Decisions.

When Cecilia turned one, I began seriously considering having another baby. She was such a sweet, happy baby and her baby days went by far too quickly. We discussed it and began looking at James’ travel schedule, when we would be moving, where we might go, etc. I started imagining a new baby (it was a boy for some reason) and thinking of baby names and sleeping arrangements.

Then something happened. My old boss contacted me in December and asked me to come in and talk about possibly coming back to work. His office manager/lead paralegal was retiring and he needed to get someone in the office soon. I love my old boss and loved working for him. It’s hard to find someone (especially in the legal field) who is a genuine family oriented person. I knew he would work with me when it came to my family obligations and other circumstances regarding James’ frequent travel. I got excited about my interview. I bought a new outfit (he’s family oriented, but I didn't want to show up in my daily uniform of yoga pants), I talked to our daycare about Cecilia starting there, and started studying up on everything I've missed since being unemployed for so long. I started thinking of ways to save time on chores and writing down quick and easy recipes for week-night meals. There was something nagging at me though. Because I love my old boss so much, I needed to be totally honest. When the kids have a check-up, it’s an all-day affair on base. When someone is sick, I am the one who takes care of them. My husband has been spoiled on home cooked meals and a clean house. Even my dogs rely on me. I started thinking of the mornings spent with Cecilia cuddling and reading books. And my afternoons with Brady- snacks and board games and silly cartoons. What was I doing? And what about my possible baby and the opportunity to do it all over again?

I ended up sabotaging my own interview. I gave him more reasons why he should not hire me than why he should. I explained that I would be moving soon and he would have to train someone else in a year. I left his office, went home, put my yoga pants back on and played with my kids. I knew I didn't get the job and felt a huge weight off my shoulders. It came as no surprise when he emailed me that he decided not to hire anyone at that time (he was probably just being nice, because that’s how he is) and that if I came back to the area he would love to have me. I told myself that by then, I would be ready. The kids would be in school and I would be itching to get back to work. I love the law and my boss, but I am right where I need to be right now. And that baby? Who knows? I may end up making a career out of being a stay-at-home mom. The reward of making my family happy far outweighs any paycheck I could earn.

Saying Goodbye

Today we said goodbye to our last boxer, Stogie. Stogie has been battling cancer for seven months now. It’s really a miracle that he’s made it this long. He had an inoperable tumor, which did not respond well to medication and made it difficult for him to go to the bathroom.

Stogie was my mom and dad’s dog, but he has been in the family for about 10 years. I still lived at home when my mom adopted him. We have always had a love for boxers. Actually, we have always had at least one boxer at home since I was a baby.

My first boxer was Ginger. We got her as a puppy when I was a baby. I don’t remember too much about her, but I recall that she was loving and playful. That is the nature of boxers. They are fun-loving family dogs who love kids and love to play.

Me and Ginger, my first boxer.

Our next boxer was Zack. He was born July 1, 1993. I remember going to pick him up. Out of all the puppies playing outside, he was the one lounging under a bush. He was too cute. We couldn't decide on a name, but in the midst of “Saved By the Bell” mania, we all agreed on Zack. He was such a cool dog. He was fun and silly yet had the most serious face. He also had his trademark blood-shot eyes, which gave him his distinctive look. Zack lived a good life and moved with us from North Carolina, to Indiana, to Pennsylvania, and finally back to North Carolina. He was 12 years old when he passed away in 2005.

Zack was down with anything.

Shortly after getting Zack, we wanted another boxer. We were lucky enough to find a sweet little girl and called her Lacy. Lacy was born April 1, 1994. She was the dog-love of my life. She was playful and so loving. We actually nicknamed her “Love.” She was very girly and just wanted to spend time with the girls- my mom, my sister and myself. She was wary of men and I always trusted her instinct. She was a great family protector. Lacy loved having her nails painted. I even painted her nails the day she passed away in 2007.

Me, my sweet Lacy girl, and my buddy Kiser.

Zack and Lacy had two litters of puppies when we were living in Indiana. The first litter, born July 1, 1995, produced just two puppies. We named them Doc and Blizzard. Blizzard was a rare all-white boxer with blue eyes. Blizzard went to a good home and we kept the male puppy and named him Doc.

Doc, sitting in a tiny dog bed.

Doc was definitely a special boxer. One of my favorite things about our boxers was that they were not just pets- it may sound weird but they were more like my siblings. I would get mad at them for chewing my stuff up. I actually had to tell a teacher once “my dog ate my homework.” I will never forget it. It was a constellation spinner for 7^th grade science class and Doc turned it into his own personal chew toy. Doc also ate my leather jacket, and when I say “ate it” I mean there was nothing left but the zipper. Doc wasn't the only troublemaker.  I remember the time I had just met James and saved up my paychecks from the law firm I was working at to purchase a Tommy Hilfiger handbag I had been pining over. James and I sat on the couch and I placed my new purse on the floor next to me. The next thing I know, Zack hiked a leg and peed in my new purse. It and all its contents were ruined. At first I was mortified and wanted to cry, but James looked at me and started laughing hysterically. I followed his lead. Looking back, it was pretty dang funny. The dogs weren't always causing trouble. When I was upset over boys, school, work, etc., my dogs were the first place I would turn for hugs and to shed my tears. They knew all my secrets, fears, and joys.  

As I was saying, Doc was something else. He was huge and goofy and always getting into something. If you wanted a hug, Doc was right there. He was so happy you couldn't help but grin whenever you saw him. Doc’s life was cut far too short when he was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. The veterinarian didn't give him much time and he passed away in my arms on December 12, 2003 with James by my side. That was one of the saddest days of my life. I am so thankful I was there with Doc and James was there with me. The only positive thing about that day was that it showed me what kind of man James was. I couldn't have made it through that night without him. Doc passing before his parents, Zack and Lacy, was heartbreaking. Animals can feel the loss of a loved one the same way humans can. It took us all a long time to get over losing Doc.

After Doc left us, we moved into a new home and settled in. It wasn't long before my mom came across a skinny young boxer in need of a home. Being the animal lover she is, my mom brought him home to see what Zack and Lacy thought of him. I would be remiss not to mention we also had a lhasa apso named Corkey. We got her when I was 5 years old. Corkey was a loner. We loved her dearly but she would rather be left alone most of the time. Corkey paid the boxers no mind. With Zack and Lacy’s approval, the little boxer passed the test and we welcomed Stogie into our home. He was a bit skittish for a while, but once he felt safe he was right at home. He fattened up and quickly became part of the family.

Stogie at around 10 months old.

After we lost the other boxers and Corkey, Stogie was the last boxer. My mom vowed not to adopt any more boxers due to their propensity to develop cancer. I read, and confirmed with our veterinarian today, that boxers are 50-70% more likely to develop cancer than other breeds. Indeed, cancer is the number one serious health issue for boxer dogs, according to www.allboxerinfo.com. All of our boxers had some sort of cancer at one time or another. It’s hard to give your heart to one of these gentle giants knowing that there is a high probability that they will be diagnosed with cancer. Luckily, with the exception of Doc, all of our boxers exceeded the average boxer lifespan.

Fast-forward 10 years and many memories. We have known for 7 months that Stogie’s time was short, but there was no way to tell how short. We decided to keep him comfortable as long as we possibly could without him being in pain. Minus the tumor, Stogie was completely happy and lucid. He still ate well, played, and had the same gentle disposition. Unfortunately, last week, the tumor became so large that he was simply unable to go to the bathroom anymore. It was time. With Hurricane Arthur looming, today, Friday, July 3, 2014, had to be the day. My mom works at our dogs’ veterinary hospital, so we were able to take our time saying goodbye. My dad, James, Brady, Cecilia and I went to the clinic this afternoon. My mom was working and Stogie was already there with her. He was so happy to see us. I took some pictures outside (too bad the humidity caused several of my pictures to have a fuzzy appearance.) We spent about an hour together playing, petting him and telling him how much we loved him. Before we knew it, the doctor came into the exam room. James took the kids to the car and my mom, my dad and I kneeled next to Stogie and held him as he went. It was peaceful and sad all at once. It felt very surreal and it broke my heart to see my parent’s tears. My throat was on fire (from my recent tonsillectomy) as I was trying to hold in my own tears and be strong for them.

Stogie is the fifth dog we have lost. It never gets any easier and I don’t think it ever will. My only comfort is knowing they are all together now, in a place where there is no pain and suffering. It will hurt for a good long while, but time will go on and each of these dogs will hold a special place in our hearts forever.

My Tonsillectomy Experience

The morning of my tonsillectomy I was remarkably calm. I had stocked up on soft foods and drinks, cleaned the house, prepared some freezer meals, laid out my comfy surgery-day clothes, filled out all necessary paperwork and taken an (approved) Xanax. I was ready to do this thing.

James took Brady to school and my mom came over to watch Cecilia. We left for Jacksonville at 8:30 on the dot to be at my 9:45 appointment. On the way, the surgery center called and asked if we could get there early, as the doctor was running ahead of schedule. “Of course!” I happily answered. This was good news to me- I didn't want to sit around a waiting room getting my nerves worked up.

When we arrived, I answered questions and signed more papers at the front desk. I didn't even sit down before a nurse came out to get me. James waited in the lobby while I went to change and get settled into pre-op. I put on one of those gowns with the lovely open back and was glad I opted for leopard print undies instead of a thong. The nurse helped me into a bed while asking a million more questions. I was connected to an IV (I absolutely hate needles) and was relieved when it was in. At this point, James was allowed to come in. The anesthesiologist came to talk to us, followed by my doctor who would preform the surgery. James was trying to make me laugh because he could tell I was getting nervous- my blood pressure was going up- and before I knew it a nurse came by and told me he was going to “slip me a mickey” to calm me down. Within seconds I was giggling and wanting James to take selfies with me. Yeah, I needed to get into surgery before I made a fool of myself.

Minutes later I said goodbye to James and they rolled me to the operating room. I vaguely remember asking if I could see my tonsils after they removed them (I did the same thing when I had my appendix out!) and the nurse laughed. Before I could say anything else a mask went over my face. I thought it was oxygen but I guess it was the anesthesia because I don’t remember anything else.

I was getting pretty nervous! 

I woke up in the recovery room and was really confused (yes, I was crying) until I remembered where I was. The nurse told me everything went well and asked if I wanted a Popsicle. Apparently, I said no and asked for a frozen margarita, no salt (which I did not receive.) That got a laugh out of the nurses, but I was probably serious. The pain was pretty bad at first and they gave me a couple of pain injections until it eased up. I started sipping some iced water and James came in. Shortly after that the nurse came in with a jar containing my tonsils. I had a good look and she took them away before I could think to ask for a picture. I know that seems weird but I have been obsessed with tonsils and tonsillectomies since I scheduled the surgery. And a lot of people get pictures of their tonsils. So I’m not that weird. I had to hang out for a couple of hours to make sure everything was going well. It wasn't until I tried to stand up that I realized I had a reaction to the anesthesia. I could barely move a muscle. When I stood up my legs hurt so bad I didn't think I could walk. I found out that there is a certain drug in the anesthesia that can cause severe muscle soreness for 2-3 days. Well that was an understatement. Muscle soreness and the inability to move turned out to be the worst part of the first couple of days after surgery.

Waking up from surgery and feeling confused. Where's my margarita??

The nurse helped me to the restroom while James pulled the car around. Armed with a barf bag and 1,000 papers we started the journey to New Bern. I was scared to death of throwing up. A lot of people are sick after surgery but the thought of vomiting with my sore throat was too much to bear. I kept dozing on and off until we reached the drug store. It was going to take 15 minutes to get the prescriptions filled. Ugh! I just wanted to get in my bed! So James drove next door to Zaxby’s to order some lunch. He asked if I wanted some fries (wasn't he listening to the doctor?? Only cold liquids for the first few days!) and I said no. Then I dozed off again and awoke to him eating CHICKEN WINGS in my new car. I kindly asked (demanded) that he stop eating chicken wings and go see if my prescription was ready. Luckily it was and we went home.

 

I got in bed and prepared myself for the pain. I knew it was going to be bad. My nurse had just told me she had hers out at age 28 and it was the worst pain of her life. She told me the narcotics would barely take the edge off the pain. I kept hearing similar stories but felt that maybe my pain tolerance wasn't as bad as I thought. I’d had multiple bouts of strep, tonsillitis, sinus infections, migraines, and went through an unmedicated childbirth. Surely I could handle a tonsillectomy. Kids get them out every day and are back to school the next week. Right? WRONG. This has been the worst pain I have ever experienced. I am on Day 5 and the pain is supposed to increase until day 8 or 9 and then gradually taper off. I have had my cool mist humidifier running non-stop, I keep ice packs on my throat and ears. I set my alarm for every hour during the night to take a sip of water so my throat doesn't dry out. I have been sleeping upright. I take my medication on a strict schedule. I think that doing these things have helped immensely. I know things could be worse. I've read stories of people being hospitalized for dehydration, or bleeding profusely and having to have the area recauterized. I am bound and determined that I will not let that happen. I remind myself daily that the pain is only temporary and soon this will all be a memory.

Recovery Day 2- I tried to drink a protein shake, but it wasn't happening.

Gatorade with crushed ice is pretty much all I've had in 5 days. 

Recovery Day 4- Winston hasn't left my side since I came home.

 I am trying to keep my spirits up by planning things to do when I feel better, reading celebrity magazines, browsing Pinterest and just being lazy. The kids are happy and Cecilia (thankfully!) is having a blast with her dad. I was a bit worried after doing the math and realizing James has only been home 3 months out of the past 12. I thought spending so much time together would be awkward for James and Cecilia but they are hitting it off and acting like they’re best friends. So with my mind at ease, I know I can sit back and let nature take its course. After all, there’s no rush. There’s still plenty of summer left.