Death and Hot Men

Farrah Fawcett, constantly underrated and ignored in life, despite some kick ass acting roles, was upstaged even in death. This week, Farrah succumbed to cancer. The one thing I hoped for was that when her body finally released her, there would be a lot of coverage about her cancer. I hoped it would provoke important discussions, knowledge sharing, and create a push amongst researchers to really pay attention to these rare cancers. Seems that's not going to happen. I'm relieved it's over for her. That is one awful, painful way to go. What I will remember about Farrah is her courage, strength and efforts to live life on her terms. Really, the woman was and is an inspiration. Any woman who walks out on her husband because he expects her to be home to cook him dinner is awesome in my book. Ryan.....ehhh, that was just hot sex most likely. She was way too good for him. Rest in Peace Farrah.

Mere hours after Farrah died, Michael Jackson died. The world nearly stopped. To be honest, I loved his Jackson 5 music more than much of anything else he did. I liked his heart most of all. And let's just forget about the controversial stuff. He seemed a troubled soul who was a perfectionist but had the heart of a naive child. It seems destined that the world would beat the crap out of him. But didn't he show us all? Talent. Echoes of Elvis Presley. Rest in Peace Michael. I love the fact that his last night was spent on stage, rehearsing and dancing up a storm and enjoying himself. That's something great to experience right before the end. Few get the chance for a last hurrah.

Slight detour because I must tell you........today I learned that Clive Owen is hot Hot HOT to most of the world because, well he just is, but also, he looks like Elvis. Elvis + Clive Owen. I saw a photo of Elvis from that tv special he did in the 60's or 70's....black leather jacket....very handsome. Suddenly it hit me - holy crap, Elvis looks like Clive Owen! Hot men.

Oh, and this guy.....



















That's Owen Van Natta, new CEO of MySpace. Holy crap! That's one HOT CEO ! I've never ever seen anyone with that title who looks like this guy. CEO's are typically not hot. Anyway.....this is our only happy this week apparently. Or all month.

In other news, tomorrow is 5 years to the day that Mom and I moved into this house. And tomorrow is the anniversary of my sister's death. And now, tomorrow, someone new is moving in - a roommate. We're a good fit we think. My new roommate is a nurse AND has a similar life background to mine. And she has a cat. She had two cats, but recently had to put one to sleep. See? Both our cats are without their brothers, so even the cats will each have a new roommate. Fingers crossed that they like each other.

It just hit me tonight that our house purchase closed on June 25th, 2004. That's the photo I have of Mom unlocking the front door. And then it hit me that tomorrow was the day we moved in. Tomorrow. Cripes. The timing on this roommate thing is weird. Honestly, it's reminding me of that synchronicity thing that was going on after Mom and Dad died.

So while she is moving in with the help of her family, I am going to the cemetery. Mom's peonies are blooming and almost done blooming, so best to get some out there now. Besides, I haven't been able to visit except for once this month. Too much going on and then too freaking hot outside.

Tomorrow.

After that, only 3 more days of this most shitty month. My roommate and I are both hoping July is slower, calmer, and finally, peaceful. We've both had a hell of a month or two.

Hope you're all doing well. Go listen to some Michael Jackson or the Jackson 5, or watch a Farrah Fawcett movie, or just stare at that guy above. Honestly, he could melt ice cream. Even his name is hot. Good heavens.

Musings on talking about illness and death

Long time no blog. This morning, I'm frustrated a bit and compelled to write. First time in ages.

Last night, the Farrah Fawcett documentary, about her struggle with cancer and treatment, was aired on tv. I watched it of course. I applaud anyone who blows the lid off things and shows the gritty truth. Apparently, most people would rather not know and tend to blame the person suffering. That's one of the things that makes me wonder about human beings.

Farrah did a great service to anyone suffering any cancer that's rare, isn't researched well because it's rare, and especially a cancer which hits the liver. Because when cancer hits the liver, there's not a lot you can do. It's extremely hard to beat unless it's caught very early. But it's rarely caught early because there are usually no signs until it's too late. Doctors mean well but the suffering and damage from treatment is not expressed by them. We only know when we end up in it or watch someone close to us in it. How many of us would have made different choices had we had ALL the facts?

Anyone who reads my blogs knows I spill all. I think it's important. When I'm facing difficult times, I want to know the facts. What's ahead, what will it do, what are the consequences, etc. I need to know all of that so I can make the best decisions for me and loved ones. But I guess most people are not like that and find it hard to follow stories like this. Instead, they lash out at the person willing to share, bare all, be open and honest about it.

Farrah and her family and friends are being bashed widely. I just don't get that. I allow those who prefer to not have the details to shield themselves. It's important to temper what we expose ourselves to; it's important to know our personal limits. But we can't control and shouldn't try to control or hate those who are willing and able, for whatever reason, to go beyond what "people" deem acceptable. All you have to do is stop reading or watching the tv. I do that at times myself for certain topics and events in life. But for those who do put it all out there, particularly regarding health issues, I'm eternally grateful. Honestly, words cannot express how important and valuable that is to me. So this is one person who needs that courage from those who are willing to open up so completely. I need it because it helps me handle life better. I want and need to be informed as well as I can be, just in case.

I would have thought at least people would be able and willing to give Farrah credit. She made a great documentary. She showed exactly how it is and she was herself. Some may not like her personality but even so, can they not give the woman any respect or credit? It astounds me.

They take issue with the fact that she had the money to fly to Germany for treatments. At the end of 3 years of fighting, the result was it was pointless perhaps. But for herself, she needed to take it that far, and she had the money, so more power to her. What was more important to me in all of that was proving that no matter how hard you fight some things, you just won't beat it. So instead of moaning about most of us not having money for those attempts, I'm grateful to know it likely wouldn't make a difference.

About the often used phrase "fighting cancer". That gets to me at times. It implies you have an equal chance to win. With cancer, especially rare cancers, you don't have an equal chance. Because they haven't nailed down cancer in the first place. We don't know our opponent fully. We are fighting an invasive shadow. To pretend or say it's some honourable battle is ridiculous. It's an horrific unfair life experience which strikes too many people of all ages. It's definitely not a fair fight. So, "fighting cancer"....pfft. Please. That thing knows our DNA in a way we can't begin to fathom, particularly in rare cancers. We're no more fighting it than trying to avoid severely suffering because we're afraid. Let's call it what it is - nobody wants to suffer. Nobody wants their life cut short. We want choice! That's the reality. That's how I see it anyway.

From my own experiences and now seeing those mirrored in Farrah's documentary, I ask myself these questions:-

Do I want to suffer that much and that long? No.

Do I want to subject myself to something for 3 years which adds more suffering than I would have if I just stick close to home and put my faith in the treatment here? No.

Will I be pissed if I die earlier than if I subjected myself to every invasive thing under the sun for one more day or week or month? Hell no!

But that's me and it is my choice. The bonus in that is that it's also everyone else's individual choice. You can choose what you have to experience in this "fight". If you have all the information, you're more prepared to make a choice that's more true to yourself. That's huge to me. I want everyone to be able to decide what they fight and how they fight for themselves. They have that right, no matter who they are. It's not about Farrah's money. It's about cancer and how bad it is and what it does to a person and their loved ones. I'm amazed that people don't see this.

When Mom was dying, she said to me "I'm sorry you got my life". She was referring to the fact that friends betray us, loved ones aren't there as they need to be, and you can't really count on anyone. Except each other - we knew we could count on each other because both of us flew into the face of deep stuff and fought it. Sometimes we talked about fighting against death and illness. We both said, when we got a chance to go, we're going. I mean, really, people are hell bent on ripping each other apart more than being loving and supportive. Why would a person want to stay in a world where people are so callous? If this is evolution, we're failing badly.

Farrah and her friends and family handled this with so much love and courage. They did the best they could. It may not be the best by other's standards, but that doesn't matter. They did the best *they* could, which blew me away. They really were there for her in the way *she* needed and wanted them to be. And that's what should inspire us, what we should all aim for in our relationships.

It may be uncomfortable for the majority to watch and witness. But I know that there are some people like me out there, who want to know, who want all the facts. And the only time we get that information is when people like Farrah are brave enough to say and visually show it all. Or when people like me blog it, even while others say it's tacky or disgusting or attention getting. It's none of those things. It's necessary. For all of us, it's necessary.

That's all I want to say. It's not the popular public opinion but when have I ever been part of that anyway?

Teddy (Theodore) 1993-2009

Teddy, taken Sunday, April 5th, 2009. He was squished up against me cuddling on the sofa. I got up to take some photos of him. I know, he looks fine doesn't he?

Yesterday, Monday, April 6th, 2009, Teddy was put to sleep at 11:45 a.m. I was with him. The past week, I kept asking Mom to please be there for Teddy. And I was talking to Teddy his last two days about looking for his Grandma and/or bright white light. Maybe ridiculous but it's all I could think of to try to help him prepare. Actually, I think he was prepared to go a month ago but was trying to help *me* prepare. He had this way of turning his head back to look me right in the eyes when I was cuddling him. It was as if he was trying to tell me something. He'd never done that before. But everyday, for his last month, he looked me in the eyes with so much love it broke my heart.

On an overcast day in August, 1994, Teddy appeared on my ground floor apartment balcony. He just sat there with his back to us, as if he just wanted a safe place to rest. There had been severe thunderstorms the night before and that morning. Morgan had only become mine in June, 1994 and was a happy spazzy kitten. Morgan took one look at Teddy and lost his little mind. He was in love instantly.

I went outside to try to coax Teddy away. No idea what his name was. He didn't make a sound. He followed me and walked away from the building. Then I went back inside. He was back in minutes on the balcony again. Morgan started to dance. My sister called just then. It was starting to get dark. I told her about this cat. He just wouldn't leave, not even when I closed the door and the blinds. I couldn't bear leaving him out there as he seemed scared and tired of being scared. So I called the animal rescue service. They told me to bring him inside and put him in the bathroom with the door shut and they would pick him up.

Teddy came in quietly and walked right behind me. He stopped at Morgan's food and water and had some. He looked thin. Then he followed me down the hall and I put him in the bathroom. I let the little one out of the spare room. We didn't know if Teddy was diseased etc. so I was told to keep them separate. The animal guy arrived and Teddy walked right into the carrier. Still not a peep. Just a sad look on his face. This cat seemed docile, lonely, and sad, just resigned to sorrow. But such a sweet animal. Gentle.

The animal service had a policy of exterminating cats unclaimed after 3 days. I called everyday and told them to NOT put him down because I might take him. Nobody claimed him or even asked about him. On the third day, I picked him up. They charged me $60.00. They told me to keep him separate from my kitten for a few days to give them time to adjust slowly. So Teddy came home and was put in my bedroom and I shut the door.

Morgan, the kitten, knew there was company and he wanted to meet it. Just an hour later, I checked in on Teddy and left the door open. Morgan hopped right up on the bed next to Teddy and the rest is history. They were inseparable from that moment for the rest of Teddy's life. There was no fighting. They cleaned each other, cuddled and slept with paws wrapped around each other. Morgan did spazzy dances in front of Teddy and Teddy would look at me as if to say "he's retarded right?" That's one of my favourite memories.

They had told me Teddy was very very underweight and needed to eat. So he ate. And ate. And continued to eat anything he could get to for the rest of his life. It was as if he was afraid the food might not return. They said he was an indoor cat that somebody probably moved and just left him behind. That made me sick, to learn that anyone would do that. Apparently people do that a lot in the world. Somebody had him as a kitten and treated him badly. He was afraid of newspapers and keys. I had no idea what his given name was but to me, he was a teddy bear, so I named him Theodore after Alvin and the Chipmunks Theodore; Teddy for short. It suited him perfectly. Both Morgan and Teddy, looking almost exactly alike, with the M's on their foreheads, reminded me of the Chipmunks. And I love chipmunks. So Teddy was ours now.

At first I was sad because Morgan had gone from cuddling me to preferring Teddy. I was jealous. I'd lost my baby to another cat. But I was also happy because they had each other while I was at work.

Each time I moved, Teddy would hide under the sofa, seemingly afraid I'd leave him behind or put him out to be alone in the world. We'd move all the stuff and then I'd take both cats with me in the car. Teddy always knew he was safe. I promised him food and shelter and love and he always had that. I dumped my fake christmas tree and bought a fresh new tree every year. They loved the christmas tree.

The only irritant was a byproduct of the 3 days Teddy spent in a cage at that animal centre. He learned to meow. And howl. The timid cat I invited into the bathroom to wait, who never meowed once or made any sound, was gone. Teddy had learned to talk. He never stopped talking. When we moved in with Mom she thought it was wonderful. I warned her, "Don't encourage him or he won't shut up". She ignored me and talked to Teddy. Well, after about a year Mom was saying "meow meow meow" back to Teddy and asking him why he was always talking? It was funny.I told her, "I did warn you". Every morning, crack of dawn, sometimes pre-dawn, "Meow. MEow. MEOW! Meow meow meow."

The two of them worked out a system with everything they did. I had two litter boxes for them. By themselves, they decided to pee in one and poop in the other. Rarely did I find mixed waste in their boxes. They also tag teamed me (and Mom) often. Every morning, one would sit on me and try all manner of things to wake me up. The other would sit in the hall and wait. Sometimes Teddy would jump on the bed and meow in my ear until I gave up. That was actually better than being swatted in the head by Morgan. But where one was, the other was hiding in backup mode. If Teddy couldn't get me up, he'd leave and next it would be Morgan.

The cleaned each other a lot. Their ears and heads especially as that's a place a cat cannot clean by itself. They tried cleaning me too sometimes. And Mom. And anyone else who showed them love.

Teddy was by Mom's side a lot during her illness, moreso than Morgan if I remember right. Teddy was the best older brother a cat could have and the best child. Morgan is my spoiled little furball who I raised from 5 weeks old. Teddy was about 10 months old they said when I claimed him. So Teddy's birthday, counting back, would have been in November 1993. I used my birthdate in November as his. Morgan was born on Mom's birthday in 1994.

I always felt better when away because I knew they had each other at least. They lived through an apartment break in, which terrified them. They lived through a few moves. They lived with my Mom's and Sister's cats without a problem. They loved everybody. Morgan tried to get outside a few times. Teddy wanted no part of that. I could have the door open wide and leave it, and Teddy wasn't moving an inch near it. He knew he had a home and wasn't risking being left out alone again.

The funniest thing from the early days with Teddy was the furry fake mice. The first time he got some, his first Christmas with us, he attacked them all and had their tails ripped off in seconds flat. He thought they were real. He loved those fake mice all his life. And the tails were always the first to go. He knew by then they weren't real but still. Memories from his survival when he was left outside still remained.

Teddy was the squisher. He always wanted to be on a body part. Mom used to say he could push her right down to the edge of the sofa because he kept squishing so hard next to her. Mom spoiled them worse than I had. But Mom also invented the blanket tent. Teddy taught Morgan to drink water. Morgan didn't know how but Teddy showed him. They spent hours together in nice weather, laying in front of open patio or garden doors, watching critters I fed in the yard or on the balcony. I wanted the critters nearby for the cats entertainment. They loved it. Teddy loved laying in the sun. He'd plop right down in front of the screen door and pass out in the sun all spring and summer. First thing in the morning, feed and water and open the back door. And they'd eat and then be planted there all day and night. In the dark hours, I put the deck lights on and they stayed there all night too. Watching, sniffing, sleeping together.

In the last year, Teddy felt the cold, which was new for him. He never used to like to be covered up. But since last fall, he wanted to be wrapped up all the time. At Christmas every year, he loved laying under the tree. As soon as it came home and I put it up, he was under it. That was his favourite place. I wrapped him in a red fleece blanket last Christmas so he could be warm down there.

I remember their first Christmas. I had a fake tree back then. I was home for lunch as the office was close. Everyday, the tree was knocked down on the ground. I knew Morgan had been climbing it. Teddy wasn't a climber unless he wanted to be on the windowsill. I set up a cat post there for him to step up to the window. Anyway, Teddy would not go near the tree. I finally anchored it to the wall with string so Morgan could climb to his heart's content. Teddy would sit a foot away from the tree. He kept looking at me to see if I was going to give Morgan hell. I never did. I loved it. I wanted them to do whatever they wanted. It was that first Christmas that Teddy let me hug him finally. After nearly 4 months of keeping a distance somewhat, he finally trusted that I was safe and wouldn't hurt him. Until then, I could pat his head but not much else. After seeing Morgan get into all manner of crap and me not yelling at him, in December 1994 Teddy jumped up on the sofa and cuddled with me. He let me hug him, and pet him for over an hour. After that, he came to bed with us every night and they took turns getting cuddles. Seriously, I had to go bed half an hour early to get the cuddle shifts done before everyone was ready for sleep.

And the toys. The christmas stockings with their names embroidered by me, filled with treats. Big wrapped presents they got to open. In those early years, they got birthday parties too.

This past Christmas, the bed which Mom had bought for Teddy (suede no less) was toast. He lived in that thing. So I bought them each a new bed. It was so funny. They each crawled into their own new bed on the floor after presents and treats and passed out. They loved their beds. Sometimes they switched beds or both crawled into one bed together.

The last week or so, Teddy stopped going in his new comfy bed. He wanted the blanket tent. Or he wanted to be in the dark in the basement on the sofa or under it. He only managed bites of food twice a day - unheard of for Teddy. He was hardly drinking any water. But he still came up to bed at night. Morgan seemed to know Teddy was sick and needed time with me. Morgan gave up cuddles so Teddy could have them all night. And we did. Teddy and I spooned, him wrapped up to his neck, purring with his head on the pillow.

Yesterday morning, he cuddled with me for an hour on the sofa. The vet had an emergency so we had time to wait there. We cuddled for an hour at the vet in a private room. Finally it was time. He left with a last little snore. I kept telling him how much he was loved, how much we were going to miss him, and to look for his Grandma. I told him I was sorry he was sick and suffering but nothing could be done. And I didn't want him to suffer anymore. I asked him to wait for me. I pet him and said "I love you so much Teddy" while we stared into each other eyes, our noses nearly touching. Then he was gone.

They're cremating him and returning Teddy to me in a cedar box. They're taking a print of his paw for me and I'll get that in a little plaque with his name painted on it.

"Are you okay to drive?" the vet asked me. All the staff hugged me. It seemed like all the staff. I left him with his blanket knowing his body was in good hands.

For the first time, when I came in the house, Morgan didn't come to meet me. He stayed upstairs under his blanket. I put the carrier in the basement. I took a pill. It wasn't until I was sitting on the sofa in a stupor that Morgan appeared. Morgan was exhausted it seemed. We spent all day on the sofa. Me laying under a blanket I knitted, which Teddy loved, and Morgan stretched full out on top of me. Morgan only lays like that when he's had a really stressful episode. We were like that for hours. Both of us exhausted, sad, and needing each other. Morgan hasn't left my side yet really for any length of time.

The vet said, with the fluids for Morgan, he should live another year hopefully. One year.

I'm never doing this again. I can't take anymore loss. Teddy was so hard to say goodbye to and I still have this in my future one more time. My brother asked if I was getting a kitten. No. No more pets. I'm too sick. It's not fair to them. And I can't bear losing anymore loved family members. I can't be responsible for new life. I can barely manage my own health. Going to the hospital, I always worry about the pets at home. I sacrifice my health for them but it's getting to a point where my body won't even let me do that anymore. Besides, nobody could match Teddy or Morgan. Best kids, best pets, I could have ever hoped for. I don't know how I got so lucky to have them.

15 years. An interesting 15 years. Started and killed a career. Happy times, illness times, sad times, Teddy was there for all of it. I've been there to watch and comfort and aide putting 4 pets to sleep, and three humans die slowly. I've done enough. My soul can't take anymore.

Now it's back to me and Morgan. I've got to find happy for him. But this week, we're just cuddling and vegging and not doing anything else. Teddy is a great loss. For such an undemanding kitty as Teddy, his absence is enormously felt.

Teddy having some milk his last morning. He couldn't eat much so I started giving him some milk the last few days. I'm glad I did that at least. He was nervous because I was right there with the camera. He ran into the basement shortly after I snapped this last pic.

Cats health update

An update for those who love Morgan and/or Teddy. We saw the vet today. I ended up taking both cats in because the little one needed more subcutaneous fluids.

Unfortunately, the prognosis for Teddy is not good. The cancer has spread in his mouth. The vet also suspects it's in his nasal cavity or close to that. And poor Teddy has a cold and a sore throat. The vet said all we can do is palliative care now.

Teddy has spent most of his time on me or right beside me, until the past week. He started going into the basement during the day. He always wants a blanket covering him when he's not in the basement. He prefers dark places now, hence the blanket pitched like a tent he crawls under to sleep. The sofa, chair, beds all have a fleece blanket rigged up like a pitched tent. This house is a bit of a mess.

Other than that, Teddy looks mostly fine. He purrs when I pet him. He still eats though not much. My 22 pound Teddy of last year is now a 16 pound Teddy. I'm checking in with the vet every other day by phone so we can keep on top of this. When he worsens, we'll put him to sleep right away. The cancer is on the roof of his mouth and gums....can't let it go on too long. But so far, apart from mostly sleeping and not seeking me out, he still eats some, uses his box, and purrs and looks fine.

I think I'm okay with this, although I'm worried about Morgan. He seems upset and it's as if he knows Teddy is not well at all. This will be the 3rd cat to disappear from this house. Add in the 1 human - Mom - and Morgan might have a hard time with Teddy not being here. Trying to prepare for that. Morgan hasn't been alone since he was 4 months old. He and Teddy are inseparable when I'm away, and a lot the time at home too.

I'm tired of all the losses quite honestly. I'm dreading this. There's a part of me that wants it over - just finished and done. But the bigger part of me doesn't want to let them go. It's this palliative/end stage part which is triggering sad memories and just not something I'm sure I'll be able to manage. I've already had a few emotional episodes and really can't have more of that. It's all kicking up my illness to the point where I can't do much of anything again. I realize this sounds ridiculous. But even small stress, constant and daily, will be enough to make me extremely ill. Which means I'm ineffective for Teddy, which I cannot have so thats' why I've stopped blogging etc. Less to handle/process, more I can tolerate for Teddy.

All these words written for two cats. But they are my babies. I'm taking photos and making short movies, mostly of Morgan as Teddy is always hiding now. I did take several of Teddy last week. I'll put the photos up at some point.

Last week I brought home 3 pots of flowers - blue hyacinths and white tulips. Put them on the floor so the kitties could sniff. They loved them :-) Flowers are still blooming and smell wonderful. Teddy likes to smell them once a day. Morgan just hops up on the table and smells them when he wants throughout the day and night. They're so funny about plants.

Cat Illnesses

Last week, my 15 year old cat Teddy was not doing well. Vomiting and litter box problems. Took him to the vet after watching him closely all night. We already had an appointment for him to have a checkup on Friday. This was happening on Wednesday. Vet clinic saw Teddy first thing Thursday morning and I had him home by noon.

Right after that, I had to go to the human emergency at the hospital in severe pain. Kidney stones or gastro pain related to my illness? Nobody knows. I was in pain until Monday and eating XStrength Tylenol like candy.

Teddy needs dental surgery. He's on antibiotics and pain meds. His surgery is next Thursday. By the end of this, it will have cost nearly $900.00 for Teddy.

Yesterday (Wednesday), our 14 year old cat Morgan was vomiting in the morning. He will vomit if he eats too much occasionally but, I could tell this was different vomit. I called the vet, thinking he too needed his teeth cleaned again. They saw him right away. Full bloodwork. They injected fluids under his skin on his back as they said he was dehydrated. He seemed fine. I brought him home. He was playing with toilet paper in the hall last night, just like his usual self.

The vet called yesterday afternoon to report results of Morgan's bloodwork. Morgan has Kidney Disease. He's being finicky with food, even his favourite food. He won't eat the low protein food he needs to eat for his disease. The vet says he has to take a pill everyday. And he has to be brought into the vet once a week for fluid injections, or I can learn to do them myself at home. If the cat doesn't like his nails being cut, there's no way he'll let me get anywhere near him with a needle. I won't even use a needle on myself. Vet costs so far for Morgan are nearly $400.00.

The vet still needed a urine sample from Morgan, and they want to run a thyroid test on him. I paid for that today and bought some of the special foods to try. Teddy likes one of them, Morgan hates both. Morgan hates his regular food too. Another $168.00 today.

I am on a fixed disability income. We are in a serious recession with nothing but more bad news looming. The cats need special, even more expensive, vet food. They've been on good vet food all their lives but this is even more special food. It costs. And they don't particularly like it much. Teddy needs different food than Morgan. This is not going to work well as they eat side by side. I have contracted for a new shingled roof in May 2009. That can't be delayed another year.

14 and 15. My baby and his rescued older brother.

I've read up on this disease. I've thought all day about the fact that Morgan doesn't play everyday like he used to, that he's been finicky with food for months, that Morgan rarely comes to bed with me anymore. He sits in front of photographs of Mom, his Grandma, and taps his paw on her photo.

I'm sick. My cats are sick.

We could spend the coming months, possibly a year or two or three, forcing pills into Morgan, giving him injections which will progress from weekly to daily. He won't be happy with me, he will distrust me, he will hurt and suffer and be sick and feel crappy.

I'm taking some time to think more on this. But from where I'm sitting right now, I think I'm going to put them both to sleep. That's a really shitty thing. I know this. It won't happen soon but probably within months.

I feel like shit about everything. So I don't know when I'm going to catch up on reading blogs or writing or any of that. It's just too much time away from the kitties right now. And I need this time with them.

The human brain

In recent years, I had to learn more about the brain than I ever thought was necessary for an average person. I knew there was a left side and a right side, but so what? What does that matter? As I understand it, the left side is the logical centre, where thinking and planning and goal setting happens. It works in facts, text, and numbers. The right side is the creative or emotional side, where emotions are triggered, regulated (or not), and where creativity lives.

Artists of all types tend to go through life operating heavily from the right side of their brain. People who work heavily with facts and details, rely mainly on the left side of their brain. If left to develop on their own, a person's (or animal's) brain will tilt heavily to one side or the other. This is because other humans (or animals) are necessary to balance us out. It's rare for a person who grows up essentially 'by themselves' to end up with a balance of operating from both the right and left sides of their brain.

In my case, my early years were balanced, using both sides of my brain but clearly having more talent with the left side of things. After a traumatic event or two, over time, I inadvertently tried to cut off the right side and ran full tilt mostly working from my left side. The right side was trying to get in on the action but I did everything I could to stuff that down, thinking it only leads to hell.

The brain runs on pathways which we build as we grow. If we are nurtured and every need attended to when we're very young, our brain develops many healthy pathways on both sides and we tend to handle life well. But if we suffer trauma at any age and there is no support during that time, it can have the effect of shutting down pathways. We get stuck. Add more trauma and we can end up not only stuck, but empty essentially. And after those events, the smallest minor problem can be interpreted as life threatening. That's my understanding of what trauma does to the brain.

What I've had to learn is how to re-pattern my brain. We've been at this for several years. I still favour my left side, but that's just who I am and it's not excessive usually. Just as a naturally gifted artist will always favour their right.

A brain scientist, Jill Bolte Taylor, talks in this video about watching her brain being affected while she was having a massive stroke:-



I completely relate to what she's saying and her emotion about it. When I'm helping others who have my illness, or helping anyone, I feel that universal love and connectedness. I'm not as outwardly emotional as she is about it but I feel what she's saying and where she's been.

Now that my brain is functioning somewhat as it used to, so very many years ago, I find a great need for that balance. Give and take, working with both sides of my brain. It gives me more life and a sense of purpose, which was largely absent from my former career. Despite this, there is a hamster wheel on the left side of my brain, called Worry. That wheel has been spinning since it was triggered by pushing myself to get through the Christmas season. I crashed shortly after December 29th and ended up on a spinning wheel, trying desperately to avoid full on depression. The news and state of the world has not helped at all.

It's a constant battle for me to not let the left side of my brain rule my life. The new pathways are built but I have to remember to use them regularly or they will die off. And I'll be stuck again with half a brain. Or still, depending how you look at it on my bad days. My illness affects the brain a lot so I have that to work around as well. It's just constant road construction in my head. Bad cells take over an avenue, and I have to make a laneway. Lately it's been all I can do to slow it down, calm it down, and find happiness. The news had to go on the hit list of things to avoid. I'm doing better at that but still check it occasionally. Too much bad news will make us all stuck in worry and on the left side of our brains.

So anyway, I found that video after reading about an experience people have, which is referred to as The Third Man. John Geiger wrote a book about the third man factor and has a website called http://thirdmanfactor.igloocommunities.com/ His site also has a forum where people can share stories about their own experiences with the third man. Now before you shut down and think "oh for christ's sake, this is going to be bullshit" just wait. I know this is true but can't explain it any better than anyone else probably. But I had no idea it was a universal thing to this extent or that it had a name - The third man.

In my lifetime, I've had so many experiences now with this third person or whatever it is, I've lost count. And I'm sure I've forgotten some. But the ones that stick are remarkable because they happened in crowds of people. Actually, crowds of traffic.

When my illness was doing it's best to kill me, right before I walked away from my career, there were many times I drove home from work and had no memory of the drive. I was in a fog and fairly tuned out. Heavily in left brain mode, trying to function at a job full of numbers and calculations, my physical body attacking itself; my entire being was so far out of whack.

While driving in a fog (or in a disassociated state of mind), I never made eye contact with other drivers. I never looked at them. I knew a vehicle was there, moving alongside me or behind or in front, but it never registered that a person was in there. It was just a block to get around on my way home. This is why these experiences startled me and I still wonder about them today. I wonder, what force got my attention and how? Because right after it happened, I went right back into fog and continued on home. So here's my top third man experiences.

On three separate occasions, as I was driving toward an intersection packed with cars stopped on one side but flowing on my side, something made me look at the driver of the vehicle facing me from the other side of the intersection. We had the green light, the right of way, yet that vehicle was stopped. The person held up their hand to motion STOP to me and looked right at me. I was about 3 car lengths from the intersection. The cars ahead of me sped through.

Something made me look up at that driver and I still have no idea what. I stopped, even though it made no sense, and on any other occasion I probably would have ignored them. Stopping, without knowing why, I watched an ambulance come speeding right through the intersection. If I hadn't stopped, the ambulance and my vehicle would have hit and I would surely have died along with the ambulance passengers. This happened three different times, in the space of a few months, at three different intersections. Shortly after the last of these episodes, I was near collapse and forced to stop working. My brain was shutting down, and my body just wanted escape, relief and peace.

These are the third man experiences which stick in my head. There have been many more, when my parents were ill, when I was driving home during the college years, lots of odd episodes. Never saw the person again but it continued to happen. What made my brain connect in those distracted moments? I don't know. My particular disassociation skills are impressive. Nobody has been able to break through them before, except these third man people.

The human and animal brain, to me, function the same. A traumatized animal will react as a human will. What gets through to them? A gentle human or other animal who takes their time with them, earning their trust, demonstrating that they are safe with us. I did it for my oldest cat, helping him recover. Sadly, I completely failed with myself. But thankfully, I had an excellent therapist for my situation. And before the therapist, apparently, there were lots of third men or women helping me along the way.

Have you had a third man/woman experience? And how's your brain doing?

Rick Mercer explains Canada

Canada's favourite comedian (or at least the most visible one), Rick Mercer, has a knack for making the truth entertaining. His weekly tv show, The Mercer Report, is a favourite of many. You can watch most it online at the show's website here.

As a result of the shenanigans of our government in recent months, it became clear that many Canadians have absolutely no idea how our country works. So, Rick Mercer has explained it all in this video. This is actually really well done.



As for me, this stuff is coming up when I least feel like blogging. I've been trying to push through a mild depression. Hope to get back up to speed with everyone soon.