In Memory of Lola Golightly

Saturday morning, I lost my best friend. My furry kid.


Although we were expecting this day to come relatively soon, it still hit us really hard and unexpectedly. Lola simply turned for the worst, literally overnight.

Saturday morning, she didn't come greet us at our bedside like she usually does, which was the first sign. I got nervous and looked around the house for her - finding her laying limp and despondent in her crate. I had a feeling she had been there all night, poor thing. I sat on the floor next to her for about an hour, petting her, talking to her, loving her, while Jon called several of our vets to see what we should do (although, truly, we already knew).

It was time.

We stayed with her until her last breath, holding her in our laps and telling her how much we loved her. I like to think she felt better knowing I was there with her until the end, falling asleep with me by her side, but it's always hard to know. So, we just pray we did the right thing, in the most humane act as possible.

Since then, I've had a really rough time coping, letting go, and accepting her death. It doesn't seem real. Every little thing in our house reminds me of her. Her toys are still strung about, her food dish sits waiting to be filled, her crate sits empty and bare. I found a toy of Logan's, all chewed up by Lola from God knows when, hiding under the couch.

But most of all, everything is very quiet without her following me around the house or trying to sneak any dropping of food in the kitchen as I make breakfast. I don't hear the familiar clicking of toenails against the hardwood or tags clinking together as she races up and down the hallway, in and out the doggy door.

About 5.5 years ago, when we picked her up from a nearby Hunting Preserve (she was the unwanted runt of the litter), the breeders "warned" us. Whoever she sat next to on the ride home would become her mom - and that I absolutely was. Even when she threw up on me, in the car, on the roadside, that entire first ride home, I was instantly in love. And she was of me.

I remember the first week we had her, I worked from home to help ease the transition. When talking to my boss at the time, I described her as "The Velcro Dog" - and I doubted whether I was actually up for such a challenging, dependent, must-be-by-my-side-at-all-times dog.

Little did I know, she would teach me a thing or two about enjoying constant companionship, having a fun loving attitude, and letting her ears down, flapping in the wind. :)

She was definitely full of love and energy, until the very end. And amazingly, she never really let the lymphoma get to her (or at least, never showed it) until her very last day.

We love you Lola. And we already sorely miss you.

I hope you may have endless lakes to swim in, chasing ducks (and squirrels and cats) to your heart's content. And, may you have plenty of warm laps to cuddle up next to at night.

In Memory of Lola Golightly
June 30 2004 - March 6 2010

Ride home from the Hastings Island Hunting Preserve

11.5 Weeks Old

Mommy and Lola bonding time (first night home)


"The Velcro Dog"

First trip to Lake Tahoe (Sept 2004)

Pointing the sprinkler

Yes, we actually dressed her up for her first Halloween
(but didn't do it again after this) ;-)

Bonding time for the two pups

The teenage years (Nov 2004)

Uncle Nathan and Lola playing in the snow

Right at home stretched out on Mommy's lap

Looking like an old lady (Oct 2005)

Mama is soon to be hitched (Mar 2006)


Lola has always been known to chew (and destroy) anything she sinked her teeth into...

What she did best - Run, Lola, Run!


Taking over Daddy's spot in bed


Sunbathing (Jul 2007)

One week before we moved into our new house and Logan was born.
Not sure which was more traumatizing! ;-) (Dec 2007)

She meets a worthy contender for Mommy's lap



The stand off. (Sept 2008)




Not feeling so hot after a Chemo session (Feb 2009)

Logan's first encounter with snow, and unfortunately, Lola's last.

My two darlings.

Just finished her (first) Chemotherapy program and in full remission (Jul 2009)

Looking for some spare lap space on Preggo Mama - again (Jan 2010)

Some of her meds turned her into a sneaky counter surfer!

Begging Daddy for more playtime :)

Lola's last road trip, to visit some of Jon's family in LA

This is how we show our love Lola.

Like this.

And like this.

We love you sweetie. You will be missed, but never forgotten.

Would you like some cheese with that w(h)ine?

Stress usually motivates me and keeps me going, but last week it knocked me over, straddled me and mercilessly pummeled me deeper into the ground. I felt suffocated, overwhelmed, tired and emotional. I was quickly unraveling at the seams and felt like giving up.

Uncle, Uncle! Stop beating me into submission. I'm done.

Looking back, we had a lot going on to tip me over the edge. I visited with a neurosurgeon about possible back surgery which was upsetting, not because of potentially going under the knife (which is upsetting in and of itself) but because he wouldn't. My case isn't clear cut (ha!) enough and he wants to run several more tests first to get a better diagnosis. I left his office in tears, more frustrated than ever. And really wishing House actually did exist. Perhaps he could at least figure out what the hell is wrong with my broken back. (It was also frustrating since I couldn't seem to connect with my hot-shit doctor who seemed more robot than human and, I really need to connect with the guy who may be cutting into my back...)

Every single night, Jon had to work late. Extremely late. Like, not only missing dinner and putting Logan to bed and spending some quality time with me late, but crawling into bed at 4am late. Consistently. My husband was having an affair with his work and I missed him.

Logan came down with a 24-hour fever. He wasn't eating and kept waking up throughout the night. He insisted on being rocked, held and comforted. Because Jon was working late hours (see above), he barely had energy to shut off the lights before stumbling to bed. Because I was the primary caretaker and keeping the house in order each night after work, I barely had energy to lock the doors before calling it a night. (I just noticed yesterday that his lower right canine tooth may be working its way through; not sure I'm looking forward to more teething right now!)

Once Jon's work calmed down, he headed off to the gaming conference that he had planned on attending many moons ago. But, because of the rough week, late nights and feverish child, I wasn't sure I could juggle caring for Logan on my own for a full day, let alone two or three. It was the start of a long weekend and I was already losing steam.

We were also dog sitting our friends' two yellow labs, I was working both early and late hours managing two big client launches and attending an all day training.

Oh! Let's not forget about my chronic back pain. It hasn't gone away, I just don't talk about it. What's there to talk about? It's still around, nagging and annoying me in every way possible but slowly becoming a part of my "normal" life. I'm actually handling the pain fairly well, but it's mentally exhausting and can really wear you down after awhile. (It's worse when Aunt Flow visits and of course, she hit me over the head this weekend as well. Yippeee!)

But all of that was a walk in the park compared to the emotional roller coaster ride that literally turned our marriage upside down the minute Jon and I started arguing over discussing our Estate Planning questionnaire the other night (because who really wants to talk about when you die, really?). And before you know it, Jon and I had one of the larger fights of the century our relationship.

Several hours later, after we had both calmed down, we talked late into the night. We ended up talking about how stressful the last week had been for me; how hard it was on us, on our marriage. I got weepy (again). And just as I launched into specifics of my neurosurgeon visit, asking Jon "what do you think?" I heard the familiar snoring and catching of his breath.

Jon had fallen asleep.

Given the fight we had just been through and the opening up that I was doing, I suppose any normal person would have been pissed at their husband falling asleep mid-conversation. But you know what? I didn't care. I was glad we were back to talking (even if he fell asleep on me!). And, more than that, it actually felt good to get a lot of my concerns, my fears, my stress, off my chest.

I fell asleep exhausted, but smiling knowing we were already in a better state than just a few hours previously, and hey! we managed to clean out a bulk of the garage (true Spring cleaning) earlier that day which was amazing, so take THAT Mr. Stress! Maybe I'm not giving up that easily, after all.

I guess sometimes you just need a mini-breakdown to right yourself back on course.

Good-bye

He's leaving me.

I knew the minute I got home and received the news. I just had a bad feeling at the pit of my stomach.

The man who's seen me naked on a regular basis.

The man I share my deepest darkest secrets with.

The man who has shared in my biggest joys and my deepest sorrows.

The man I call when I'm not feeling well.... who calms me down when I'm stressed out.

The man whom, when I found him, I just knew we were the right match.

The first person to see Logan when he was born.

That sonofabitch He's leaving me....

My OB is moving on - and we couldn't be more bummed of the news.

Something about "giving back" through International Medicine and "treating individuals who are often poor, displaced, unloved and ignored" - as if that is more rewarding than delivering automatically well-off babies, born into suburban Silicon Valley homes.

As if.

I suppose it was bound to happen sometime, I just didn't think it would happen this soon. So, what the hell am I going to do now?

(We wish you well, but will miss you dearly Doc. *sniff sniff*)

Seven Stages

Today would have been our first scheduled ultrasound to see the new little baby. And, just when I had thought I was finally coming to accept events over the past week or two, another wave of sadness has hit me.

It's interesting what grief will do to a person. And, how each person deals with it so differently. Without realizing it, I've slowly been working my way through the seven stages of grief. I know there will still be some setbacks, like today (when I had to explain to my back doctor that my increased back pain was due to my recent miscarriage). But overall, I am feeling SO. MUCH. BETTER.

Thank you to everyone for your kind words and support. I haven't had a chance to answer each of you personally - it's tough and I tend to hole myself up when the emotions get too overwhelming, but know that I appreciate it and thank you all from the bottom of my heart.

In no particular order (other than alphabetical)... :)

1. Acceptance. As I said before, I know that things are for the best and this was Nature's way of taking care of a little baby who wouldn't have been able to survive on his own in our harsh world. I've come to terms with the fact that I accidentally (wonderfully!) got pregnant, and that unfortunately, it didn't work out. And, amazingly enough, when I am not pulled down by the depression, I actually look brightly toward the future. And wistfully dream about the next little baby to add to our family. Thinking about getting pregnant again tells me I've hit acceptance. And I'm ready for whatever comes next.
2. Anger. I don't think I've felt particularly angry. Sad, yes. Devastated, absolutely. But not angry. I've read that in natural death, anger is not as severe (as in cases where the death could have been prevented). But, if there was any twinge of anger, it was that Jon didn't seem as affected by the loss as I was. I found out, however, the loss did hurt him too. Appearances are everything, and if there's one thing I've learned, it's that everyone grieves and shows their feelings in oh so different ways!
   
3. Denial. I started this one LONG before I ever miscarried. I was in denial that I was even pregnant! :) This can't be happening to me, I thought. I can't possibly be pregnant. And then, I miscarried. And again, all I thought was, this can't be happening to me. I can't possibly be having a miscarriage. It was so surreal. I would (and still do) sometimes conveniently "forget" I was ever pregnant or ever miscarried. Talk about a bad dream.
   
4. Depression. The biggie. The sadness I have felt from this loss is overwhelming. And, I have felt hopeless to boot. As soon as I started bleeding, immediately, I felt empty inside. I literally felt like I was dying. A part of me was dying. And, altho I am doing much better now, I'm not quite sure I have dug myself out of this dark hole just yet. Because, I find myself still trying to fill the emptiness inside. With words (especially when I cannot sleep late at night). With distracting errands and activities throughout the day since I cannot concentrate on anything else. With food. Food has actually been the biggest symptom that tells me I'm not 100% better yet - since I have struggled every day so far, with what I am eating, what I am putting in my mouth. That, conscious or not, I am physically trying to fill the emptiness inside. And, I know this is definitely not good for my diet, not good for my weight loss goals. And yet, I don't really give a shit right now.
5. Fear. What if this happens to us again? Will I be able to deal with another loss? Can I ever get pregnant again? Do I *want* to get pregnant again?
   
6. Guilt. Was there anything I could have done differently, to prevent the miscarriage? Was it because I was on Aleve morning, noon and night? Was it because I let Logan climb on me like a jungle gym and use my belly as a stepping stool to push off of? Was it because of the many ultrasounds I had during PT? Was I exposed to too much scatter in the room, when I held Logan's hips down for his recent x-ray? But more than any of those things, what I feel most guilty about, is feeling better.
7. Shock. I have been operating in a fog, sometimes efficiently, sometimes not. But, I'm coping regardless. And, I'm pretty sure any shrink would tell me the fog is protecting me from more serious mental problems or instability. That this is the way humans cope during a very devastating time. Whatever the explanation, I am still in shock. Yes. I am still in complete, utter, disbelief.
   

I know that this loss may disappear as a faint memory 50 years from now. But I don't want to forget about this little one. Not now. Not yet. Not ever.

And so, there are many reasons why I write in this blog. But most of all, it's been very therapeutic. I can share my stories. I can record my stories. I can preserve my stories.

~~~~~~~~

My OB actually apologized when he found out we were leaving for our vacation so shortly after the miscarriage. He told me this was no way to start out a big fun trip. I suppose one could look at it that way. However, I'm actually really looking forward to our trip. I'm looking forward to it more than I did before, if that is even possible. Because, as well as I feel like I am doing physically, mentally, emotionally, I still need to get away. I need to get as far away as possible. I need to get off the grid for a little bit.

I need to relax, smile, soak up the sunshine and laugh as Logan squishes sand between his toes. I need to enjoy our close friends' company. I need to rediscover my love with Jon.

I need to heal.

What better place, than New Zealand?

Life and Death

Just last week, I had written out a beautifully touching, witty, fun post when we (officially) found out that we were pregnant. Unfortunately, this is not that post.

Within the past week or so, I was riding one of the biggest emotional roller coaster rides of my life. I had an idea that I was pregnant for a number of weeks, but resisted taking a test to make it official. When I finally peed on a stick I held my breath while reading the result. And, upon seeing those two little lines, I suddenly had a wave of emotions wash over me. Relief, nervousness, excitement, elation, and more than anything else probably, overwhelming fear.

It took most of that day for the news to sink in. Jon and I started discussing how we’d need to change our lifestyle, our finances, our furniture! In order to make room for a new little bundle of joy. How close will the babies be in age? Just 17 months – YIKES. It was a conversation we hadn’t planned on having for quite some time, yet I found myself enjoying it, nonetheless.

By the following day, we were getting excited. We were both on board, and whether too soon or not, we were ready to welcome this little one into our family in just 9 short months. I skipped through the rest of the week at work happier than ever. I had a dirty little secret that was making me smile inside and out. I was DYING to tell the world. WE’RE PREGNANT! But, I held back. We had told my dad about the news, but no one else, not even my mother (she was out of town), nor our best friends.

As the days flipped by, I could tell I was getting more and more emotionally attached to this little one. I called our doctor, spoke to him about some of my initial concerns, and made an appt for our first ultrasound. I got a journal (same one I had for Logan) and started filling in the dates to calculate when we conceived, and when we were due (May 1st). I signed up for the weekly pregnancy newsletter. I felt light "flutters" which were probably nothing more than gas this early in the game, yet it brought back so many old happy memories of what it was like to be pregnant! I started re-arranging the house furniture and rooms, within my head, to make room for another baby. I even went to a “Pregnant Mom’s Lunch”, lying to everyone that I wasn’t pregnant but just there to give my friend some moral support (which was true). I obsessed over when we should tell everyone our shocking news – our family, our close friends, everyone else on the Internets. I debated back and forth whether we should spill the beans before, or after, our trip to New Zealand.

I started looking at the decorations in Logan’s room, wondering if we were going to have a girl (and whether I’d need to buy additional, more girlie, stuff?) or if we were going to have another boy. I thought long and hard about whether I’d prefer having another boy or a girl. And, came to the conclusion that, I honestly didn’t care. Whereas before, I was leaning toward wanting a girl (because I thought I’d be able to relate to my first born more if she was a girl); now I wasn’t so sure. Could I relate to a little girl anymore, now that I have a boy? Wouldn’t it be fun for Logan to have a little brother to rough house with? Maybe two boys would be great fun. But, chances are, we wouldn’t have a third, so would I be okay with never having a daughter? Yes, all these thoughts and more, raced through my head. I even started thinking about names, all over again. And, which ones I liked best for a girl and which for a boy.

A little over a week ago, I was scared shitless about what our lives would be like with a second baby added to the mix. A few days later, I was impatient for the months to just skim by so we could meet Logan’s younger sibling.

So, you can imagine, how my highest of highs, suddenly plummeted to the lowest of lows, when I started bleeding Saturday morning. And, shortly after, I started cramping and feeling pretty achy all across my hips and lower back. Though some women do bleed early on in their pregnancy, I somehow - instantly - knew this was not good. Visions of sugarplums no longer danced in my head. I wanted to crawl into a dark little black hole and cry myself to sleep instead.

My OB happened to be on-call, so I was lucky enough to talk to him about what was happening. Unfortunately, since it’s still fairly early in the pregnancy, there’s not much we could do but sit and wait. I had some blood drawn on Saturday, and some more drawn yesterday, to monitor the pregnancy hormone, hCG, and see whether it was rising (still pregnant) or falling (miscarried).

It fell. Dramatically.

But I knew it would. I had hoped it wouldn't, but I knew it would. The bleeding and cramping has continued, throughout the weekend and this week. I have struggled going about my normal day. I have trouble carrying on any sort of real conversation. I keep thinking back to the past week of wonderful happiness and day-dreaming I had done. And how none of that is going to come true. I'm in a daze, not believing I've actually miscarried. I lost my hope, my desire, my will to live. I’ve been consumed by a dark depression; tears won’t stop streaming down my face.

And, I’ve had the mother of all headaches.

I know that, in the end, everything happens for a reason and it’s all for the best. That it was a blessing when we accidentally got pregnant but that we actually weren’t really ready. I know miscarriages are nature’s way of taking care of the unhealthy babies that are having problems developing. I know they are also a sign that the mother’s body isn’t ready for a(nother) pregnancy (especially after a traumatic delivery like I had with Logan, I'm sure). I know I should think positively, that this is nature's way of righting our course, that it’s not the right time just yet, that we now have a chance to plan the second one so much better, and that it will give us a chance at creating a stronger and healthier baby next time around.

I know, in my mind, that’s all true, yet none of it makes me feel any better, nor makes the grieving process any easier. My heart refuses to believe any of it and is instead screaming at me. Scraping and pounding on my chest inside.

But I know, that just like I embraced this pregnancy whole-heartedly in just a few short days, the pain will also, somehow, slowly melt away. That time is the best medicine. That writing it out here is about the only thing that’s made me feel any better so far.

That and, hugging my beautiful son, loving husband and pillow that muffles my cries and soaks up the days’ tears each night.

Lost and Found

We had a HUGE scare last night.

Jon and I came home last night from work to discover Odin missing. For those of you who don't know, Odin is the first puppy that Jon and I have owned together. Our first kid. And, I didn't know exactly how much that meant, until he wasn't waiting for us when we got home.

We're not sure what happened - we can only guess that he snuck out sometime yesterday morning as the two of us were getting ready for work, loading up the cars, loading up Logan, and he ran out the front door without either of us seeing him. All the doors/windows were shut/locked when we got home and Lola was here, just not Odin! :(

We searched all over the neighborhood and nearby streets. Jon went door to door to let neighbors know he was lost and to see if anyone had found him. Unfortunately, no luck. One neighbor said they saw a dog that looked similar to Odin's description running down their street toward Hamilton (a HUGE street!!).

He didn't have his collar on him (though he DOES have a microchip) so we were very worried he was either going to get hit by a car or get stolen. He *is* a beautiful show dog, afterall. My imagination was also running wild with the potential repercussions of an intact dog running loose, as well.

While Jon was out posting up flyers everywhere, I stayed home with Logan and seriously was going crazy. I thought I kept hearing Odin's cough or click of his toenails on the floor and would race outside looking up and down the street, flicking a flashlight in the bushes, calling his name. The longer the night dragged on, the more it hit me.

WE LOST ODIN.

I bawled uncontrollably a couple of times. How were we going to deal if we had lost him forever???

Neither of us slept well at all last night.

Then, this morning, as luck would have it, the local church minister called us and said he saw Odin wandering around their church grounds yesterday morning and he had called animal control. So, Jon and Nathan headed over to the local animal shelter to see if they had picked him up.

While Jon and Nathan were waiting at the animal shelter, Nathan checked on craigslist (the one place we DIDN'T think to look) and some lady had posted saying she found a dog, near our area, and to call her.

So, Nathan gave her Odin's description and also sent her pics - she said he described him to the "t" (she hadn't checked her email for the pics yet) and that as soon as she got home tonight, she'd call Jon to pick him up.

I just received a text from Jon, and a picture from Nathan, of the Daddy-Doggy reunion.

THANK GOODNESS. I couldn't be more relieved.