to all of the boxers that have found themselves in rescues and shelters because the humans were simply not right for them. And also to the "right fits" that I feel blessed to have been a part of.

It was almost six years ago that I made the choice to become a boxer parent. Not unlike an expectant mother anticipating the arrival of a new two-legged baby, I did a lot of reading and a lot of research and a crapload of planning. Truly, though, after six years as the human of a boxer, time and experience are really the only things that have taught me what being a boxer family is really about.

Of all of the choices I have made in my life, and all of the things that I have accomplished, being a boxer parent is definitely my greatest source of pride. I have absolutely no regrets about my life with my boxers.

A boxer is not just a dog. A boxer will inevitably wiggle its way into your heart, and every single aspect of your life. These goofy, wiggling buddies will want to be a part of everything that you do. These are little humans in the most adorable little bodies. When you make the decision to parent a boxer, you are committing to a life-long assistant. Dishes, laundry, cooking, gardening, bed-making, painting, even taking a bath (and as I have recently discovered with Jazzy, showering). Are you ready to never pee alone again? Can you handle this level of companionship? These guys are not for the admitted loner, but rather the human who is ready to share every part of their life with a four-legged, nosey, and oftentimes persistent clown.

Boxers have a concept of personal space that is very original. It is the "your space is my space" concept. This means the bed, the sofa, and pretty much every square foot of your home. If you are not okay with mud, slobber, and water all over the floor and every other place that drool can fly to, you are probably not right for a boxer. Boxer drool is a very serious topic and one that I could do a stand-alone and very long blog on. This is a unique substance that has powers beyond your wildest imagination. Not only is it comprised of something that closely resembles gorilla glue, but it is also capable of reaching places that you cannot possibly fathom. If you are OCD about clean windows, furniture, and walls, a boxer is probably a bad match.

Are you commitment-phobic? Are you unwilling to submit yourself to what can only be described as passionate, all-encompassing love? Boxers need a human that is open and willing to being loved in this way. No boxer should ever be allowed to fall in love with a human that is not prepared to love him back for his entire life. That is just not fair.

Are you a stingy lover? (Get your head out of the gutter, I am still talking about the dogs.) These guys crave attention and love. It is not uncommon to find soulful eyes staring at you  quite dauntingly because you have not loved on them in the last five minutes. My boxers remind me several times an hour that they love me very much, and in turn, they also like to be reminded that I love them right back.

One of the greatest gifts that my boxers have given to me is what can only be described as unconditional love at the highest possible level. This is a love that goes in both directions.

The love that these guys give to their humans is enduring, wonderful, and life-long. It is a love that lasts long after their bodies, but never their spirits have left this earth. We never really get over the departure of our boxers from this earth. When we give ourselves to our boxers, we are making a commitment to understanding that a piece of hearts will at some point probably go with them from this earth and yet another part will always belong to them.

Boxers really are clowns for life. While their birth certificates may say that they are "older", they are really just puppies at heart and in spirit. Are you okay with the fact that you are going to have a puppy in your home for the next 13 years, or longer if you are so blessed? They never stop entertaining, and they never stop being wildly silly.

If you are not okay with the fact that this gorgeous breed will never really outgrow "puppyhood" you may want to consider another breed. If you are not crazy about smiling, laughing and being reduced to tears at least once a day, the goofy, comical boxer is not going to be a good match.

I have been extremely lucky with little Jazzy! She might just be the world's best boxer puppy, or maybe it is the fact that she has an awesome big brother. Everyone who has met Jazzy has looked at me and said, "She's not a typical boxer puppy". Yes, I will be forever spoiled by this little darling, but in all honestly, she is still a puppy, and she is still busy and requires a lot of training, time, energy, and attention. She never really stops which is okay, because I never really do either.

If you are expecting a well-behaved boxer, be prepared for ongoing mental stimulation, not just through the puppy years, but throughout their entire life. Boxers are the world's most cuddly, loving little creatures that you will ever come across, and they are more than happy to keep you company when you want to watch a good movie.... but only after you have played tugged o' war for 55 minutes and walked around the block 17 times, shared cheese from the fridge and then walked around the block another 17 times. These are not dogs that are okay with their humans leaving the house for 10 hours at a time. Frankly, if Jazzy and Duke had their way, I would never leave the house. Crap, it takes me all of one minute to walk to the mailbox and back and by their reactions when I walk in the door, you would think I had just returned from a six-month stint in China. God, it is seriously amazing to be loved this way.

Boxers, like children can often have sensitivities and allergies to food and things in the environment around them. Be prepared for a huge financial investment in feeding your boxers things that are not only good for them, but that agree with them. Sometimes, the solutions are not always clear and the problems not so obvious. Lucy saw multiple specialists and endured many changes in routine in an attempt to rid of her allergies to food and the environment. We never really did find a solution that was a solid fix.

Jazzy and Duke enjoy a raw diet that is a combination of chicken with bones, beef, vegetables, proteins, omega-3's, and yes, cheese.

If you have never experienced life with a boxer, you might be reading all of this and thinking "Good Lord, now I know this woman is crazy!" Life with two boxers is never dull. I am never alone. I wear my heart on my sleeve when it comes to my boxers as if my heart were walking around outside of my chest all of the time. I adapt my life and my activities around my boxers needs to keep them happy because they do the same for me. We have a wonderful give-and-take relationship, but only because that is the way I want it and that is what they require.

Yes, I spend insane amounts of time cleaning and mopping floors, have nearly killed myself more than once in incidents that most certainly involved drool, and I am forever fighting for blankets and space in my king size bed. I find laundry in my living room, toys in weird places, and my car windows are always covered in boxer art work. But none of these things matter when I think about how full my heart is with love for Duke and Jazzy and even Lucy.

I am proud to be a card carrying, boxer mom.

It's Just Hair...

Late November 2015

So, a few weeks back as I was nearing the end of my patience with my hair extensions, I saw a blog post by Clare Bowen (Is she not just the most adorable person you have ever seen?) entitled "It's Just Hair". I had been debating for weeks whether I was going to put the extensions back or if I was going to embrace whatever hair had sprouted on my head.

Before reading that post, I was starting to draw my own conclusions that while my extensions were beautiful, they were also a huge expense and a serious pain the arse (I don't know about you, but I can think of a million other things that are more fun to do than spend 10, yes I said 10, hours in a chair at the salon). But, of course, I had some preconceived notions of my own about hair, naturally to spend the amount of time and money that I had on them, my notions must have been pretty potent. Reading her post made up my mind for me! I did a lot of soul-searching after seeing and reading that blog entry.

I have never considered myself to be obsessive with hair. Before having cancer, I made frequent trips to the beauty salon for cuts and highlights. But, I was never crazy about it. Often, I would wait way too long and get to the point of wanting to rip my hair out (and much to my stylist's dismay and frustration was not above taking the scissors to my own head when things got too bad). So, I was not one of these people who visits her stylist every three weeks, nor was I one of those people that ran to the salon every time a root peaked through. I washed, dried and styled my hair every morning, and then did not think about it the rest of the day, until I would pull it into a ponytail at the end of the day. I never carried hairspray or a comb: a rubber band: yes, styling tools: no! See, there is nothing really over the top there.

Early November 2014

As I have admitted many times, one of the first questions out of my mouth after hearing that I had cancer was "Am I going to lose my hair?". Looking back, clearly that was an absurd question. Regardless, the truth of the matter is that losing my hair terrified me. No matter how hard I tried, I could not rationalize that I was going to save an hour every morning on styling my hair,  or that I would be saving a ton of money on styling products and trips to the salon. And why the heck could I not grasp the concept that I was also, of course, going to be alive! Frankly, I felt so strongly about losing my hair that it was almost a battle between hair and living that shocked the heck out of me. I swear I grieved more about losing my hair than losing my breasts, actually I know I did.

I am sure you are wondering, if all of this is true, what the heck happened? Well, it's complicated. In a lot of ways, I guess I perceived not having hair as being unhealthy and looking sick. I have never liked "looking sick". Even when I have the flu or a head cold, I still do my hair and put on my makeup because I know that if I do so, I will feel better. And let's face it, we are living in a hair obsessed society. I never noticed exactly  how many hair commercials there were until I had no hair. Then I felt like every single commercial was about hair. I do not know how it happened, but during the time I was hairless, all of the car manufacturers, toilet paper companies, and all of the stores stopped advertising to make room for endless commercials about HAIR. I could not turn on the tv without seeing a woman tossing long, luscious, glorious hair over her shoulders. Seriously? No wonder I stopped watching tv and turned off the Direct TV service.

My obsession with hair, or should I say lack of it, started when I lost all of mine. While my mom (she's my mom, of course, she is going to say that I look cute no matter what) and many of my friends frequently commented on how cute I looked without hair, I was dreadfully unhappy. I guess I fell victim to the common thought in society than girls cannot be a princess without long hair (although, I am a little old for the whole princess thing, you get the idea). Without my hair, I most certainly did not feel like myself and I definitely did not feel pretty no matter how many times people commented about my adorable short hair. I felt broken. I desperately wanted not to feel broken.

Late November 2014 

I took some pretty drastic (and expensive) measures to make myself feel whole again. And, looking back, I guess that is where the soul searching should have begun. Why on earth did I need hair and lots of it to feel beautiful and loved? There is really something wrong with that. Frankly, my friends and family do not think anything less, or anything more of me because of the length of my hair or the lack of hair entirely.

So, in a rather abrupt move, almost two weeks ago (right after bringing Jazzy home) I made a phone call to start righting my "hair" ship. Fate intervened, and I was able to see someone about removing the extensions that day. Since I was only going for a consultation, I grabbed Jazzy and headed off to the salon. But, fate is one of those busy bodied things, and as I sat there that morning (with Jazzy in my lap) it turned out that I could have it done right then and there. Why wait? So, with my adorable puppy in my lap, I had my extensions removed, my hair washed, cut and dried.

Forgive me while I give a shameless plug to my four and a half-month-old puppy. She sat in my lap the entire time, with her head on a pillow, being what I would consider an exceptionally good puppy. Of course, she took that opportunity to charm the heck out of everyone in the salon, and as we left, we were told that she was welcome back any time! Good puppy! Have I mentioned yet how in love I am with this boxer?

As Jazzy and walked back to the car, I felt lighter. I felt better. For the first time in months, I felt like myself. I realized that those who love me, love me because of who I am as a person, and they could care less how much hair I have. While my family does not really have any say in "choosing me" so to speak, my friends have chosen to be my friends. I like to think it is because I am caring, funny, witty and a ton of fun to be around: long hair or short hair.

Shame on a society or any person that makes anyone feel like any less of a person because of "hair". I did not chose cancer and I most definitely did not chose to lose all of my hair. For some of us, it is a life-saving necessity. It made me think later that night when I saw a commercial for "It's a 10" hair products. The women in the commercial all had long, flowing hair and they were boasting about how they proudly support breast cancer research. Perhaps they could chose better when they select their models for their commercials because women who have endured breast cancer, for at least a little while; have short hair.

I have news for you Loreal, Nexxus, Revlon and all of the other "hair product" companies out there, there are a lot of gorgeous women running around out there with short hair. Look at Faith Hill or Halle Berry just to name a few.  Both of these women have been blessed to be noted as the world's most beautiful women. And just for the record, even though my hair is short, I still use shampoo and condition, gel, and leave-in conditioners are my friend, and hair spray flies in my bathroom every single morning. You are seriously missing a whole market... Just sayin'!

Turns Out That A Little Bit o' Jazz Was Just What The Doctor Ordered

It has definitely not taken the whole two weeks that Jazzy has been with us for me to realize that I am in love. Actually, I am pretty sure that I knew the moment that I first laid eyes on her that I was completely smitten with this little pup. And if I wasn't sure at that exact moment, it was definite when she bunny hopped over to me in the grass as we were "peeing" (that would have been her, and not me in case you are wondering!) one last time before hitting the road in Friendship, Texas.

While my heart will never be completely whole again with Lucy gone, Lil Bit has certainly done a fantastic job of making me smile again, and Duke once again seems happy. I know that Lil Bit has found her way into my heart. I could not possibly be more enthusiastically happy about this little girl's wonderful temperament. Often, I find myself forgetting that she is just a puppy. And I've asked myself more than once, are you sure this is a boxer puppy? Then she does something ridiculously silly, and I laugh until I cry and wonder why did I ever question that this is a boxer puppy?

I can tell you that my heart could not have been heavier, nor could it have been more broken after Lucy left us so abruptly. Not a day goes by when I do not think of Lucy, but as I've said many times, I know that Lucy would not have been happy about my moping face, and Duke's lack of a wiggle. When I look at my little ball of energy, covered in soft fur and stop for a kiss from her sweet little puppy tongue, I know that we made the right decision. In my heart, I know that Lucy approves.

Our journey to Texas was completely unforgettable. I was hesitant of subjecting Duke to 32 hours in the car, but the thought of leaving him behind made me even more hesitant. Now, I'm glad that we had that time with Duke before we picked up Jazzy, and I know that I made the right choice.

Frankly, I think it was a good bonding experience for all of us, and I know that the 16 hours in the car on the way back to Florida was the perfect start to the relationship between Duke and Lil Bit. I love that we started off the Jazzy chapter of our lives with a road trip. I'll be forever grateful to my dear friend and fellow boxer mom that insisted that it was a bad idea for me to take this trip by myself. Nothing is more fun that two women in a car chatting about everything under the sun for 32 hours.

One hour away from my home in Florida, I looked up in the sky and saw the most massive, and most brilliant rainbow I have ever seen. I did not bother to fight back the tears as my heart told me that was Lucy sharing her approval of her mama's choice. (Too bad she wasn't intervening with fate when that state trooper decided to nab us for speeding... but Lucy never approved of my driving anyway, and I wasn't the one driving...)

It has been 6 years since we have had a "puppy" in our home. While I most certainly have forgotten a few things about having a little one around, I have found myself most relieved to find that most of the things I've needed to know are still stuck in my crazy head. One of the biggest joys of a puppy in my opinion is their endless curiosity, and Jazzy is certainly curious. Her reaction to every new sound and every new experience makes me giggle. The look on her face and the stance of her little body when she decides "that's just weird" has made me young again. Jazzy does not get in a lot of trouble. She leaves most everything alone that is not hers and will wander off to find a toy when she is feeling mischievous.

I did not have the pleasure of knowing my Duke as a young pup, but if I had to imagine him as a puppy, I would imagine him being a lot like Jazzy is. Maybe this is why they are such a great match!

Jazzy is sweet, patient, and funny. She is as smart as can possibly be and picks up everything very quickly. Very eager to please, she often looks at me for approval, and she never lets me out of her sight. I love the sound of puppy paws on the tile and know that wherever I go, Jazzy is sure to be right behind me.  This is not without challenges, boxer puppies have a way of getting under our feet and I've gotten tangled up with Lil Bit more times than I even wish to count.

One of my favorite things about this little girl is how sweet and cuddly she is. Not a morning goes by that she doesn't wiggle her way into my lap as I sit on the patio and enjoy my coffee in the morning... And when I get up for more coffee, it isn't uncommon for someone to steel my chair...

Duke is amazing with Jazzy and I feel like I have an assistant. He loves her to death and the feeling is mutual. They play, snuggle, and protect the house and their mama together. What a great teacher he is, but I didn't expect any less. He was amazing with Lucy and I knew he would be great with a puppy. The sheer size of him next to my 35-pound puppy is almost comical. When they play, you almost have to hold your breath and think "oh, no! He's too big". But, ever the gentleman, he is gentle with her, and mindful of his strength, but no worries, she can hold her own.

Lil Bit o' Jazz turned out to be the most appropriate name for this boxer girl. Daily she brings "lil bits" of sunshine, joy and laughter to our home. She positively loves music and new sounds. And while her "pretty songs" that she sings do not sound a bit like jazz, somehow the boxer howls are appropriately, Jazzy.

While this certainly was not the way that I saw things playing out, I should know better than to have expectations. After all, look at the last  two years of our lives. I guess I am okay with all of this. I trust that it was the way that it was meant to be. While the lesson here is not yet clear, I am sure that there is one. I do not have time to ponder it or wonder why because I need to enjoy Jazzy's puppy-hood. I am sure that some day it will be all clear but in the meantime, as I am sure you can tell, I am just enjoying my new blessing.

---

Dear Lil Bit

We are extremely excited about our new boxer baby that is coming next week to add some excitement to our home! I will be meeting "Lil Bit o' Jazz" for the first time on Tuesday afternoon and have been busy getting the house ready for a puppy!

When Lucy was little, and before I got insanely busy working seven days a week, I blogged about raising Lucy. Some of the posts were called "Lucy's Take" and through me she blogged about her life and for some reason, I can't stop thinking about it... I think she must have something she needs to tell Lil Bit....

Dear Lil Bit, 

You's has never met me, I'm Lucy! You's abouts to become a member of my well-trained family! Congwratulations! You's gonna be very happy with my hoomans! I wanted to tell you a few tings about your new hoomans and your new big brudder. I's has gone to Heaven, but I'm watching closely over my hoomans and my big brother. They are all very sad that I'm gone, but I could tell that when they heard that you were coming, that they all felts just a little bits better and mommy's even smiling again. Heels der hearts for me, k?

Duke is a fantastic big pup! My hoomans brought him to live wits me and show me da ropes. I couldn't have been happier! Of course, I took my job as pesky little sister very seriously. And I kept him on his toes. He's probably lots bigger dan what you are, but don't worry. He's a very gentle boy and trust me, he's a great cuddler. I know he will protect you and take very good care of you. Heads up, he's not too fond of the delivery people dat come to the house... but here's da thing, they bring presents to the fur people living in the house, so be very excited when you see dem coming. (Mommy has very good taste. I don'ts know what dat means, but dats what Daddy calls it!)

Play with him lots! And make his little nub wiggle again, okay? And if you could, we had sometin' dat mommy called a morning twadition. I would grab a toy and zoom all over the house wits it and make Duke try to catch me... every once in a while, I'd let him win just so his little feelings wouldn't be hurt. Let's me know if you needs help wits dis, k? Da hoomans don't mind it one bit when when we gets all roudy, and you'll see dat there's lots of room to zoom around! It's a very dog friendly kind of place.

And then der's my daddy. He called me "lil darling". I bets he's gonna luvs you bunches too! Daddy drives big trucks, and sometimes I's gots to ride in dem with him. He loved taking me places wits him. Sometimes, he even tooks me to work wits him and I got to meets customers. He has a little brown ting dat mommy calls a wallet... it's always full of green stuff. You can buy yummy stuff with dat green stuff, so if you find dat, gives it to mommy! Don't try to eats it like I did...

Daddy's not too fond of kisses, so save those for mommy! She loves em! I's never understood, but mommy used to say those kisses were like wrinkle cream. It made her giggle, so dats must be a good thing! Daddy will cuddles wits you, just make sure you don't hog his blankets... He will have so much fun playing with you! I just know it! He always turns da knob tingy on da tub too far and gets too much cold water, so if you's stick your little head in der, you can turn da cold water off! His closet is da best place in da house to take a quiet nap, and unlikes mommy's closet, der is always piles of clothes dat make great pillows.

And finally, ders your new mom! I just know she's gonna loves you to pieces and she'll probably tell you she luvs you a bunch! Momma loves to give kisses on da top of da head, and when I's was a little pup, she carried me around a lot. She's gonna be serious about teaching you all kinds of new tings, and she will probably attempts to enroll your little wiggle bum in a puppy class. Do me a favor and don't get kicked out like I dids, okay? She'll be super duper protective and will probably watch everyting dat you do, but it's okay. She's just making sure dat nothin bad happens to you. 

I'm not sure what's da matter wits her, but she uses the phrase "ugh, oh" quite often. I tinks its a good ting, but if you wiggle when she says "ugh oh" she will laugh. She'll probably bang a lot of tings around and be a bit noisy when you first arrive, she dids it to me too. It slows down after a while, if you gets tired of all da noise, just don't be scared when she makes a loud noise, and she'll probably stop! She tolds me its had sometin to do wits beings well justed! She's gonna spends lots of time making sure you're well justed too...

She's da best mommy ever! We had all kinds of adventures together, and when she looked at me, her eyes sparkled. You'll see it too, and she'll love you dat way too. We're her fur kids, and she's convinced that we are hoomans in beautiful, furry, little bodies. She'll take you all kinds of places, and you'll probably meets all of my boxer aunts.... ders a bunch of dem! Don't worry, you'll get used to her driving, it may just takes you a while. It's probably best not to watch.

Mommy can be a little bit bonkers about food and what da fur kids are eating. Several months ago she started making Duke and I veggie smoothies. I know what you're tinking... ICK! But, gives it a try. It makes her very happy when us babies eat our veggies. It'll grow on you, don'ts worry! 

She likes for da fur kids to keep her company and won't mind its one bit if you help wits da laundry, the yard work and da cleaning. Oh, and she needs supervision when making da bed. You's gots to curl up in da blankets when day comes out of da dryer to keep em warm, k? And da bed just won't looks right if you don't steal da blankets from her. And you haves to roll around in dem too. Whens you do dis, you'll probably gets a treat... den she'll close da bedroom door and you'll be stucks on da wrong side. I don'ts know why she hasn't figured out dat dis is not how it's sposed to work. Maybe you cans teach her.

 Finally ders her love of taking pictures of us. You'll see me all overs da house! Just look really cute quick and she'll let you get on with whats ever it was dat you were doing. I'm sure dat you'll figure it out! I gots da hang of it quick! Don'ts worry too much about its, my hoomans are pretty easy going peoples, and I just know you're gonna love dem! 

Tanks you for looking out for dem and making dem smile agains! 

--Lucy Lou Bugga Boo (Aren't  you glads you didn't get dat name?)

 

 

Twas' Not My Lips You Kissed, But My Soul...

Lucy Lou Bugga Boo

I am the lucky one. For those of you that are aware of the tragedy that struck my life at the end of last week, that may seem like a very odd statement. Late Thursday, in a totally unexpected, and gut-wrenching way, I said goodbye to my darling Lucy.

Unbeknownst to me, Lucy had an UN-diagnosed heart condition. And on Thursday, her big heart just gave out. I was sitting beside her holding an oxygen mask over that amazing, soft little nose and stroking her back when I felt the last breath escape her amazing little body. It was that very instant that I felt heartbreak like nothing I have experienced before. I literally felt my heart shatter. I was not prepared to lose Lucy, and still it seems unimaginable.

My grief is overwhelming. It blankets my soul and my body and I feel a tremendous burden of loss, my body actually feels heavy with heartbreak. I am having a hard time finding anything to do that soothes my hurting heart. I suppose in those moments when I waited for the emergency animal hospital to open, in some part of my mind, I knew that she would not be coming home with me. Of course, I tried to deny it, but her body was so lifeless and so weak. She was not at that moment my wild, vibrant, wiggling Lucy.

It would be my last conversation with my Lucy Lou Bugga Boo. Words poured from my lips to let her know how much I loved her at an even greater rate than the tears falling from my eyes, I honestly do not know how I managed to speak.  My legs were weak and shaking as I realized that she was fading right before my eyes. But, damn it, she would leave this earth knowing how much I loved her and cherished her. As annoyed as I was that the emergency hospital was not open when we got there, now, I am grateful for those last moments with Lucy. I am even more grateful that an hour prior, in a struggle to figure out how to get her in the car, I held her soft little body in my lap and kissed her head at least a dozen times. I did not know then that it would be the last time...

Oh, the hurt...

Yet, yesterday afternoon as I sat reading the lovely notes being sent to me by my friends, I felt a small burst of light enter my body and my mind starting to wander in a direction opposite of my grief. As I sat on my patio, later, with Duke at my feet, and Lucy's favorite toy next to me, a warm breeze came across my body and I felt my soul lighten. Lucy. "Mama, don't cry!"

Five and a half years ago, whether by choice, or whether Lucy forced me to do it, I opened my heart completely to being in love with her, and being loved by her. There was never a moment when I doubted that she adored me, and I was 100% completely in love with her.What a gift it was to be loved by that little boxer girl and to love her right back. My heart has been so full of Lucy induced joy! Honestly, I cannot say that there was a single day that my flashy fawn boxer girl did not make me smile. In five and a half years, there was not a day that she did not fill my heart with pure delight and joy. There are no words...

Just a short week ago, while laying on the couch with a horrible head cold, I woke up cursing because I could not breath. I blamed it on the cold. Actually, I could not breath because I had a 67-pound boxer named Lucy sitting on my head.

Lucy was a gift. I miss her in a way that I will not even attempt to describe, and I know that I probably will for a long time. But, I cannot help but feel grateful for having loved that little girl enough to feel real, honest heartbreak when she physically left me. Lucy will never be completely gone from me, she is a part of me. "Twas not my lips you kissed, but my soul". I did not give birth to Lucy, but she is a part of me, and she always will be. The lessons that my little darling taught me are too many to even write down here. The ways that she touched my life, are numerous.

As I sit here this morning thinking about Lucy, I once again have tears streaming down my cheeks. I am trying hard not to be angry that my time with her was just not long enough because she would not want me to be angry. I know she would not want me to be sad. Actually, if she were here and caught me crying, she would run off to the toy box in that frenzied little way of hers, and bring me back a toy. She would force me to "get silly" with her.

Lucy was my first boxer. I will always be "Lucy's Human". I will forever remain grateful for the five and a half short years that I spent with that amazing, loving, goofy, wonderful little boxer. Yes, I am the lucky one, because she loved me. And I am lucky because I allowed myself to love and be loved by one of God's greatest gifts... an animal!

And You Thought You Knew it All.... Part 2

I blogged yesterday about all of the important life lessons that my boxers have taught me.  Today's blog post is going to be specifically about Lucy.  You may think you know why I'm blogging on this topic, but just in case you might be wrong, let me do some splainen'.

When I adopted my first boxer, I had no idea of the ways that it would change me forever, and for the better.  While I happen to adore my boxers, and think the world of them and their quirky little ways, I realize that not every human is right for a boxer.  But, what I think is important here is not necessarily what the passion is, but that everyone, at this point in their lives, really needs to have something that they're passionate about.  For me, it just happens to be my boxers.  Not only have my boxers enriched my life in many unimaginable ways, but they have also connected to me a whole new group of people.  In the 5 years that I have been mothering Lucy, I have made many absolutely, positively, amazing friendships, and those friends also happen to be boxer parents. I have become involved with Florida Boxer Rescue, and Greater Ohio Boxer Rescue.  My participation in these organizations has given me a sense of completion and fulfillment that nothing else ever has.  I will never be monetarily compensated for my efforts, but my work with rescue brings something to the table that no paycheck could ever match....And so there you have it.  My reason for blogging about my boxers, as if I really needed one...

The decision to become a boxer parent was not made without great consideration.  Before I ever called a breeder, I did my homework.  At first I was very put off by the fact that this was a large bodied breed, and I was a small dog person.  The more that I read, and the more that I learned the more intrigued I became by the characteristics of this breed.  Most of all I was intrigued by the one fact that everyone seemed to agree on... boxers are clowns, from the time they're born till the time that they pass.  I clearly was lacking silliness in my life.... just like when your body needs iron, and craves it.  I was craving some comic relief.

I swear, I have never been so excited over something in my life.  The day that I committed to raising Lucy was the start of something very special.  Like any expectant mother, I began to prepare.  I had 6 weeks until I could bring Lucy home.  Before work, after work, during work, my life became a whirlwind of activity... we were going to be parents and we had to be ready.  I remember looking at the bookshelf that had become "Lucy Central", lined with toys, books, treats, blankets, and I'm sure many other things that I've forgotten and saying "Finally, we're ready!"  to which my husband retorted, "Ya, think?  Petco is empty!"

I can honestly say that while I'm sure I've forgotten a lot of the juicy details of my preparations for Lucy, I will never forget the "glow".  Someone who knew me well, with a grin that went from ear to ear, commented that I was "glowing".  "Are you expecting?"  I happily replied that, "yes, we are!", pulled out my phone and proceeded to show this lady a picture of Lucy.  The anticipation of bringing Lucy home was actually making me glow... The look of pure shock on this woman's face, was completely unforgettable.  I'm sure she thought I had lost my mind, but I was in love.

I spent hours at the breeders home in the weeks prior to bringing her home.  I couldn't get enough of Lucy, and her litter mates.  The breeder joked with me and said that if I kept it up, they were going to be able to claim me as a dependent.

No matter how many books I read, or how many people I consulted, there was nothing that really could have prepared me for the challenges that I would face "Bringing Up Lucy".  My puppy parenting had been limited to a basset hound, and frankly, there's just no comparison.  While I adored my basset, going from a basset to a boxer is like going from a Yugo to a Lamborghini with no clue that the Lamborghini actually has power...

Lucy was smart, energetic, and very head strong.  But, none of that deterred me.  Lucy and I were inseparable for the first year of her life.  She went everywhere I went, and did everything I did.  Every day, Lucy and I went to work.  She shared my office with me, although, she was never very happy with that crate.  I have fond memories of working on my computer with a sleeping boxer in my lap, and a very funny memory of attempting to navigate Home Depot with a boxer puppy in the buggy.

Yes, Lucy was definitely challenging me.  And tough love, well it wasn't my strong suite.  That little face was a constant distraction from my pre-planned course of action.  And although, no one would ever say that I was a strong Alpha, I was seriously motivated to make Lucy into a proper boxer girl.  I was headstrong too!  The fact that she could wiggle her way out of every single seat belt contraption that I ever purchased, and I would ultimately end up attempting to drive a 6 speed with a boxer in my lap, well, that never stopped from me trying.

Trouble had a way of finding Lucy.  It literally clung to my sweet little boxer girl.  No bag, no box, no envelope was safe in our home.  And forget about shoes with shoe strings, that was a real challenge.  Dirt seemed to draw her to it like a magnet to metal.  Would it ever stop?  Lucy's father had started calling her "LUCIFER" and she did everything she possibly could to live up to the name!

What was a boxer mom to do?  Well, boot camp was our only option.  Except that true to her breed, Lucy had to be the class clown, and we were asked, albeit politely, to leave puppy school.  Apparently, the boxer shenanigans that Lucy was very good at, were way too distracting to the other puppies in the class... and parents were complaining.

With the gossip around Pittsburgh flying rampantly about "Lucy the Boxer", I had no choice but to "home school" Lucy.  Over the course of the next several months, the shelves in the library filled with books on training boxers.  We spent countless hours, attempting how to walk like a lady on a leash... to no avail.  Our only accomplishments during the next several months were "sit" and "shake".  And for reasons that escape me, for some reason, Lucy had it in her head that the "COME, LUCY" command instead meant, run and hide and make your mother chase you all over the place.  "HEEL, LUCY" meant lie down on the ground, and burrow into the ground, and refuse to move. "NO, LUCY" was code for wiggle like a crazy maniac until you fall over and your human cries from laughing too hard.  She honestly thought that "LUCY, NO!" was her name.

Yet, Lucy and I were still inseparable.  I refused to give up.  I was learning that even when it's tough, you have to steer the course... and although I cussed a lot then, I now understand that the best things in life, often require the most work.  Every day, every hour that I spent with Lucy only made me fall even more in love with her.

We spent countless hours in the yard with Lucy attempting to rid her wriggling little body of some that energy.  I walked miles every day with her in hopes that she would figure out that the idea of a leash was to walk politely beside her mother, and not really a game of tug of war.  We became a constant fixture in the plaza parking lot where the store was.  I'm sure they were saying "There they go again..."  But, it didn't matter... everyone loved Lucy!  She made friends everywhere she went, humans, dogs, squirrels, rabbits, kittens, possums, raccoons.....

My creativity levels were definitely tested.  Wearing out a boxer puppy is not for the faint of heart.  But, I found that the more creative I got with Lucy, the more fun that she and I had, and at the end of the day, not only were we both tired, but we were both happy.  My husband constantly laughed at Lucy and I, and the day that he watched our "antics" and said, "Awe, a girl and her puppy", I knew that my life had been forever altered.  The bond between me and my boxer was set in stone.... And I found myself constantly loving life.  Lucy was a part of everything that I did...There was nothing that went on in our home that Lucy was not aware of.  She became a part of every activity that we took part in, and we came to enjoy having Lucy along for the ride.

Although we settled into a routine with Lucy, something was missing.  I had grown quite good at finding ways to entertain Lucy, and she was of course a master at ways to entertain her human.

She positively loved the dog park, and her evening romps with the boxer boy next door.  But, in a way that's hard to explain, I somehow sensed that Lucy was lonely.  While her humans were never that far away, or gone for that long, she really seemed to love other dogs, although she very clearly loved her humans too!

I was hell bent on "completing" Lucy in the same manner that she had "completed" her human.  But, my husband thought I was insane.  2 boxers?  Have you lost your mind?  Look at the constant state of chaos with 1 boxer.  While I had grown to adore the constant state of chaos that Lucy brought to our home... my husband was going to require much more convincing...

...To be continued (although, if you know me, you already know how this story goes...)

I'm Sorry 2014, But I Can't Wait To See You Go!

You never know going forward into a New Year, what the year will bring, except that at this time last year,  I did know.  Mentally, I wasn't even ready for 2014. Hell, I was still writing 2013 on everything when my breast surgeon dropped the news on my husband and I that I had a very aggressive form of breast cancer and that treatment had to be started immediately if I didn't want to die.   It was January 3, 2014; a day that neither one of us will probably ever forget.  Even though it was a year ago, I still vividly remember the morning that the phone rang way too early, it was 7:30.  I remember the exact feeling in my stomach.  My husband was sitting at the counter, and I remember the conversation we were having when the phone rang.  I had just poured a cup of coffee, the dogs were laying on the kitchen floor praying that I would drop them some food, and I had just wondered aloud when my biopsy results would be back.  I was filled with anxiety, an anxiety that a whole bottle of Xanax and 2 bottles of wine, wouldn't have touched.  My husband was telling me that I was being negative as I tried to explain to him that I "just know".  That was when the phone rang.  The timing couldn't have been better if a movie camera crew had been standing by.  I wasn't really aware of it then, but 7:30 is when the breast surgeons office opens, and I was their first call of the day.

The day that my world turned upside down was a Friday,  the first Friday of the New Year.  I didn't want to hear "The doctor would like to see you immediately!"  And I really didn't want to hear, "Make sure someone comes with you."  Looking back, I wonder, how did I not drop my coffee cup, how did I not pass out right then and there? Those were not the words that would be uttered when a clean biopsy report was sitting in the hands of a breast surgeon.  I can remember having a hard time finding something to wear, and I couldn't seem to get my hair "just right." Who worries about what they're wearing and if every hair is in place when they're about to be told they have cancer?  I did, and it was probably one of the ways that mentally I was preparing myself for the battle that was ahead of me.  When you're at your worst, you have to look your best.  Looking at myself in the mirror before leaving the house, I assured myself that there was no possible way that I could have cancer, I didn't look one bit sick at all, and besides I had things to do.  My husband I were practically newlyweds.  We had only had 9 years together. There were things we wanted to do.  I was running a business, my husband depended on me, we had just opened another location.  (There were now 4 stores.  2 in Pennsylvania, and 2 in Florida, one of which was my responsibility.)  I had two adorable boxers to mother- one of which I was sure would probably collapse instantly if anything were to happen to me.   I've never been to Ireland.  I've never been to Europe....  These were the things that I thought of as we were driving to Winter Park that day.

The mental and physical chaos started that day at about 12:15.  After attaching the "C" word to my identity,   my surgeon pulled out a piece of pink paper with 2 nipples on it and laid out what was to be the next year of my life.  Just like that, here is what 2014 will hold for you. (Really, pink paper with nipples?  Are you kidding me?)  I was later thankful for that piece of paper, because suddenly I had so much to do, that I had no idea where I was supposed to be and when, although I truly grew to hate the sight of it.   That piece of pink paper hung on our refrigerator for most of the year, and I took great pride in crossing things off of my "Cancer To-Do List"  I remember thinking, "Just go!  The sooner you go, the sooner it will be over with."   You're not Marianne anymore, you're a breast cancer patient, and that bothered me more than you could ever imagine.   I had no idea at that point how true that statement was.  Cancer takes over your life and your identity.  Cancer will occupy your mind and your body 24/7.  Blood work. Chest x-rays.  Genetic Testing.  PET scan.  MUGGA Scan. Meet the Oncologist.  Meet the Plastic Surgeon.  Meet the Radiation Oncologist. Port Surgery.  6 rounds of extremely aggressive chemotherapy.  Surgery with horrible expanders (they didn't tell me that!).  33 Radiation Treatments.  Final Reconstruction (6 months after radiation ends...  They didn't tell me that either!)  For a woman without even a primary care doctor, all of this was way too much.  And they never told me how I was supposed to tell my family and friends that the big "C" had invaded my body.  How was I supposed to do that?

The fog created by this flurry of activity was nothing compared to the chemo fog that would soon settle over my brain.  I remember the exact moment that it became real.  I was lying in the hospital bed, waiting to be wheeled into surgery to have my port installed.  I wanted to jump up and run like the wind, this was all a dream.  There was no possible way that this could be happening to me, but I never would have had the nerve to rip all of the IV's out of my body, and the gown that I was wearing, well it had no back. There was no possible way that I was going to make it the whole way home wearing an open back hospital gown, and my mother had my car keys.  I'm weird about anything entering my veins, and very squeamish (or at least I was at that point.).   At 39, they were about to put a line into my chest so that they could pump toxic poison all through my body.  I kept thinking that I had to get out of there before they made a horrible mistake.  I remember looking around the room for a baseball bat, surely if I could just get my hands on a baseball bat, this would all be over.  Did I really think I was going to club my way through the entire nursing staff at Winter Park Hospital and my mother?  This was not happening to me, they had the wrong girl.  Obviously, the drugs they were giving me were good ones.

It became very clear 3 days later when I entered the infusion room for the first time.  I fought it, I really did.  I so badly wanted to be healthy I just wanted to be me again.  I will never forget the smell of that room or that office.  It just didn't smell right. Cancer has a smell.  I've never liked being stuck in bed for a day with a head cold, and now all of a sudden, a wild beast, capable of killing me was raging inside my body an was about to be attacked with a poison capable of knocking an elephant down.  I was going to be sick, and I probably wouldn't feel like myself for a long time, and inevitably, there would be days when I would spend a lot of time in bed (Thank God for the boxers!). That infusion room was a huge dose of reality.  There were bald people all around me.  Some of them looked really bad, but some of them didn't look sick at all.   I'll never forget the young man (he was probably in his early 20's, if even that) that threw up the entire time he was there, and he was so weak that he couldn't even walk out of the room. (Not what you want to see heading into your 1st chemotherapy treatment).   I'm not sure if that was what did it, but seeing that, I promised myself that I wasn't going to be sick, well at least not that sick.  I really thought that I had some kind of control over it, which I didn't.  You don't control cancer, cancer controls you.  The fight to keep everything in my life as normal as possible started at that moment.  My Inner Superwoman kicked in and I vowed to fight back with everything that I had.  This was not going to get the best of me.

And so it started.  The push within myself that previously had been used to make myself go to work when I hadn't had a day off in 6 weeks, and I was so exhausted that I had no idea how I was going to get through the day,  much less drive there in the first place,  was quickly changed into the push that made me get up every morning, get dressed, and put my makeup on.  What a drastic change!  I could so easily push to the back of my head that the entire room was spinning, every bone in my body ached like a had a 104 temperature, and I was so tired that I wasn't sure I could stand.  If I wanted it bad enough, I could somehow manage mascara and clothes that actually matched.  I fought the battle every day for nearly 5 months.  I just kept going.  I felt like crap, but I still fed the dogs almost every morning, and every evening.  I still did laundry, I still went places, and I still attempted to keep the house just as clean as it had always been.  No matter what, when my husband walked through the door at the end of the day, I managed a smile, a smile meant to convince him that yes, I was all right. And somehow, even with the chemo brain fog that took over my life, I managed to do all of the administrative tasks for the business that I was used to doing (and prepare a tax return for 3 businesses for the accountant), although I hated myself for all of the mistakes that I made.  I hated the fog, I hated that I was not as sharp as I was before.  My husband and brother have always teased me for being a dingy blonde, now it was actually true, except that my beautiful blonde hair was gone and this was far worse than any dinginess that I had ever displayed.  I'll never forget the day that I was unable to spell my last name at the pharmacy.  Sure, my mother is still laughing over it, but it was horrible and extremely embarrassing.

Somehow, through the grace of God, the support of my husband, mother & father, friends & family, and my 2 boxers, I made it through those 12, dreadfully long months. There were so many people rooting for me, and there was no way that I could let them down.  I had to do it.  I had to beat cancer! I finished chemo, I had a double mastectomy. I survived saline being pumped (with 2 needles that were longer than my arms) into the 2 bumps where the breasts that God had given me had been for the better part of 25 years. (yes, it definitely felt like an elephant was crushing my chest, but I managed.... not without a few choice words, but I did it!),   I reported 5 days a week for 6 1/2 weeks for radiation.  I smiled at the girls that set me up for radiation every day, even though the pain of lying on that table some days, was way more than I could bear thanks to my the dislocated scapula.  I had nearly 1 year of Herceptin infusions.  I lived through mood swings, night sweats, insomnia, nueropathy, bone pain, fevers, nausea, loosing my hair, my finger nails and my toe nails, and even the loss of my brain.  I did it!

And, throughout it all, I pushed and struggled to get back the body that I had prior to all of this cancer business.  At the end of 9 months of treatment, I found myself feeling like I had just been through a huge war, A very brutal, and bloody war.  I feel scarred, undeniably changed and scarred.  I was, and still am exhausted, and I definitely do not have the strength or the endurance that I had before cancer.  I work to accept the fact that someday, just not today, I will be able to do all of the things that I could do before. The mind is a very powerful thing.  I am grateful every day that my brain functions seem to be returning, and that every day, I do feel just a little bit stronger, but it's just not fast enough.  And I am grateful and blessed that the horrible disease that threatened everything I hold so dear, is gone from my body.    

After all of this, I was shocked that my sense of humor was still intact, how could it remain through all of the ugliness brought on by cancer?  And how was it possible that it was incredibly stronger than it had ever been?  My sense of humor as I went through treatment for breast cancer was my armor.  It kept me from crying, it kept me from being negative, and it kept me from thinking "What if?"  My sense of humor, my smile and my ability to find comical relief in just about everything I endured was what got me through it.  I push myself daily to keep going and not think about the "What ifs" or all of the side effects of the chemo and radiation that are a daily reminder of what I have endured during 2014.  I warrior on.

So, as I think about the end of 2014, and everything that I have lived through, I'm not sad to see it go.  I just can't look back fondly on all of the challenges and pain that we have endured during the last 12 months.  This has undeniably been the most challenging year of my life, and I'm glad that it's ending.  I hope and pray that 2015 is a better year for me and my family, and that we never have to go through this again.

And just for the record... I am sick of pink.

Take It Back... Or Else

WARNING: THIS POST IS NOT LIKE THE USUAL, FUNNY, WITTY BLOG POSTS THAT I HAVE PREVIOUSLY POSTED.  I'M A LITTLE ANGRY, NOT AT CANCER, BUT AT THE SERIOUS AMOUNTS OF INSENSITIVITY THAT WERE EXPRESSED TO ME THE OTHER DAY, AND I HAVE TO VENT, BECAUSE THE DOCTORS SAY THAT I SHOULD AVOID STRESS AND THAT I SHOULD'T  HOLD THINGS IN, BECAUSE IT ISN'T GOOD FOR ME...  I HAVE COOLED DOWN FOR A FEW DAYS.... HOWEVER, I AM STILL A TAD MAD.

Maybe I'm being too sensitive, but I don't think I am.  Granted, I will admit that I am probably a tad more sensitive than what I was pre-cancer.  I am also probably a hormonal mess (thank you cancer drugs) however, I think it is very insensitive to be critical of the way that other people deal with challenging situations.

In case you've missed any of the saga that has been my life for the last 10 months let me sum it up for you:  I went for what I thought was going to a completely unnecessary mammogram a year ago December 16.  It turned into something completely different.  I was informed by a pimply faced, Doogie Houser type that I definitely had cancer before I could even plant my body in a chair.  All of this was followed by blood work, multiple biopsies, an MRI (that I was sure I wasn't going to live through), another biopsy (that I almost didn't live through), a Pet Scan, Chest x-rays, an echo cardiogram, surgery to install a port... and all of this was before chemo even started.  I had 6 rounds of chemo and spent the next 4 months of my life feeling like I had the flu, A REALLY HORRIFIC FLU.  I lost my hair, my mind, 2 toe nails, and nearly lost 10 fingernails.  My bones hurt so bad that I feared that by the time chemo was over that they would have completely disintegrated.  My hands and feet were swollen and the feeling in them was starting to disappear.  On top of all of this, I couldn't sleep, and food that was good for me tasted like crap.

Just when I was starting to feel like a normal human being again for the 1st time in almost 6 months, it was time for surgery.... Here we go again, right?  We all remember how much fun I had with that.  Can I tell you that I haven't had a decent nights sleep since all of this started (in December of last year, mind you).  Then came the fills and the fun... elephants on your chest, oh yes please!  The elephants had just started to go away when radiation started.  (I'm starting to see a pattern here.  Every time I start to feel normal, the torture starts all over again.)    Almost 6 weeks later, the elephants are back along with sharp, pulling sensations that scream across my chest at least a hundred times a day.  And I know I haven't mentioned it, but I'm so tired!  I am pretty sure that I could sleep for 3 or 4 days without ever waking up.  (I was driving home from somewhere today at noon, and almost fell asleep at a red light- I never know when it's going to hit,!  Not good.)

I've handled all of this pretty well, or at least I think I have, that's what they tell me anyway!  I stared death in the face, yes, I could have died.  I didn't.... and I'm not going to, well at least not any time in the near future.  I've managed to face chemo, surgery, and radiation  with a smile on my face, and a sense of humor that has kept all of my service providers, my family, and my friends entertained for the last 10 months.  I've stayed positive (even though at times it was challenging as hell), and believe me, looked forward to the day when all of this cancer business was over.  I have longed for my "normal" life for the last 10 months, and have done everything "normal" that I have physically been able to do.  The laundry has always been done, the house has always been cleaned, there has always been food in the refrigerator, and I have continued to do all of the purchasing, logistics, payroll and taxes for the business (which I can assure you was not without it's challenges)!

So, when someone tells me 3 days ago that it's time to move on, not "dwell" on it, that everything is back to normal, just because the cancer is gone, I wanted to jump on an airplane and personally choke that "someone".   (Can you seriously be that insensitive?)  Oh, but wait, I can't because I still have radiation, physical therapy, and Herceptin infusions to go to, and I probably won't make it through airport security because I have magnets in my chest.... and I have not yet been cleared to fly, yeah, there's that.  I am so glad that everything is back to normal.

OH
MY
GOSH!

I wish it were that simple.  In a lot of ways, I wish that everything could return to normal, I would probably kill for most everything to be just the way that it was on this day a year ago. Believe me, I never would have chosen this for myself had I been given a choice.  I had hair on my head, I didn't have raging headaches 24/7, and my whole chest didn't scream every time I moved.  I could sleep without waking up every 30 minutes to try to get comfortable. I could go out in the sun without feeling like I was going to pass out. I had toenails.  And most importantly, I wasn't constantly exhausted, out of breath, and trying to figure out what the heck I was doing; I could start a sentence and finish it.  I could snuggle up next to my husband, or my dogs without being in serious amounts of pain. I didn't have to consult with a physician to get approval before jumping on a plane. So while all of that sounds wonderful, instead I will be be finishing radiation, going for yet another PET scan, going back to see the plastic surgeon, finishing physical therapy, having another echo cardiogram, seeing the oncologist, and having another Herceptin infusion.  Just for the record, it's not really what I "want" to be doing, but I don't really have much of a choice.  So, if by finishing out the recommended, and prescribed course of treatment, I am "DWELLING" on cancer, so be it.

 I have accepted that my life will never be like it was before cancer, (and I've grown enough spiritually to accept that), cancer will always be a part of me, of who I am.  I will always have to return to oncologists offices, I will always be getting blood work done, and having pet scans.  While I can't wave a magic wand and make everything "normal" again, I am taking the necessary steps to move towards a "new normal" at the earliest possible moment.

Oh, and one more thing.  Believe me when I say, there is nothing "FREE" about my boob job.  Trust me.

It Was Such A "NON" Thing...

Despite my very best efforts to be tough going through radiation treatment, I have my moments where it's just a tad too much.  My brain, which only picks select moments to work, sometimes doesn't pick the right moments to work.  Yesterday was the perfect example of this.

Let me start at the beginning of this story so you know what I'm talking about.  4 weeks ago, in the early days of my radiation saga (hmmm.... calling it the radiation saga kind of makes it seem glamorous!)  a bright purple vein appeared on my chest (which was not very glamorous!).  It started on the left side, directly above my heart and ran across my breastbone to my right breast where it looked like a balloon full of purple ink had exploded.  It caused no discomfort, but just didn't look quite right.  So, I mentioned it to the doctor who did not brush it off, but said that he was "okay" with it and "not concerned".  Hey, who am I to question, while being a feisty cancer warrior, I am no doctor?  Just because I've spent countless hours gazing at this monstrosity in the mirror does not mean that it is anything to be worried about.

I am not sure that my lovely team of radiation angels (They are angels, each and every one of them are as sweet and lovely as can be.  Can you tell I love them?) agreed with the doctor, because we've had many conversations about this lovely purple splash across my chest.  Just about everyone, except for the guy that changes the light bulbs at Florida Hospital Cancer Center has had a chance to glance at this phenomenon.  And over and over again, I was told that it was nothing to worry about.  I've gotta admit, I had a hard time accepting that, there is no way that something so freaky looking could be nothing to worry about, right?  

Fast forward to yesterday.  Monday, September 15, 2014.  I report for my normal radiation appointment, and zip right through it despite the fact that I am starting to resemble a seriously overcooked egg- let's just say I am no longer "over easy".  Again, the radiation angels stand over me looking at the purple phenomenon and before I know it, I find myself sporting one of those lovely blue hospital gowns, you know the ones that are "air conditioned" in the back.  At least it was blue.

Enter Nurse Mel and Dr. Dill (who has finally decided to return from what I will just say was way too long of a vacation.), and guess what?  They wanna check out the purple phenomenon.  My heart sinks to my feet, and squeezes itself out of my toes as Dr. Dill tells Nurse Mel to get my plastic surgeon on the phone, and Nurse Mel exclaims "I've never seen anything like that before!".  (Oh yeah, I feel so much better!)  Suddenly my stomach is doing back flips and I've got a headache capable of shutting down an entire city.  OH NO!  SERIOUSLY, THIS CANNOT BE GOOD!

There are some things that should be approached delicately with a cancer patient, and some things that just should never be said.  One of the things that should never be said is "I need you to go now."!  The last time I was told that I needed to "go now", I spent half a day with my boobs in a vice only to be told before I could sit down that I definitely had cancer.  So, I'm a little sensitive about this phrase.  It most certainly does not evoke warm and fuzzy feelings in this cancer patient.

It's important to mention that I seriously had to pee.  The 3 cups of coffee that I had consumed before leaving the house were catching up with me.  But, I was so upset, and needed to find out what was wrong with me before I could take the time to pee- some things just have to wait. So, I jumped in the car, and attempted to back out of my parking space.  It would have been a lot more successful if I had turned the car on and put it into gear, but I was so upset that it took me a few minutes to figure out what was wrong.

The 35 minute drive made my brain kick in and the anxiety got seriously intolerable. Where the heck is the wine when ya need it?

Brain: You know this isn't good.

Me: No shit, Einstein.  Thanks a lot for mentioning that to me.  I hadn't really thought about it.

Brain: This could be really bad.  I mean, really bad.

Me: Yep, already know that. 

Brain: They might have to remove that expander.  Maybe it's infected.

Me: Oh, really?  I never thought of that.  Thanks for mentioning it, I feel a lot better now.

Brain: I'm just trying to help.

Me: And you picked this moment, why?  Funny, when I needed help backing out of a parking space under duress you were nowhere to be found.

Brain: You should be able to back out of a parking space on your own by now.  You're like 40 years old.  Maybe there is something wrong with your heart.

Me: Oh gosh, why didn't I think of that?  Seriously?  Have I told you lately that I hate you?

I decide that maybe if I jump in the fast lane and attempt to drive 90 MPH, my brain will shut off.  I was bound and determined to turn the voices in my head off, or at least turn them down a notch or two.  Weaving in and out of Orlando traffic takes tons of concentration and leaves little room for an over-active imagination.

I arrive at the parking garage in record time, leaving a lot of Orlando drivers dazed and confused as they are not used to seeing vehicles moving over 40 MPH, even on the highway.  It would figure that the parking garage is bursting at the seems,  the only spaces left aren't large enough for a golf cart, and in case you haven't figured it out yet, I do not drive a golf cart.  I zip around corners, tires screeching praying that there isn't anyone coming the other way.  (For some reason, when they built this shiny new parking garage, they forgot to include enough room for 2 way traffic.)  5 floors later, I spot a parking place, or what I thought was a parking space, but no, it was a dead end.  No wonder there's no one parked there.  Seriously?  God intervened at this point, and I spotted a Corolla vacating a parking spot- at the speed of frozen molasses, but vacating none the less.   Breath... GOOSEFRABBA! GOOSEFRABBA! GOOSEFRABBA!

I don't know why I was in hurry.  And I really don't know why I didn't take the time to pee.  I paid for this dearly.  I spent the next 45 minutes wearing a paper shirt that didn't fit quite right and dancing around like a 3 year old while trying to calm myself down.  Enter Dr. Peters just as I was contemplating making a run down the hallway for the bathroom.  "Let's see!"  He didn't have to ask me twice.  He cocks his head to check out the purple phenomenon, and pokes at my right exapander, twice.  He finally says "It's okay, I thought it was going to be much worse!".  I am guessing that the expander responded properly.  I am relieved to hear that this is more than likely caused by tissue and blood vessel regeneration, as the tissue and blood vessels that had been there for the first 39 years of my life had found there way into a hazardous waste pile back in June.

There has been a slight change in plan due to this recent development.  I have 4 more regular radiation treatments left, and then I am scheduled for 5 "BOOST" treatments which were to be aimed at my scars on both breasts.  Seeing as how the right breast is somewhat delicate, we are going to forgo the boost treatments on the right breast so that we don't risk damaging it.  

I spent the evening last night attempting to return my heart to a healthy rate and smothering my upper body with coconut oil which made me irresistible to the boxers....  I cannot stand feeling like me skin is about to crack right in half.

My body just doesn't handle stress well anymore, unfortunately.  I was very thankful last night for my sweet, adoring little boxers who refused to leave my side and my good friend M who most certainly always makes pulling me down off the ladder look very easy!

Thank God yesterday is over with! I hope I never have another Monday like that one ever again!

Blonde Moment, Or Chemo Brain?

This is complicated really. Probably too complicated for a brain that belonged to a blonde to begin with.  And definitely too complicated for a chemo brain, but then almost everything is too complicated for a chemo brain!...I've been doing some really bizarre things lately.  I'll never be able to figure out if these somewhat comical moments are caused by lingering chemo brain, or if I should be welcoming the return of my "blonde moments".  Frankly, I had thought the worst of the "chemo brain" was behind me.  I was pretty confident that the hair on my head would hold some of the brain cells in... I seem to be remembering much more (I haven't had to look at my drivers license to remember how to spell my last name in several weeks), and I am relying less and less on the post it notes (thank goodness for that, because I was contributing to a huge growth in sales at 3M all by myself!).

So I am left to wonder, is it chemo brain, or a blonde moment?  Last night, I went to bed with the back door open.  I mean the whole way open.  I had apparently, at some point before retiring let the dogs out, and forgotten to close the door.  I didn't know anything about it until this morning when Lucy jumped out of bed and ran like a crazed boxer straight through the kitchen and out the back door.  I panicked at first, even went as far as to yell, "Lucy, STOP!".  She was running so fast, and I didn't know the door was open, so I was pretty stunned when I didn't hear the sound of a boxer crashing into glass.  Now I'm left to wonder when the "Florida Critters" will start rearing their little heads in my living room.  There is bound to be complete pandemonium, I will be shocked if I do not have at least one frog and one lizard in the house (it wouldn't be the first time!).

I have a real problem with remembering if I closed the garage door (in my defense, my brother also has this same issue, so it's entirely possible that this could be hereditary).  And I worry about it, probably excessively because the door between the house and the garage can open if the pressure shifts and  hits it the right way (I worry that the dogs could get out if the door would blow open!).  Monday, I left the house,  and got the whole way out to the round about when I had that "uh oh" moment.  "Did I, or did I not close the garage door?"  That is the perfect moment to have these nervous breakdowns because I'm already in the roundabout (I swear that roundabouts were invented for people just like me- people who couldn't remember if they turned off the coffee pot, unplugged the iron, or shut the garage door!).  I returned home, and found the door was indeed shut.  But, it mustn't have been very memorable, because I got a mile further than I had originally, when I turned around to check the door for the second time that morning.  I sure hope my neighbors aren't paying attention- they would probably think it's early dementia- frankly I have my concerns.

Yesterday, I drove right past the bank.  Yep, right past it.  Wouldn't have been too bad, except I did it twice.  3rd time's a charm, right?  And my husband wonders why I usually set the GPS no matter where I'm going, it's usually the 1st thing I do when I get in the car, after I figure out where I'm going.  (The only complication with this fix is, I had to shut the voice off because it drives me crazy- YES, YOU CRAZY BITCH, I KNOW I'M SUPPOSED TO TURN THERE.... STOP TELLING ME!  So, if I forget to watch the screen (probability of this is very high...), it's easy to miss the turn.

I searched and searched the other day for my handbag.  I usually put it right on the kitchen counter when I come in the door.  I went back out to the car in the garage at least 3 times- I was a little concerned that I had left it in the buggy at the grocery store.  But, since the car won't start unless the key fob is in the car somewhere, I figured I hadn't done this.  Lucy and Duke sat and watched me like I had gone criminally mad as I ran from room to room, and out to the garage.... I finally found it.... in the refrigerator (I suspect L &D knew it was there all along....).  My husband wonders what I do all day...  Uh, hello!

I put food in the crock pot several days ago.  2 hours later, I could not figure out why the meat did not seem to be defrosting. I thought the crock pot was broken, and transferred the food into crock pot number two.  Why did it not occur to me to check the nob and see if it was turned on?  Sometimes, and only sometimes, food cooks faster when you turn the appliance in charge of cooking the food "ON!".  I'm just sayin.... Take it for what it's worth.

There are definitely more of these kinds of moments, but I'm sure it won't surprise you much to know that even though I know there are more of them, I cannot remember what they are.  I wonder if there are known side effects on the brain from radiation?....

What was I talking about again?

Speaking of which.... today was a milestone radiation day!  I am 1/3 of the way done!  So far so good, my skin is holding up really well- (although I have a rash on my chest that I can't figure out what is causing it.  I suspect the Herceptin might be to blame, because there have been some other weird things going on too!)  It is a tiny bit on the pink side, but I am religious about the aloe and the extra moisturizing cream at night.  I really do not want anything to knock me off schedule!  I need to get this done!

Gotta run, I know there is something I'm supposed to be doing....

Sorry, Charlie- I Just Can't Accept That....

Call it women's intuition.

Call it a gut feeling.

Call it whatever you like, somehow I just knew that removing my axillary lymph nodes was going to be a problem.  As I sat in the office of a very pregnant radiation oncologist at the end of May discussing my concerns about radiation and lymphodema, and she assured me that there was no possible way that I could get lymphodema (because I am too thin, too young, too healthy, not diabetic, not a smoker, too active etc, etc, etc,) I had a gut feeling that she was wrong.  Somehow her instincts, or her gut feelings were a bit skewed by all of the hormones racing through her body.

As I raised concerns several times throughout the whole chemotherapy process about the horrible pain in my lymph nodes, I wondered if they weren't going to continue to be a problem.  But, I was told that pain in my lymph nodes during chemo was "normal".  I questioned the swelling throughout chemo in both my feet, my arms, and my hands.  It was all "normal".  Of course, there is no possible way that I could have had a lymphatic system in distress.... nope, not me.  It was not even up for discussion.

All along, I've had a gut feeling about my lymph nodes. (I really need to learn that my gut is pretty smart, and I should start listening to it on a regular basis, and sooner rather than later.).  I could even honestly admit that I have lost sleep over the swelling in my arms- it has concerned me for a very long time.  Maybe part of it is vanity, but more than that, I did not want to accept the limitations that were going to accompany lymphodema.  All along, my plan has been for a full recovery.  I knew that I was going to have to be extremely careful with my arms and hands.  No more manicures, no cuts, burns, stings, etc. to either one of my arms- any one of those things could cause an infection that would activate lymphodema in my arms.  But, there's even more than that with full blown lymphodema.  Being in the sun for long periods of time is completely out of the question, no hot tubs, no saunas, no jewelry on the affected side, no lifting anything over 15 pounds on the affected side.... and it goes on and on.  No, I was not prepared to deal with lingering problems like these.  These things do not fall under the category of "as good as new"....

Several weeks ago, I noticed that swelling in my left arm did not seem to be subsiding- despite the fact that I was doing the "Lymphodema prevention" exercises 3 or more times per day.   And this was at the 6 week mark from surgery.   My gut told me that there was a problem.  I immediately called the surgeons office and asked for a script to see a specialist.  It took me 3 weeks to get in to see a lymphodema therapist.  In the meantime, I've really been stressing about this.  And I'm probably over-reacting.  The swelling is not even that bad.  Unless you're really looking for it, you can't even tell that my arms are swollen.  But, I know it's there.  And this is not a condition that goes away, well not usually.... (I'm told that in very rare occasions, they have had women whose conditions disappeared several months after surgery, and after treatments have subsided.... so there is still hope!  And my radiation oncologist suspects that this is a combination of post-surgery swelling and swelling from the Herceptin treatments.)  There is also no known cure for this condition.

My therapist says my lymphatic system is definitely not functioning properly, but she is holding out hope, that with treatment, one or two of the little suckers left in my arm pit, will wake the heck up and start doing their jobs.  Yesterday was bad.  She did therapy on me and then proceeded to wrap my arm in 4 layers of stuff.  As I was making another appointment, trying not to look at my huge Michelan man arm, I noticed that my fingers were turning purple.  "MOVE EM!", she said.  I tried, I honestly did.  I wiggled em, and moved em like crazy, but it was getting worse, and the numbness was shooting the whole way up my arm.  So, as I was sitting in traffic, I was ripping off 4 layers of gauze.  I knew that wasn't going to last.

I'm sure it will come as no surprise that I have done a ton of research and reading on lymphodema.  I refuse to accept that this condition cannot be well managed, without huge changes in my every day routines.  (I just can't imagine never being able to soak in a hot tub again, I mean really?)  Actually, while I'm being truthful, I refuse to believe that this condition is really lymphodema and not just some post-surgical swelling with a little bit of a bad reaction to the Herceptin thrown in there just for good measure.  If it were truly lymphodema, the swelling would not subside with elevation... or so I am told.

So what are my options, and what can I do?  Well, if I had a horrible diet filled with tons of sugary and processed foods, I could eliminate those, but I already did that.  Supposedly berries (blueberries, raspberries, blackberries) are very good at stimulating the lymph system (so I've upped the intake of those), potassium is good- enter more bananas.  I have learned how to breath differently, I breath in through my nose while pushing my stomach out, and exhale while contracting my stomach muscles (that took a ton of practice!).... And supposedly one of the best forms of exercise for stimulating the lymphatic system- is jumping on a trampoline.  We did not have one of those.... but I found a very small one (46") that arrived this afternoon.  (I will be enlisting the help of 2 boxer dogs later this evening!)  Hopefully, I will be jumping in no time flat... I think I am gonna enjoy that.

This is what I am up against.  And I would be lying if I said that I am not frustrated with this situation.  I am more frustrated than anything that my physicians (3 of them) cannot seem to agree on what this is.  Are they just unwilling to admit that they were wrong?  Or do they just not know?  Maybe they're unwilling to admit that the Herceptin is so toxic that it's causing this horrible reaction?  I have no idea.  What I do know is that I am unwilling to accept that this is going to alter the way that I live my life.  I did not just go through hell to not be able to do any of the things that I like to do.  I'm just not okay with that... so If I have to jump for 45 minutes a day while sipping on blueberry-raspberry-blackberry-banana juice, breathing in through my nose and pushing out my stomach, and exhaling and sucking it in.... well then SO BE IT!