Back in Public

Inspirational song: Sound of Silence (Simon & Garfunkel)

The ringing in my ears is always worst when I'm super tired. It's with me at all times, and has been since I was a teenager in marching band. When I went to rock concerts without ear protection, it was so loud afterwards that it kept me from sleeping and it hurt. On a night like tonight, it's just loud enough that I can't not think about it. I know it's a hundred percent resulting from fatigue.

I said yesterday I was getting stir crazy, and I can admit I was a little lonely. I went to Rotary today for lunch, knowing it was ambitious of me to try. I was tired just taking a shower and washing my hair. Brushing heavy snow off my car also burned up a spoon or two. I got a teensy bit dizzy while driving, but traffic was light enough (as usual) that I made it without a hiccup. Several people were surprised I made the attempt to be there, but the friend who knows me best wasn't at all. She said she knew I'd be there. I even ended up taking the notes for the newsletter, like the old days, because no one else was willing to fill in for the absent editarian. I managed to stay for the entire meeting (kinda had to in order to complete the notes), but it took a bit out of me. Stopping to get crickets on the way home was the icing on the cake. I was wiped out when I got home.

I spent the afternoon watching how-to videos on YouTube. I'd previously viewed crochet videos and a couple of other artistic media instructionals, so I let the AI suggest things for me. I let them autoplay for almost three hours while I recovered. Unfortunately for me, they were all the same painting technique, that looked super simple and stupidly fun. I had almost all the materials. I had to run up to Wal-Mart for a bottle of silicone lubricant and craft sticks, but everything else was mine. I say "run" to Wal-Mart. No. I parked close to the door. I lumbered slowly around the store. I was breathless by the time I got back to the car. I whined as I drove home. And when I got home, I scolded Murray for whining about being stuck in wheels while I was gone. I couldn't lift him out of his chariot, and he didn't like that. Thankfully the Mr rolled up as I was having this conversation with the dog, and he took care of him. He also failed to show surprised when I told him I think the last time one single lap around Wal-Mart tired me this badly, I was taking our oldest daughter there for her first outing in an infant carrier. (Said daughter is well into adulthood now.)

I made the art project sitting on my bed. I wasn't about to stress myself setting up at the table or in the craft room. It wasn't the most comfortable position, cross-legged on a mattress that desperately needs replacing (maybe once I'm back to working), but it was better than being in a chair. I'll go over the "art" I made tomorrow, once the paint is dry, assuming I'm happy with the final product.

You Could Feed My Horse

Inspirational song: Can You Feel the Love Tonight (The Lion King)

Cabin fever is starting to set in. I've left my house exactly once since the surgery last Wednesday. I really ought to find reasons to get out more. Tomorrow is Rotary, and it might be worth going, at least for lunch, if not for the program. I doubt I'll have the ability to sit quietly in a stackable chair for more than half an hour. I need to get out, though. Doesn't it seem like that at some point staying cooped up too long switches from being good for recovery to being a drag on it?

Going out today was problematic. The anticipated spring storm actually arrived, albeit a couple of hours late. At noon it was barely snowing. I went out to bring the dogs in, and made extended eye contact with a scarlet finch who wasn't about to let a pajama-ed human scare him away from the tower of bird seed he'd found. It wasn't really all that cold, and the snow was underwhelming. By four o'clock, it was snowing like crazy. The roads stayed completely clear, but all of our freshly-leafed trees and shrubs were thickly coated in heavy, wet snow. It should wash away tomorrow, but it kept me from venturing out for now.

I'm feeling particularly humbled through this whole experience of cancer. I've had a lot of people reach out with good words, and for the last two days, I've had friends come through with meals. I have provided them before to people I knew going through illnesses or welcoming new babies, but I don't think I've ever been on the receiving end like this before. I have to say it's an incredible thing, having someone take the time to cook from scratch for you, and deliver it to your home, when you need to rest and recover. I know I haven't done it as often as I had the opportunity, but being on the receiving end has given me a fresh appreciation for what a gesture of love and support it is. I'll be doubly committed to paying forward the favor when my chance comes around again.

Detours

Inspirational song: Truckin' (Grateful Dead)

I almost made it through a whole day without anything at all for pain. By the time I sat down to watch Game of Thrones, I needed a couple Tylenol, and at the very end of it, I felt like I needed to go back on the narcotics (I didn't though). I will not, will not, will NOT give any spoilers, but at the end one of my top three favorite characters (currently number one) did an incredibly badass heroic move, and I forgot who I was for a second. I raised both arms above my head, hands fisted, and screamed "Yes!" I immediately realized what I had done, and regretted my exuberance for the rest of the night. I noticed when I got home from T's and started getting ready for bed that I have a little scab showing under the steri-strips, and the end of the seam is more of a corner than I remembered it being. I hope it's just a sign of the bandaging wearing out and healing beginning, not of me doing anything stupid over the most awesomest GoT character of all. I have a week before my follow-on visit with the surgeon, and I meet the oncologist later that same Monday, so I'll have to wait to know whether I've erred significantly. Until then, let's assume not. And even if I goofed, maybe the physical therapist can get me back on track to heal around the lymph node that I tugged on with my double fist-pump.

It was so beautiful around the Park today. I even went outside for an extended walkabout (the yard, not any farther). My Lady of Shalott rose has been planted, next to the garden shed. The Sugar Moon rose is showing signs of struggling after being moved to the new fishpond bed, so I can't say for sure it will survive the transplant. I now have two miniature roses to go in the ground as well, but they will have to wait until we can dig in the front. That's not going to be tomorrow. As beautiful as today was, warm and sunny, it's going to be that brisk tomorrow. Dark clouds rolled in while the Mr was digging up raspberry volunteers that were outside of the pen where they live, and a strong breeze picked up. By the time I'm done with my coffee tomorrow, snow should be arriving. They say never plant before Mother's Day out here. It's still true.

I failed to check the mail yesterday, so I didn't know until tonight that my sister-in-law sent me a lovely card. The message on it was about life's journey and how the unexpected detours we make are still all the same trip. No kidding. I think my life is all detours and zero planned waypoints. Maybe that's why I've always had trouble coming up with a five-year plan, when I was asked to. I have never imagined I'd know where I'd be that far out, or even if I would still be around to make decisions for myself. At least it's been interesting, this long, strange trip.

On My Own

Inspirational song: Already Gone (The Eagles)

Pain is almost completely under control. Three short days after surgery, and I'm off of prescription pain killers. I took Tylenol twice today, and that was all I needed. I mean, I'm not doing anything stupid, like lifting heavy weights or putting on a slip-on shirt over my head, but I am feeling much better.

I was improving well enough by yesterday that my mom decided I could take it from here. She left this morning, and will by home by tomorrow night. I'm really glad she was here, and she said she felt more in control of how she felt about it because she was able to be here and witness. I understand that kind of thinking. She didn't have to be a degree-holding nurse to be an important part of the process. Showing up and providing support helped a ton.

I had to give up on wearing a bra for a while. It is just too much pressure on the cut-up side. Wearing just tank tops makes it painfully obvious how extreme the size differential is now. I'm still dealing with it okay, if I take it moment to moment. No idea whether or when my emotional state might change. I expect to camouflage it when I go out in public, though. Handling it at home is one thing. Being brazen around strangers at the King Soopers is something completely different.

It's nearly impossible to stay inside and quiet when spring is moving in at such a pace. We held out as long as we could on the first mow of the season, but the dandelions and grape hyacinth were starting to take over out front. The Mr cut the grass this afternoon, and sent me a picture of our first iris blooming while he was out there. The lilacs are starting to open, with the one right next to the gate putting out more fragrance than the pinker one just a few feet away. And I was alerted today that the chokecherry tree should be in full bloom by tomorrow afternoon. I can hardly wait. I hope now that the cancer has been removed, I'll find more energy for yardwork. I did so little down here last year. This time I want to work closer to home.

Too Much, Too Soon

Inspirational song: Institutionalized (Suicidal Tendencies)

I pretended that I didn't need my painkillers this morning. I was awake when the 6 am one was due, and I thought, no, I'm cool. I can get away without it. Then I got up and started walking around and by the time my coffee was gone, I knew better. I still needed to be on drugs. I pushed it on how long that one lasted, and the second one this afternoon took a long time to take the edge off. Now it's getting close to bedtime, I can't remember when I took the last pill, and I feel like I have a hot stickerbush tucked under my arm. The real pain is where they took the lymph node, and I keep moving it around more than I ought to. It is terribly inconvenient to be left-handed at a time like this. I keep wanting to reach as usual and lift things that I shouldn't.

I got my first look at everything today. I had to wear the surgical bra for 48 hours, and I was sick to death of the velcro straps digging into my skin. I peeled it off at the 45 hour mark and took a shower. It's a different look, that's for sure. I think she took somewhere between 35 and 40% of my breast. The seam is straight, not puckered or anything, so perhaps that counts as success? It is really weird looking, though. The difference between the two breasts is significant. I couldn't tell how much until I saw them uncovered. The left one was always the smaller one (no one is perfectly symmetrical, so I'm not afraid of making myself sound like a freak), but now the right one is still the original DD, and the left is an abbreviated D, at best. I wonder where I'll end up after reconstruction. A C sounds nice.

We went out to check out a new primary care clinic right before lunchtime. That was my big adventure for the week. We drove halfway across town, spoke to the front desk folks, and learned what we needed to do to get set up once our doctor retires (next week). I came home feeling like I'd spent a day laboring in the fields. I shouldn't have tried to do so much so soon. I'll take it easier tomorrow, even if I think I'm okay.

While I napped this afternoon, my doorbell rang. A lovely miniature rose bush appeared on my porch, from my dad and step-mom. We need to get busy on ripping up the grass out front, where we are slowly converting to a flower garden instead. This rose will look pretty up there.

Door Open

Inspirational song: Back In the Saddle Again (Aerosmith)

It was fun while it lasted. I had about three nights with no cats in my room overnight. I was mostly able to sleep through the shenanigans in the hallway, or at least return to sleep after an hour or so of cat sobs through the crack in the door. But all things must pass. There's only so long I can keep a "sterile" environment. And to be honest, if I am ordered to go 48 hours without a shower, is it so much of a stretch to have cat paws walking all over the bed where I'm sleeping? I came in to take a nap this afternoon, and in the split second my door was open, Rabbit zipped in and was immediately on the bedside table. I give up. I let her snooze next to me the whole time. The main thing is that she stops sleeping on my shins, making my knees hyperextend. Who am I kidding? She'll do that as long as she draws breath.

The local anaesthetic wore off this afternoon. I don't mean gradually, either. All of a sudden I started feeling everything in the left breast and armpit. I thought it was the oxy wearing off early, but no, it was the local just dropping off a cliff. I have about 45 minutes until the next pill, and I'm sitting with an ice pack, counting the seconds.

Generally, though, I'm doing pretty well. I'm as coherent as one can be after what I've gone through. I can walk around the house and get a drink or put my phone on the charger, but I can't stand up long enough to make an elaborate dinner or to do dishes. I also can't lift anything heavier than Athena, so I'm not trying to do so.

I'm still wearing the bra they put on me on the operating table. I have to keep it on until tomorrow afternoon. It is covered in velcro, and it chafes something fierce. I'm so ready to have this off. I sort of peeked under it this afternoon, to get an idea of how much I have left. There's more there than I expected. I hope this doesn't preclude me getting made symmetrical (work done on the right) when reconstruction time rolls around. I have no idea when that will happen, anyway. Probably after radiation has been declared successful.

Post-Op

Inspirational song: Kick It Out (Heart)

There's a tiny window of opportunity, between when the narcotic I took in the recovery room six hours ago wears off and the one I took a few minutes ago ramps up (hopefully not as slowly as the first). I can write briefly. I'm home, and I'm doing astonishingly well, considering what they did to me.

There was a little goof on our schedule this morning. The person at the women's imaging clinic who came out to explain said it was human error, and it really wasn't such a big deal that I dare be upset about it. I was supposed to get a little dose of a radioactive substance to trace where the tumor drained into the lymph nodes, so they knew which to remove to biopsy. Someone forgot to order the dose of the tracer that comes from my hospital chain's centralized nuclear medicine lab in Denver. It had to be rushed up here by a delivery person. It was administered at 1240, ten minutes after my original take-off time. The imaging folks were super contrite, and I kept trying to assure them I didn't mind. It made no difference in my surgery, and it gave me something to write about. No harm, no foul.

Nearly everyone I encountered offered an opinion of my surgeon. To a one, the common theme was "She's amazing!" Two completely different people on different days even called her "an artist." I was in the absolute right place. The nursing staff, admitting folks, anaesthesia crew, and everyone else I ran into were equally helpful, competent, cheerful, and comforting. It was a 100% positive experience.

The last memory I had before surgery (after the sedative but before the anaesthesia) was them raising the gurney to the level of the operating table, but wanting to put a different velcro surgical bra on the table under me before I moved over. I have NO IDEA how I got to the operating table. Next thing I knew I was having a conversation with a voice in recovery, for about five minutes before my eyesight came back. For the record, I think I have a crush on the recovery nurse. In a building full of cool people, I think she was my favorite. Maybe it was just because she kept pushing the pain meds until I was under control, and she gave me the ice pack and two heated blankets at once.

I had a good evening once I got home. It took a full three hours before I really got relief from the stinging pain of the incisions (tumor excision and sentinal node biopsy). I had about two hours of euphoria (and face itching), before the aching started creeping back. By 9 pm I was ready for dose two. It's just now kicking in, so I hope I can remember to get out the rest of my story before I nod off. Maybe I'll just put notes under photos from here.

Day surgery tech has come so far since my gallbladder came out more than a decade ago. They have a monitor in the waiting room, and a privacy-maintaining case number, so you know exactly where your loved ones are. On the back is a number and code so you can get complete info if they get admitted overnight. So good!

Allergy, allergy, ID band, and sleep apnea risk? Okay, y'all gotta stop it with the abundance of caution. Also, mom is disappointed that my vet wrap over the IV site was a boring "nude" color. (Yes, we have issues with "default" skin color descriptions. Not the time for that.) She thinks I should have been offered a choice of something more cheerful.

On a blue background, with blue Christmas lights in the ficus tree next to me, with just a LED light bulb for illumination, I guess you can't actually tell that I had blue antiseptic surgery wash all the way up to my lower lip, and stayed that way until I finally remembered to wipe it off around 8 pm.

There we are. An hour and a half (?) later, the night time pain pill is getting me. I'm surprised I made it this long still writing whole sentences. Can't tell whether they made any sense. Does anyone care if I rambled? If you made it this far, I'll say you didn't care.

Restless

Inspirational song: White Rabbit (Jefferson Airplane)

Am I really expected to sleep tonight? I'm tired, sure. It will be quiet as soon as I stop watching old episodes of GoT. But there is no way I'm going to rest easily until they empty a syringe of the good stuff into my IV tomorrow. (Do I know exactly what this "good stuff" is? No. But in all the procedures I've had done under sedation, I haven't woken in the middle of much since that first time with my wisdom teeth when I was 19. I definitely don't want to wake up during this one.)

Without going into details about how I know this, I will say, on the eve of a vasectomy, I have known men who were given valium to help them sleep the night BEFORE the procedure. Because, you know, it's scary. Not once, in all of the medical procedures I have ever gone through, has any doctor tried to give me something to calm me the night before, so I was properly rested and emotionally prepared. Not that I ever asked either, but it always felt like a double standard to me.

I called to correct the medication mis-match this afternoon. I made sure they re-read my chart, to discover that I already had a prescription anti-inflammatory that I bought in bulk. I let them know I refused to buy the ibuprofen someone had called into my pharmacy, and I said, "If that's all I'm going to be given for having my nipple amputated, can I just take the stuff I already have, and maybe some Tylenol?" I think they got my point, and something more appropriate is supposed to get called in. I can't say that it will be ready before surgery, but at least the play is in motion.

I don't know how to relax tonight. I just don't. I have been able to put off really thinking about the details of what's coming for weeks, but the reality of what I'm losing is unavoidable now. I was more focused on just get to the point of removing the part that hurt. Now I am thinking about the parts I'm losing.

Gonna be a long night.

Reinforcements

Inspirational song: Monday, Monday (Mamas and Papas)

The Cavalry has arrived, if the cavalry can include grandmothers driving hybrids. Backup is here. I got what every sick person wants, no matter their age: I got my mommy to come help me for a few days.

Getting ready for her arrival, I tried to clean up the areas I've been avoiding for weeks. I did my best, but I didn't get everything tidied up. She knows how little energy I've had, so there was no pressure to do it, but I still tried. By the time she rolled up I was wiped out, just starting to eat some gluten free pizza. I couldn't even stand up to open the door. It took more than an hour for me to perk back up and move around.

I went to my pharmacy to get my post-surgery meds. I assumed they were calling in actual painkillers. They had prescribed 600 mg ibuprofen. WTactualF? First off, the military handed those out like Tic Tacs. We took enough of those in our day that I could drown in gallons of ibuprofen, and it wouldn't knock down pain in the least. Secondly, I take a twice daily prescription NSAID. I am not allowed to take more. If I'm not getting an actual painkiller, just an ineffectual anti-inflammatory, then I'd rather take the ones I've already paid for. Mine don't tear up my kidneys. I understand that there is a lot of political pushback about opiod drugs, and I'm not all that crazy about them, but I'm having half of my breast amputated. I'm not going to play games with pain.

This is the first night I've tried to sleep with my door shut in years. I've already heard Athena's tiny little give-mom-a-guilt-trip voice on the other side. "There appears to have been an error! Someone accidentally shut this door! Surely you don't mean to block access to the bed?" I know it's only going to get worse. By 4 am the cats are going to be slamming into the door with a battering ram.

Games

Inspirational song: Games Without Frontiers (Peter Gabriel)

As weeks dedicated to anxiety and dread and interminable waits go, this one has been surprisingly low-key. I had another good day of happy distractions, and you can't go wrong with that. I had to get up somewhat early, to get two giant casserole dishes of scalloped potatoes ready to go to the in-laws, and it turned into a family affair to get them prepared. I tried two different methods, neither of which I'd tried before, and they both came out just about right. One was dairy-free, gluten-free, and vegan, and the other only fit the gluten-free category. I sampled both once we were at the big family Easter dinner, and I would use either of these or a combination of the two in the future, and be happy.

My sister-in-law hosted, and we got to see some of the extended family for the first time in years. It was a lovely crowd, and the food was delightful. I admit, I might have been in a bubble with everything happening on the inside of me, but to me it was a supremely pleasant gathering start to finish. There was even an Easter egg hunt for the grown-ups, although I was a little too tired to participate. My daughter came back in showing off cute little toys she got in the eggs she found, including a cat toy that vibrated when you pulled its tail. How appropriate. It was even bright green, her favorite color.

I had to have a nap between the holiday party and Game of Thrones this evening. I woke up minutes before the episode started. Luckily our neighbor had it queued up to stream, so we weren't dependent on hitting a mark on the clock to watch it. I have enjoyed several intentionally (and sometimes unintentionally) funny moments on this series, but this episode seemed far funnier than most. Neighbor T predicts that it's a breather before the upcoming dark and tragic episodes as the epic battle everyone has waited 7 seasons for arrives. I can't remember the last time we laughed out loud this much in one episode. I don't think we ever have. (No spoilers beyond that. There were just a lot of awkward moments, jests, ironic twists, and cold snaps. It was great.)

We stayed after the show to play a little Mario Party before heading home. I trailed through the entire game, until the last two rounds when I put on a burst of speed, just enough to beat the AI non-player character that rounded out our quartet. I didn't care that T and Mr S-P were neck and neck, soundly winning the game. I beat the computer-driven Yoshi, and that was all that mattered. Now I can rest easily.

Springtime in the Rockies

Inspirational song: Rocky Mountain High (John Denver)

This must count as a quintessential Colorado spring day. It had everything: racing to the locally-owned plant nursery to elbow my way past crowds of people in the rose greenhouse (it really was packed) to acquire my precious Lady of Shallott orange English shrub rose. I waited a whole year for that one. Then we zipped over to the Oskar Blues taproom for a release of a limited edition coffee/vanilla beer. There was gardening. There was playing with dogs. There was a well-mannered squirrel who begged for walnuts. There was a mix of sun and cloudy skies. It was warmer than it ought to have been in April, yet colder in the house than I expected it to be. In short, a perfect day. I'll get to how the night is planned in a second.

When I first started this blog, exactly six years ago today, I wrote in the daytime. I made a point of posting each evening before eight, when the time and date stamp on my dashboard switched over. As the years progressed, I got lazier. I got a little bored with writing. I started running out of new ideas, and now, almost 2200 nights later, I often don't start writing until midnight, and I can't sleep until it's done. It is unusual that I'm writing while there's still light out, dim as it may be. When I get home tonight, I'll feel like something is missing, when I crawl straight into bed without opening the laptop. But it will be nice to be up on my obligations early, so I can do what I want tonight.

I've been thinking. You know, I have lupus. I have fibromyalgia. I have arthritis. And now they have informed me I have cancer. I live in Colorado. Tell me one good reason for me not to use all the tools at my disposal to lessen my pain and improve my condition, especially when my rheumatologist is quite supportive of me finding relief in something other than oil of the poppy.

I'm celebrating the holiday today. I'm a grownup and I can make this choice without feeling guilty about it. I'm heading next door where we will eat tater tots and ice cream sundaes and watch goofy movies all night. I'm bringing brownies. I spent the last couple hours attempting my first infusion in butter, and that went into the brownie mix. No idea how strong or weak they will be. I don't think I care. I think the liberating feeling of giving myself permission to partake is high enough.

Delicate Balance

Inspirational song: Mother's Little Helper (Rolling Stones)

With as complex of a selection of medications and supplements that I take on a daily basis, it's easy to miss how important each individual note of that symphony actually is. I had problems with getting my mail order pharmaceuticals, and missed a key lupus drug for three weeks. I'm just now getting back up to speed on that one, having switched to my local grocery store pharmacy for it (paying four times as much). I've mentioned recently that now that I'm less than a week from surgery, I have to stop taking all anti-inflammatories and herbal supplements. I also can't take my vitamin E. By messing with this carefully crafted balance of micronutrients, I am feeling all kinds of awful. My joints are inflamed. My balance is off (and I mean that literally as well as figuratively -- I keep stumbling). I'm worn out by the shortest walks. I'm finding it difficult to use my arms to adjust myself when I sit on my bed. The hot tub only makes me tired. And I'm radiating pain from all sectors. I was holding in okay until the last day or two. Now it's just no fun.

I tried to spend a little of this beautiful spring day outside. My smaller Park is waking up. It's a little wild and wooly right now. The raspberries are proving to be the hardiest and most persistent of all our plants at this point. They're growing on three fences, including in places where they have previously been removed, and they're moving in on one of my roses. I swear, if I have to make a choice, there is no contest. Rose wins, canes lose. I will cut those puppies right out of the flower bed. Just as soon as I'm allowed to be around thorns again (not allowed within a few days of this particular surgery).

Mr S-P has started getting serious about yardwork. This morning he planted the creeping Jenny I bought around the fish pond. The raised garden beds are going back on the south side, and he has been digging out weed-choked dirt, prepping the sites. I spent more time in the sun than I ought to have to water a few things, but it was nothing compared to the hours he spent with a shovel and a wheelbarrow. I wonder whether I'll feel like helping out once this nonsense is over and I'm back on regular meds, doing regular things again.

Capstone Class

Inspirational song: The New Kings, ii Russia's Locked Doors (Marillion)

I've been following this news story as if I were planning on getting a master's degree in it. I think most people know that. I have, however, tried to hold off telling anyone how or what to think about any of it, at least in this space. I have strong opinions, but I want everyone to come to their own conclusions, based on the available evidence. To that end, I'm going to walk the walk, not just talk the talk. I have a printout of the Mueller report (redacted). I have a highlighter. I have a lot of homework to do. My eyes will probably ache if/when I reach the other side of this assignment.

Habit tells me I should write more. Commitment to this purpose tells me to shut up and read. The task at hand wins.

Ready and Waiting

Inspirational song: I Can See for Miles (The Who)

It took a full hour on the phone to go over my pre-surgery information. Sure, I'm a chatty girl, but there was a whole lot to cover. All of my allergies, all of my medications and when to stop which ones, my schedule, my timing, what my expectations for the week of surgery, the day of surgery, and the days following should be. All of that took a very long time to discuss. I feel quite prepared for most any eventuality now. The one thing that I haven't heard was any change to the plan, now that my case has gone in front of the tumor board. I would say that is one case where no news actually is good news. They assured me at every turn that my situation is manageable, that it's all going to be a simple process that they have done successfully many times over. I just wish I didn't feel like death warmed over leading up to it all. I have had to stop my anti-inflammatories now that we are in the final week, and I have been avoiding pain-killers and the like as much as I can leading up to the big event. What a lovely time to have no external coping mechanisms. I have to rely on hot tub soaks, naps, and being forceful asking people to leave me the hell alone when I'm not up to anything.

The one thing I have that's in my favor is good spring weather. The temperatures as blissfully moderate. I don't have to worry about a chill that seizes up my muscles and joints. It's not so hot that I have to have fans blasting on me round the clock. No, this time I can snuggle up with a soft blanket, when I want one, and I can wear loose, light clothes when I want to.

At least I don't have the spring fever like all the furry folk around here. As I'm writing, Athena is howling by the back door, having killed a mousie, probably her favorite leopard-print one. Much less traumatic than what Alfred did during their outside play time this afternoon. I had to pick up a freshly-killed real field mouse from the rug in the dining room, and put it in the can in the alley (so they couldn't just get it again). I thought about taking a picture of the tiny dead body, but it seemed too depressing to post. Everyone wants to roam this time of year, and everyone wants to pretend they are like their wild cousins. Even Murray poked his head through the gate when I took out the mouse, sure he that if he could run down the alley it would feel like he was flying. I guess I'm the only one content to stay close to home these days.

Brown

Inspirational song: The Rains of Castamere (Game of Thrones)

I had thought I was so clever. For Sunday’s season premiere, I made a simple pot of beef and vegetable stew. I pretended it was what the folks in the fictitious Fleabottom would call “bowls of brown.” I had made it in the instant pot, and I made the mistake of taking a nap right around the time it started the pressure release. It stayed in the pot for two hours, still warm, for an extended natural release. It was bland as all get out by the time we had dinner. Maybe that could be considered more accurate, a tasteless bowl of mushy vegetables, with small bits of meat.

Today I realized what an amateur I was creating a thematic meal. Usually the caterer at Rotary is very creative. Everything is always delicious. I am beginning to suspect he also wanted to celebrate the season premiere via food. I had to skip the entrée, because it wasn’t labeled gluten free. The soup, on the other hand, was vegan and GF. It was roasted eggplant, the sign said. It was puréed into a gloopy bowl of brown. I bow to our caterer’s superior imagination. At least it tasted okay.

Eight and a Half Centuries

Inspirational song: Fire (The Crazy World of Arthur Brown)

We were sophomores in high school when my girlfriends and I went to Paris. We had all of four days to see all of the highlights of the City of Lights and nearby landmarks, before we crossed the Channel and spent three days in London. It was the second and last time I have ever been to Paris. I don't know whether any of my photos from that week exist anymore. I haven't seen them in decades. I still have memories that will live forever in my mind's eye, but they are no more than mere flashes of moments. I remember a hat I bought in Paris. I remember the dress I wore out to dinner in London. I remember the guy from a Texas high school who was on our tour group using my shoulder to steady his camera to get a shot of a chateau. I remember getting separated from our chaperones on Montmartre, and being frustrated at our French teacher who couldn't figure out the maps of the Metro on first glance (like we teens could).

What I don't remember is going inside Notre Dame de Paris. I am sort of sure we stood outside of it. I kind of remember one of my classmates being pretty excited about it. But I truly don't remember going inside. If I had those photos, I might know better. It's possible the only cathedral we toured thoroughly was in Chartres. We were a gaggle of fifteen and sixteen year old girls. Some of us may have paid better attention to the details than the others. I, obviously, was interested in other things to carry home with me (like the memory of the Texan I flirted with for most of the trip).

The news of Notre Dame burning was as much of a gut punch for me as it was for most of the world. Even without the active memories of whether I stepped inside it or not, without being Catholic, without being French (much), the loss of that living history hurt my heart. All day I have been down, feeling like a whole branch of my family died. I may be as upset by the loss of the 900 year old timber roof as by the loss of the iconic spire or Rose windows. There is something so magical about stones and glass and beams that were cut and placed by humans who lived more than eight centuries ago. You can feel a different energy in historic places, standing where generations of ancestors stood. Even unpleasant places like historic prisons or battlefields generate that feeling of awe in me. It's really hard to imagine how much history has been lost, even if the greater structure can be rebuilt.

As I prepare for bed on this first night, I have not heard a legitimate theory on how it started. There was scaffolding all around for renovations and repair. I've heard reporting that it may have started on the scaffolding or on the roof, but with no specifics on how. All other speculation at this point is useless, and quite possibly hurtful. I have no photos of my own either from today or from the 1980s when I was last in Paris, and I'm not going to steal any from the internet for this. Instead, I borrowed this one of the redneck scaffolding that one of our not-too-distant neighbors apparently thought was appropriate to do some maintenance on their willow tree. Let's hope they don't have a catastrophe like the one in Paris.

The Price to Pay

Inspirational song: I Believe (Book of Mormon)

It's not fun being right about things like this. I could tell as it was happening yesterday how much damage I was doing by trying to stay in that high school auditorium long past the point of fatigue and pain. I knew I'd be a worthless jellyfish today. I just didn't realize to what extreme that gelatinous lingering pain and fatigue would hit me. I have felt like my veins were on fire all day, every muscle I am capable of feeling has been full of lactic acid, and I have fallen asleep about thirteen times, if you count every time I nodded off in my chair and the time I sort of slipped out of consciousness in the hot tub.

I took all sorts of things for pain last night. Nothing worked. I had none today. There was no difference.

I started the day with three goals: clean the kitchen, make beef stew, and watch Game of Thrones. I said I would feel victorious with 2.5/3. I sort of did that, although I made more of a mess making stew than I cleaned at the time.

I do not believe this is a spoiler when I say I feel exceptionally cheated by not having a Ser Jorah Mormont / Lady Lyanna Mormont confrontation. I really wanted to hear what the spunky tween would have to say about the disgraced former heir to her house. Ah, well. There was a lot set up, and I'm excited about the rest of the season.

I'm just glad the show is over and I'm home again, and can try once more to sleep off the soreness from yesterday's meeting.

Fifteen Minutes for Debate

Inspirational song: Us and Them (Pink Floyd)

Despite showing early promise for efficiency, the meeting devolved down into the lower circles of tedious craziness to which we always knew it would descend. It kicked off so innocently, with introductions and a rousing pep talk by one of the Washington freshmen from a Denver district. Then the bulk of the morning was spent debating a document explaining how delegates would be chosen to go to the presidential candidate nominating committee next summer. It's super complicated now that we have both a caucus and a primary system, the latter for the top of the ticket, and the former for the rest. If I am going to meet my goal of going to national convention, I'm going to have to work a whole lot harder than I expected to.

The guy who drove us down and I were there as alternates. We did get seated, but we weren't sure until right before meeting time. One of the agenda items was the resolution to eliminate alternates and replace them with directed proxies instead. I really didn't want to support that part, but it was lumped in with a bunch of other rule changes, and it was more popular among the rest of the group. It won't take effect until the next re-organization meeting, in 2021, so I can continue to be an alternate through this cycle.

After "lunch" (They had only breakfast burritos and tamales that weren't gluten-free - what's up with that, Dems? Do better!) the debate got even worse. Maybe I was extra cranky for not having anything to eat all day, but I was getting frustrated with the idealists trying to change the language of the platform. I'm much more of a pragmatist, and I agreed with others like me that the pie-in-the-sky language was going to undercut us to the point of losing in places where we desperately need a pick-up.

By 1:30 in the afternoon, I was tired. By 2:30, I was sick at my stomach (my empty, empty stomach). By 3 I was sure I was dying, and I desperately wanted to leave. I had started to spike a fever, I had a headache, and my whole body hurt. I had already started whining at my driver that I was losing patience with the process. By 3:08, I was holding up my phone to my partner, saying that if we weren't voting on the platform resolutions by 3:15, I didn't give a damn anymore, I wanted to leave. I think we started voting at 3:13. Really hard to care about points of order and technical word changes when you're tired, sore, and cranky. We bailed right after that. Tomorrow is going to be a down day to compensate. I decree it. I have made a motion, seconded it myself, and the motion has passed unanimously on a voice vote.

Retirement Special Part 2

Inspirational song: Alive (Sia)

Oh, man, what am I getting into now? I had my last long visit with my primary care doc this afternoon. She announced rather suddenly that she was going to retire. We get along well, and she knows a lot about my life, but I have always maintained a doctor-patient relationship with her, thus I know very little about her personal life. I don't know why she's retiring, and I let that professional distance keep me from asking. I had a handful of issues that I couldn't put off any longer, though I tried, and I needed to discuss where I ought to go next. The clinic who had initially assured her they would take a lot of her practice backed out when she asked them for specifics. So I needed to get her backup plan. She recommended one doctor by name for me, and said there were others at the practice who would be good for the Mr. I guess I'll be going by there in person on Monday, so I can sign release forms to get my records transferred over without delay if they accept me. I'm not sure I have the mental energy to retrain a whole new primary care doctor. I'm complex. I need someone who knows a lot about a lot, and who will listen and recognize that I do my research too.

I tried to relay as much as I could with the my PCM about the progress I've made with the cancer plan. I am so confused now. We talked about so many drugs and supplements, I really don't know which I should be taking during treatment, which I should avoid, which I could start even during radiation, and which to consider later. I seriously don't know why some supplements I'm taking now that say "support immune health" are okay, but doc gets upset when I mention food with garlic, because it might make my immune system act up. And does she consider me failing on the anti-malarial drug that they usually prescribe for lupus? She got really in-depth about the new-ish injectable medication, and whether I ought to start it as soon as radiation was over. Do I even want to discuss this with the rheumatologist? I'm a bit leery of it.

I'm supposed to spend all day Saturday in Aurora. I have to leave my house early and ride down with one of the guys I carpooled with a month ago. When he suggested we all carpool again, I immediately countered by saying I would not drive, no way, no how. I had to bug out halfway through the day last time, and nap in my car in the parking garage. Now that I know why I have such extra fatigue, I'm not dumb enough to drive all the way to SE Denver. The third member of our group already bowed out (she also has autoimmune pain). I so desperately want to skip out too. I don't have the energy for this. But I committed to showing up. I never learned how to just say no to this junk.

More Information and Less Certainty

Inspirational song: I Do the Rock (Tim Curry)

Yesterday they said there was going to be a blizzard. Yeah, there was some snow, and yeah, it was a little breezy. Blizzard? Not here. Just a good old fashioned spring storm. It stuck around long enough today to slowly melt into the soil, giving our trees and perennials a good soaking, just like they needed. It was cool most of the day, until the sun started to peep out early afternoon. By the time I ran my errands, I didn't even need a jacket. I just wore a long sleeved shirt with the cuffs rolled up. Spring is funny that way. I enjoy it.

I met the physical therapist for the first time today. She and I really clicked. It's almost a shame that I'll only have a few visits with her. I could always use another cool friend, and she would be someone worth knowing. She didn't actually say that she specialized in breast cancer patients, but she knew all of the doctors very well, had her office decorated with BC posters, and had cabinets full of samples things she recommended patients use, like specialty pillows, compression tank tops, and what not. We spoke at length about my situation, and not once did I feel rushed or judged. She gave me space and time to turn things over in my head and to form all the questions that came up. We covered the matrix of possibilities of how my lupus could affect the process. Turns out it either could be significant, or it could have no bearing at all.

My physical therapist sits on the tumor board at my local hospital. If I haven't discussed this already (surely I have?) or if you have not encountered such a thing yet, the surgeons, oncologists, and other medical professionals who will be treating a cancer patient get together and discuss each individual case ahead of surgery, chemotherapy, or other treatment. No one doctor is acting alone, in a wilderness, without input from peers who also keep up on the latest insight on cancer treatment. They brainstorm the best path toward customized care. The PT looked on the schedule, and saw that my case is first on the agenda for next Tuesday. After all of our conversation today about the potential risks of radiation on a person with lupus, she assured me that it would be covered on Tuesday. She said it could be that the radiation would just make me a little sensitive, like I have a bad sunburn. It could cause inflammation and swelling. Or it could be a horrible mistake. The radiation oncologist would have access to the most current medical practices, and they would offer that advice.

We talked about the three different treatment options for radiation. The "fast track" they initially suggested is the twice daily for five days, targeted attack. It is preferred for most cancers like mine, for the precise application of radiation and the limited total dose. (Assuming that it doesn't make my lupus flare like a 4th of July finale.) It could also be spread out to four and six week treatments, that end up being sixteen or twenty-four total treatments (so that whole $30 copay per dose is even worse with those options). Or if lupus and radiation seriously Do Not Mix, then my options get scarier. I could have a complete mastectomy and reconstruction done simultaneously. This means a hospital stay, if I'm not mistaken, and a whole lot more pain, drains, and trauma to my upper body. My initial visit with the surgeon didn't really cover this last option, so I'm hoping it means that she has experience enough with cases like mine that she trusts it won't be necessary.

The PT and I also covered lymph node biopsies and how my life will be different from here on out. I'm going to be restricted forever from having blood pressure cuffs on my left arm, and IVs, and blood draws, and for that matter, any sort of punctures. No flu shots, allergy shots, nothing on that side, unless it is absolutely unavoidable. Even the minute trauma of having a vaccination puncture on the arm can cause enough inflammation to overwhelm the lymphatic system when it's down by a couple or three nodes. Inflammation is already enough of a pain in the neck for me. I'll not choose to challenge the fates on this topic.

I had a long talk with someone who knows where I'm at with learning to accept this new twist in my life, having gone through cancer also. He said he was in denial for a long time too, and said eventually he progressed through the anger stage, the "why me?" stage. I said on those rare occasions when I escape denial, it's less "why me" and more "oh, of course, this too!" and "like I didn't already have enough!" I'm trying hard to be positive about all this, but sometimes what I think is sangfroid is just avoidance. I have less than two weeks to come to terms about it. I'm sort of afraid of what will happen on the day it really hits home.

Going For Broke

Inspirational song: This Strange Engine (Marillion)

Nerves are starting to get the better of me again. At times I approach this whole cancer thing like something I can opt out of. Oh, I don't really want to go through all that, I say in my head. I'll just pretend like none of this ever started, and I'll just stick with the autoimmune junk and the arthritis I already have. That's enough for me. Except it's not optional. Now that I've discovered that it's lurking in there, I can't make it go away by getting distracted about something else. It's going to absorb my whole world for a few months, and rightly so. I'm also having a hard time believing them when they say it's just going to be surgery and radiation. I spoke with a friend who went through this several years ago, and she said that they told her just radiation too, until she came out of surgery and they said yeah, it's way worse than we expected it to be, and now there will be chemo. I'll hope for it to be easy as they say, but I'm still afraid of it being a bigger deal than they predict. I don't feel like I got the assurances I needed when I brought up lupus in conjunction with breast cancer. I may not have asked the straightforward question of my surgeon, "Have you treated someone who has both before?" I also don't think anyone is taking me seriously when I point to the side of my breast, where it starts to turn into the chest wall, and tell them it really freaking hurts, All The Damned Time.

Tomorrow is my first physical therapy appointment for this stuff. They will do an assessment of me, so that they can come back after surgery and get me able to move as much as I can at this point. Ha ha, jokes on them. These days I can barely move at all. My muscles all hurt, and I'm not strong as I once was. I'm also not flexible anymore, which is really sad, because I used to be so proud of my limber muscles that were formerly as stretchy as rubber bands. When they called to set up the post-op appointments, they wanted to schedule several visits per week for three weeks minimum. I hated doing it, but I had to really push back against the person on the other end of the phone. I told her that I'd not be able to afford that many therapy sessions. Back when I had a twelve dollar copay for everything, I was a huge fan of physical therapy. Now that each time I walk through the door of any such clinic is thirty bucks, I have to choose my battles wisely. I allowed her to make five appointments, and I warned her I'd probably end up canceling some of them once I have an idea what exercises to do.

I'm cringing at how fast this is all going to add up, even with good insurance. If they do the accelerated schedule for radiation, they'll see me twice a day for five days. I've already been unpleasantly surprised at the double-sized copay for the biopsy. Should I expect the week of radiation to cost three hundred dollars... or six hundred? I have to hope they send me home the day of surgery to recover on my own. If I spend the night, it will cost me two and a half times as much. While this tumor was growing big enough to affect me, I completely ran out of energy and mental clarity. I barely worked at all through last fall, and almost not at all since. My savings are running out quickly. I've got to figure out ways to bring in my share of income while not having the energy to beat the bushes to find real estate clients. I signed up for a Patreon account years ago, but never activated it while I couldn't think up additional goodies to produce for supporters at various tiers. I've come up with ideas for it now, but I need help setting it up to where people can see the account and sign up. My foster daughter knows tons more about computers and coding than I do, so we talked it over tonight while the guys played games. She has set me up with a simple donation button on my page (not the mobile version, but the full web page screen), that links to my PayPal. This is specifically to help cover direct costs of cancer treatment, i.e. copays, medications, and non-drug products to help with pain (like special pillows). Once we get a chance to sort out the exact mechanics of Patreon, that will be set up for supporters of my writing, with bonuses available to subscribers at different levels (like special written content and handmade craft projects). I'll probably mention this again, as I get used to the idea of setting out a tip jar, rather than being an entirely unpaid creator of internet content. It's a big switch. I've never been good about asking for money, even when it is payment for art I'm selling. Now is the time to learn how.

Number One Son

Inspirational song: You Are My Sunshine (Jimmie Davis)

As a dedicated crazy cat lady, April 9 is often a bittersweet, somber day for me. It was the birthday of the first cat I had on my own, once I left my parents' house. He has been gone more years now that he was alive, but he still holds a piece of my heart that no one else can touch. He was my "number one son," or so I told him, and I can never forget what he meant to me.

I was a sophomore in college when he was born. I was still living in the dorms, with plans to move in with a friend of mine who needed someone to sublet the rest of her roommate's lease for the summer. This friend and I were in a photography class together, and the professor of that class asked us whether anyone wanted to adopt a kitten. I was instantly interested. His cat had had babies, and they would be old enough to adopt right about the time the semester would end, when I was due to move into a house in Boulder. A day after I moved all of my stuff from the dorms to the house, my brother drove me up the canyon to my teacher's house on Lee Hill. The kittens were all underneath the teacher's bed (yeah, creepy to remember it now, but that's where mama was keeping them). I reached under, trying to catch one of the little gray babies, and the first one I got bit me on the finger, and I dropped him again. Call me weird, but that was the sign I needed that he was The One. I spent a good fifteen or twenty minutes trying to recapture that exact kitten (out of a whole lot of them -- there were at least seven or eight under there.)

The kitten I got was a dilute tuxie, meaning he was gray with white paws, belly, and muzzle. He was barely six weeks old when I adopted him, and it wasn't apparent at first that he was going to be large and fluffy. I named him Berkeley, after Berke Breathed, the artist/creator of the Bloom County comic strip. He was charming and naughty and fun and cuddly. When I ran into that photography teacher during the summer (I worked on campus), I complained about his kitteny badness, "Alex, he peed in my shoes!" To this day, we still quote the only answer I got, no matter how many things I whined about: "But he's a beautiful cat, isn't he?" He said that three or four times, and wouldn't say anything else.

Berkeley was beautiful. His fur was the softest and fuzziest I've ever encountered. It never stopped feeling like kitten fur. Not even Athena has the frizzy crinkles that Berkie had. He was enormous. When my first daughter was born, I took a picture of him standing on his hind legs, peeking in her bassinet. The woman who developed the photos (the old days) said she'd never seen a cat that big. She thought he must have been a dog. He made sure that tiny human knew he was the number one child. My favorite picture of the two of them was him curled up on my chest while my daughter was lying on my lap, while my legs were up in a recliner.

He was incredibly loyal and snuggly. I used to refer to him as Barnacle B, because he was always attached to me. At age fifteen, he developed a thyroid tumor, and it made it impossible for him to eat properly. He wasted away to nothing. He was the only cat I have ever taken to the vet to end his suffering, and it was the worst experience I could imagine. I second-guessed myself for a decade, wishing I had given him more time. I don't know how I will ever face that decision again, if slash when it comes up next.

I wish everyone could have a cat or dog friend who is as special to them as Berkeley was to me. Those fifteen years were worth the world.

Passing the Days

Inspirational song: Lunatic Fringe (Red Rider)

The point of this entire day was just to kill time until the NCAA basketball championship game, right? That's what it felt like around here, anyway. Too bad the game itself didn't pan out the way we had hoped it would on our little spot on earth. We watched it next door, on the giant teevee, and we enjoyed it right up until the last minute and a half of overtime. We wanted a Cinderella story, with an unlikely team like Texas Tech to take it all. Cinderella didn't make it tonight, though. Virginia walked away with it, but I can't say they didn't earn it. It was a good game.

I was just sure when I went out to check on the fish pond that the mighty raccoon hunter that I theorized about had visited. I pulled the flagstone slab off the pond, flooding it with light as best I could. The pump had been running for a long time, but the water was still as murky as it had ever been. I couldn't see a single fishie. I got down on my knees, and stirred a little with a stick. Nothing. I sent a message to the Mr saying I was just sure they had been sucked into the pump or something. When he got home, we drained out about half the water, until we could sort of see the bottom. There those little boogers were, hiding in the darkest part of the pond. I'm not good at this whole fish pond thing yet. I'll take practice before I know how to care for them, and be sure they're actually present and alive.

I spent another day of my interminable wait for surgery out in the back yard. I had a small table next the hot tub where the chlorine and anti-foam bottles are stored. It wasn't intended for outdoor use, and even though it has been right up next to the house, six feet or more from the edge of the covered patio, the finish was starting to look a little rough. I decided to give it a more durable cover. I sanded off the dried varnish and stain, which took far longer than I expected. So many splinters, even with 220 grit sandpaper. It put on two coats of spray primer, sanding between each one. It took another seven coats of sea glass green paint to put a decent seal on the thirsty wood. Eventually I had a proper sixty year old color decorating my sixty year old house. This place was made for turquoise accents. It just seems right.

Patience

Inspirational song: Pump It Up (Elvis Costello and the Attractions)

Last year I discovered a rose I never knew before, but as soon as I learned it existed, I knew that I needed it in my life. My Park will never be complete without it. I saw it early in the spring last year, and by the time I got back to try to buy it, it was sold out. I called around to a couple of other local nurseries, and they either never carried it or were also sold out. The tragedy of this loss hurt my heart last year, but I let it go by, swearing I would make it up this year. I had almost forgotten about it until today, until we made a trip to the Naughty Place.

The new fish pond is quite murky. We knew we needed to put a pump in it to aerate the water both to clarify it and to oxygenate it for the fishies. We were all set to go shopping this afternoon, to buy a corded pond pump to use until we were ready to drop the money on a solar-powered one. While I was putting on my shoes to go to Lowe's, the Man kind of cocked his head to one side and said, "You know, I think we still have the pump from the water feature in Vandenberg. It's probably in a box in the garage labeled 'water pumps.'" Sure enough, he dug around a little and he found it. There were three or four small pumps, just big enough for indoor fish tanks, and one great big one with a length of rubber garden hose attached to it. This was the one that was finally strong enough to lift enough water over our rock feature, after several failures. We only used it a month or two before we gave up on the concept, and it has sat in a box since 2001. We ran an extension cord over to the garden, sank the pump, and plugged it in. Eighteen years later, that baby still worked like a charm. So it saved us quite a bit of money keeping that thing around, moving it from base to base.

We still went on our errands, even though we needed much less at Lowe's. We went to my favorite plant nursery (the aforementioned naughty place) first, looking for water lilies to go in the pond. I'd rather have plants casting little bits of shade, not the giant flagstone slab there now. All of the fish hid in the depths of the pond all day, underneath the rock. We could barely see them, and only when we lifted up the heavy flagstone. At first I worried that word had gotten out on the Raccoon Alley Network that some unsuspecting suburbanite had carelessly left fish where no one was protecting them, but no, they hadn't swooped in yet. When we asked an employee of the nursery about lilypads, they said they wouldn't have any in stock until May. We will have to wait several weeks, leaving the flagstone in place I guess. There's so much to do to build the new patio, move the garden, etc, that it won't be so bad to let it go for a while.

There were signs on the rose building at the nursery, saying the roses were NOT yet for sale. They are very particular about keeping them in the greenhouse until proper planting time. No one is allowed to take them until they are ready. Customers are still allowed in the greenhouse to browse; they just aren't allowed to purchase. There was a sign on the window of the main door that said they would go on sale promptly at 8 am on 4/20. The "rush for the roses" they called it.

My very favorite color for roses is orange. I've loved them best since I was a teenager. I walked down the center aisle in the rose room, looking at each orange one, hoping to find the one I missed out on last year. I saw a couple of new ones that were quite tempting, like a Rosie the Riveter that had a little variegation in the petals, and a Pumpkin Patch that looked to match its name exactly. And then, there it was, right in front of me--the Lady of Shallott shrub rose. They had several. I'm so excited. You can bet your britches I will be lined up, ready to go, by a quarter to 8 on that Saturday morning two weeks from now. I might bring home one of the others too, if I can find a spot by then. Waiting is not my strong suit. This will be tough.

Moment of Zen

Inspirational song: Goldfish and Clowns (Fish)

Yesterday, the Man dug a big hole and sunk the pond liner in it. He filled it up with water to see whether it was level. And then we stared at it, and wondered what to do with it. It wold need a pump to keep mosquito larvae out of it. Or we could go a more natural route. At the risk of inviting every raccoon in the neighborhood to come over, looking for a snack, I immediately ran down the alternate route.

I got a scoop of feeder goldfish. It turned out to be four orange ones and two brown ones, the largest of which was about two inches long. The food and water conditioner ended up costing sixteen times as much as the fish themselves. But my favorite fish I ever had was from a scoop of feeder fish, a silver gourami we named "RTF" (for "random tropical fish"). He lived for years, well worth the twenty cent investment at the time. I'd like to be able to keep these little guys that long. They have the space to grow, assuming that the water is deep enough not to freeze all the way.

The bag of fish had to float a little while for the water temperatures to align. It was almost impossible to wait long enough. I reasoned that the sun on the bag would heat up the pet store water faster than the pond would cool it down, so after about 25 minutes, I turned the new crew loose in the pond. The cats were very interested in what I was doing, but only because I was outside, doing stuff. They sort of looked at the fish, too, but mostly it was a chance to be in the way of mommy in the garden. The black girls spent a little time threatening Hops through the fence, and the whitebelly boys helped me set rocks around the edge of the pond. Or rather, they got in the way a lot while I temped a handful of rocks in place. There's a big slab of flagstone at one end to provide a little extra shade for the little fishies. By the time I got tired and went inside, all six were hiding in the dark shadows. I hope they acclimate well and survive. I'll check on them in the morning. And maybe tomorrow I'll go get some lily pads to add extra sun protection, and maybe allow the bees to stop by for a drink too.

We lived in Vandenberg, California for about eight months in 2001. We tried to make a water feature at our little base house with a stack of rocks in a plastic-lined half oak barrel. We put in a small pond pump to keep the water flowing over the top of the rocks, and put a scoop of goldfish in it. It only took a few days for us to notice the number of fish was decreasing. We started keeping an eye on the back patio at night, and sure enough, a chubby little raccoon wandered up and went fishin'. I tried to be mad, but she was so cute, I ended up sneaking cat food to her once all the fish were gone.

That said, I'd prefer the raccoons stay on the trash can side of the fence. These fish are members of the family now. Or they will be once I find out whether they do okay in the pond in my yard. Just watching them today made me feel calmer.