I Love You I Love You I Love You!

Jim made a post just in my honor. Bitter Ben messaged me on Twitter. Simon checks in with me every few days on Twitter. Alex from OnlyBadChiHere spent the afternoon with me a few days ago. Sandi at FTYD texts me. Aaron aka Peckapalooza talks to me via Snapchat. Soochie aka LilRant talks to me on Instagram all the time. Noorain from The Plate Memoirs does too. Danny, our favorite inspirational blogger emails me from time to time to ask after me. And my darling friend Queeze aka Acquiescent72 also emails me. I’m sure that I’m forgetting some of you. I know that folks are still posting comments on my blog, which I’ve been very remiss in keeping up with.

I want to let you know how much this all means to me. I’m floored be the outpouring of love, kindness, caring, concern, and friendship you have all shown me over the past few months.

When I began this blog, I had the intention of it being for humorous reasons. I hadn’t been diagnosed with a terminal, incurable disease. Granted, it was already ravaging my body, but I was as yet blissfully unaware of its presence.

Things took a frightening turn in my life over the summer. They’ve only gotten worse. I’m going to be frank with you.  I’m struggling with a very deep depression now. I’ve given up with my erotica hobby blog, and I’ve forsaken this blog too because it was supposed to be funny, and my funny bone is broken.

I love the kind words you all have to say, but at the same time, they are overwhelming and painful reminders of what I’m going through.

I hope to finally start chemo in the new year.

I just want you all to know that I’m still alive. I still love you all so very much. 💖

I wish you all a wonderful holiday season. I hope that 2016 is a fantastic year for everyone.

I’m not sure if I can come back to see your responses to this post. It may take me some time. Bear with me please.

I do cherish the relationships I’ve made here on WP. I’m sorry I’ve slipped into hermitude. It’s a defense and coping mechanism for me right now.

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Here I am. I’m not smiling much these days. But see, I’m alive. Still going crazy with my hair before I lose it all to chemo.

I’m in mourning…

Today I lost my precious, darling kitty, Ripley.

It was about 9.5 years ago that we went searching for a cat, for me to call my own. She was to be the first cat I’d own since I was 13 and had lost my precious all white kitty named Bouncer.

My first instinct was to head to the city pound, to see if I could rescue a cat there. I knew that they always had an overflow of kitties who needed good homes, and if they couldn’t find homes for those cats, they’d be put down after a certain amount of time.

So we ventured down to the Albuquerque pound. I didn’t want a kitten. I knew that those would always get adopted out quickly, so I wanted a fully grown cat; a cat who didn’t have great odds of being rescued before their clock ran out. As Damon, Sebastian, and I walked through the aisles of caged kitties, I came to a halt in front of one. This pretty little kitty was waving her paws through the bars at me. I put my hand up and she batted at my hand ever so gently with her soft paws. I read her info card. She had been at the pound for over 3 months! She had been an “Owner Surrender,” which meant that her person had given her up to the pound, knowing full well that her future might result in an early, unwarranted and untimely death. I asked the volunteer to get the kitty out of the cage, so that I could visit with her. I got to hold that pretty kitty in my arms. She was as friendly as I had suspected she’d be, with her initial waving of her paws through those cold metal bars. Her fur was softer than anything I’d ever felt before. She was purring like crazy before I even got to pet her. She nuzzled into my chin and gazed up into my eyes as she reached up and placed a soft paw on my cheek. I was sold. My heart was hers. This cat was mine and there was no question about it. I was her human and she’d chosen me. I didn’t care to look at any other cats. The folks at the pound had been calling her “Callie” on account of the fact that she was a calico. We named her  Ripley, after Sigourney Weaver’s character in “Alien.”

I brought home that beautiful cat. She fit right into the home and she proceeded to become the queen of the house. She dominated all of our animals, including every single dog we’ve owned over the years. She didn’t have her front claws, they’d been removed by her previous owner, but that didn’t stop her from beating the shit out of any other beast in the house, no matter the size.

Ripley was a lover. She would plop down in your lap and insistently nuzzle up in your gave until you’d pet her. She would purr and purr away, content only if she was the center of attention. She was so velvety soft, it was soothing to pet her. She would sit in anyone’s lap, family, friends, newcomers, the UPS guys, etc.! She was an atypical cat to be sure. She gave no fucks if you were eating a plate of food, she’d sit on it and insist on you petting her. If there was a book in your lap, she’d jump up on that and get in the way of your reading.

Ripley was the coolest cat ever to have existed.

We spent a small fortune on her this year. We tried to get her well. We tried two different Vets. Nothing worked. She was too old and too sick. I gathered her up this morning and put her in the carrier to take her in for the final time… I couldn’t do it. I stopped and called my hubby. I was sobbing and could hardly talk. He told me to bring her to him at his shop. So I did. We were going to take her in together. I couldn’t stop crying. He decided to just take her himself.

Today, I lost a piece of myself.

Ripley was the best damn cat there ever was.

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It hurts to think of what my home will be like without her in it. I loved her too much.

WHITE TRASH ICE SKATING…

I used the bathroom typically reserved for my son. I was barefoot. Anyone familiar with just how unruly an 11 year old boy can be with his penis whilst taking a whizz can be, just cringed. SO FUCKING GROSS.

As I quickly finished my business while holding my slimy bottomed feet off the floor, I contemplated what my next course of action was going to be. I couldn’t go out onto the carpeted floor to retrieve a mop and bucket. I would have gotten pee slime all over the place. If I washed my feet in the tub, I’d have to then cross back over the area that was the DANGER ZONE. I wasn’t feeling up for doing yoga forest thing in the morning and sticking my feet up in the sink and washing then in that…

I realized I could solve the problem quite easily. It would clean my feet AND the nasty floor all at the same time!

I grabbed two sheets of the Costco brand of lysol wipes from under that bathroom sink, threw them down, positioned my feet onto them annnnd VOILA!

Commence: “White Trash Ice Skating!”

Bahahahaha! 😂 I’m crazy, I’m nuts, and I’m a fucking genius once again!

I solved two problems in less than two minutes!

TAH-DAH!

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Here’s a picture of last night’s sunset. It’s utterly irrelevant, but very beautiful!

Miss you, love you, wish I could kiss you.

I’ve finally gone through the comments that you’ve all left me on my last post. I want sure what I’d find. I am in such a state of mental shambles, that I thought for some crazy reason I’d be scolded for my outburst. Instead I found an outpouring of love, support, kind words, beautiful sentiments, prayers, positive thoughts, virtual hugs and kisses and a whole lot more.

I’m a fool to have thought you guys would deliver anything less.

I’m weeping like a baby. The kindness is overwhelming from you all….

These days, I’m holed up at home for the most part, snuggled up on the couch in my jammies with my dogs, binging on Netflix and napping a lot. I won’t lie, it’s pretty fucking lonely. But I haven’t got any friends in Oregon. My nearest friend is a 6 hour drive away in Washington. I sometimes text with people. I make the obligatory calls with family, but those usually devolve into me sobbing like a little bitch, so I avoid them like the plague. Who wants to hear me blubbering away? I sure as fuck don’t.

I went to my doc on Monday. She’s going to try a new drug out on me. It’s either going to send me into anaphylactic shock, or hopefully it’s going to act as an armor again the plethora of allergens in the world, and slow my number of allergic reactions until I begin chemo in January. It’s finally been decided. I WILL be having chemo… I have to change my insurance coverage so that I’m covered at OHSU, since that’s where the whole network of really good docs are that my Immunologist is accustomed to working with. Since I can’t switch insurance carriers midyear, I’ll do it at the beginning of 2016, and then start chemo.

Chemo. Chemo. Chemo. I’m saying it three times because there are 3 types of chemo I’ll be on all at once, evidently. I’m sure to lose what remains of my hair. That’s gonna be great.

I’m going to try to be more active in the blogging world again. At least it keeps me in contact with my virtual friends (all of YOU) so perhaps I won’t be so lonely.

I did get dressed and put on makeup yesterday so that I could go have lunch with my hubby. So here’s a pic of me from yesterday. I’m still alive, I’m not writing you from the other side, I swear!

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As you can see, I’m rocking my winter tan now.

I’m going to try to catch up on some of your blogs now.

I do so love you guys. I’ve missed you. I’m trying to pull myself out of this hole I’m in.

💋❤💋❤💋❤💋❤💋❤💋❤💋

Stuff and Nonsense

I’m working on keeping myself distracted. Distracted from the depression and anxiety that are trying to overtake me these days. I’m in constant pain. It’s difficult to find my happiness when everything hurts, ALL THE FUCKING TIME. I clean as a therapeutic remedy to try to stave off the gloom. I’m wrestling with many demons right now. Physically and mentally I’m pretty fucked.

The future isn’t something I can focus on. I’m barely able to look to the next hour as it stands. I’m inching through my life, second by second. I am not usually an angry person by nature, but lately I’ve been filed with a whole lot of rage and bitterness. I don’t like myself very much for it.

I’ve gone into “turtle mode” as I call it. I’m pulling into my shell and hiding from the world. I’d prefer to be a hermit, than my usual outgoing, sociable self. Mostly because I don’t have anything nice to say.

Life is never fair. I’m furious about the fact that MY own life is exceedingly unjust. There is a wretched imbalance in how I’ve done so much good, yet I have so much bad shit rain down on me.

I don’t want pity, sympathy nor anything else along those lines. Perhaps, simple understanding of why I’m so angry about my circumstances is acceptable to me… I don’t really know.

I can’t bring myself to call people I love. I can’t bring myself to blog much anymore. I’m struggling to find any joy in my life these days. I suppose it goes along the lines of the below that since I haven’t got anything nice to say, then I shan’t say anything at all.

I’m fucking bitter.

I’m filled with hate.

I’m not myself right now.

I feel like a monster.

I’m exhausted.

I don’t like watching the world around me, filled with happy, normal people, who get to lead pain free, healthy lives in utter contrast to my own. It pisses me off that there are pure evil people who get to live into their 90s and lead charmed lives, while I’m suffering, and cursed with a shortened lifespan; constantly fighting to stay alive.

I resent my body for failing me. I’m livid at the fact that I require over 10-15 hours of sleep every day now, and that’s time I’m losing out on with my son and husband.

I’m sick of being sick.

I barely made it home alive…

Everything was going well in the first flight. I even sat next to a really nice guy from Colorado and we shared pics of our families, the outdoors, had excellent conversation and an all in all great flight…

Then I had a 2 hour layover in Denver. That’s when something went horribly, horribly wrong.

I’m not sure what caused it, but I began a slow descent into anaphylactic shock. I was frantically gobbling up antihistamines, repeatedly using my inhalers, drinking tons of water, and hoping it was going to reverse itself. I hadn’t eaten anything. I hadn’t DONE anything unusual. I was exhausted, stressed, emotionally tapped out, and I guess that was all it took. By the time I was wheeled down onto the next plane, the one that would take me home, I had to stab myself in the thigh with my Epi-Pen. I didn’t dare tell the flight crew. I didn’t want to be stuck in a hospital in Denver, hundreds if miles from home. I waited, I checked my pulse, I rode out the jitters, and I felt like I was dying. I honestly want sure I was gonna get through this one. It took a long time to get under control. Finally when we were up at 30000 feet, the flight attendant got a look at my face and she knew immediately simmering was very wrong. I confessed to her that I’d been in anaphylactic shock. She freaked. I reassured her, and told her this was normal for me. She asked what she could do for me. I requested that she check on me to make sure I didn’t lose consciousness, and if I did, then I’d need an ambulance to meet me on the ground. For the rest of the flight, she watched me like a hawk.

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She helped me off the plane and into the wheelchair that awaited me. The man padding the chair was also very concerned by the way I looked. Evidently, when you have a brush with death, it’s written all over your face….

He got me to baggage claim where my darling husband and son awaited me. I held myself together for a few minutes, but then I lost it and started bawling my eyes out.

We drove the hour long trip home and I collapsed on the couch. The dogs and cats were all happy to see me and the we’re climbing all over me. I kissed my boy goodnight and he went off to bed. I spent awhile talking things over with my hubby. I told him that I’m scared. The fact that I went into anaphylactic shock with no physical trigger was terrifying. I’m scared that this can happen again and eventually there will come a day that my Epi-Pen won’t cut it….

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I sent this pic to my friends to let them know if gotten home, not exactly safely, but home nonetheless.

This morning I awoke feeling like death itself.

But I’m reminded that my boy, my Sebastian, he’s the reason I will keep fighting for my life. I refuse to give up. I refuse to give in.

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We sat in the car for 15 minutes this morning before he got out to go to school. We just chatted about silly things, and reveled in the fact that I’m home again.

This fight isn’t getting any easier. So I must get tougher. The gloves are off. I’ll fight dirty. I’ve got everything at stake at this point and I’m not going to let that nasty bitch Death, take it all away from me.