Sweet Seventeen

On the 29th, Lady Gretchen Greer turned 17. She’s my longest lived dog by far, and we’ve been through a lot together. Most of her life she was gripped by anxiety, but through it all, she always chose to be with me.

She went to work with me as a pup, and again in her “early senior years” at Colonial Auto Center.

She went to the gym with me also at two different gyms, The Gym and New Perspective Fitness.

She’s shared her home with three other dogs, but only loved Sissy. I think she likes Lily more than she cares to admit, and Lily is still inviting Gg to play (and getting rebuked) daily.

She’s always loved walks, and at one point was running up to 6 miles with me.

Cushing’s and/or doggy dementia has changed her personality. She’s not my snuggly little clinger anymore, but she still seeks me out and will sleep near wherever I am, and once in a while, she’s awake looking for me when I come home and I get a happy welcome home.

She’s blind, losing mobility and her mind, but she still loves to be outdoors, loves to eat and has no trouble finding the kitchen. She still tries to pop up on her haunches, and will bark up a storm when she wants her next meal.

I love her independence and lack of fear. Other dogs shut down as they lose their vision and/or their minds, but not Gg. She’s living her best life, stomping around, bossing her people and Lily around and just generally doing what she wants.

I don’t know how much time we have left, but as long as she’s happy and mobile, we’ll keep catering to her every whim.

Not Today

Last Monday, I was afraid Tuesday’s annual vet visit might be her last, but my brave little girl awoke that morning with joy in her heart and spunk to spare.

Yes, she stumbles. Yes, she is resisting her pill pockets after years without an issue, but today is not the day.

Oh and she’s almost completely blind, her selective hearing is now paired with old age hearing loss, and her hind end is weaker every day, but she popped wheelies and shouted for joy when I put on my leggings and running shoes this morning, and she has had plenty of energy to follow me around.

My sweet, timid, anxious girl was always brave and devoted enough to choose to be with me, so it’s honestly my pleasure to see her aged into a true Jack Russell Terrier with snappy independence. I love that she truly tries to bite me when she doesn’t want to wear a coat. I love that she took Lily’s Kong from her and then growled at Lily when Lily just looked at her!

Gretchen Greer has earned the right to be a cranky old woman. Yes, I miss her constant snuggles, but I love her resilience and determination to keep on keeping on ON her terms.

She still chooses to be near me. That’s my striped foot in the background; she’s camped out under my feet.

So yes, she’s declining. She’s having more bad days, and they seem worse than some of her previous bad days. But today is a good day too, and I want her to have all the good days she can in this no fear, zero anxiety place she’s finally found.

So yes, I’ll hide her pills in banana pudding or Mac and cheese and laugh about it. As long as she’s still enjoying life on her terms, I’ll go above and beyond for her.

Best Life

October 23rd was Gretchen Greer’s 16th anniversary of her gotcha’ day, or as B said to Gg, “It’s you and Mom’s 16th anniversary.”

The 24th would have been Sissy’s 17th birthday. Forever wouldn’t have been long enough with that girl. She had more personality than any single creature needs, but her sweetness is what everyone remembers.

The 24th was also Lily’s annual vet visit. It’s odd that she’s only been to the vet four times in the nearly two years we’ve had her; for new to us/pre-spay/6 month puppy visit, her spay surgery, and then two annual visits, last year and yesterday.

(Gg goes about that many times in a good year. Twice for her Cushing’s testing, an annual visit and usually at least once more for a UTI or some other issue.)

Make no mistake though, Gg is living her best life. While I wouldn’t wish Cushing’s on anyone, somehow, the mix of Cushing’s, dementia, slowly going blind and all of her other issues has finally given her relief from the crippling anxiety she’s battled her whole life.

In her feeble old age, she is her most savage Jack Russell Terrier. She is fearless. While other dogs with even one of her newer issues are literally paralyzed by anxiety, my hot mess is finally free of hers. She walks into a wall? No problem; she shakes it off and tries another way.

She’s not a snuggler anymore. I do miss that, but it’s a small price to pay to see her living anxiety free. She’s losing muscle and mobility, but she still loves to be outdoors and will stomp around the yard, and occasionally takes a little, slow walk with me. She still enjoys having visitors, eating, and even enjoys a car ride now and then. We’re committed to giving her as many happy days as we can, for as long as it makes sense for her. Happy best life, Gretchen Greer!

Trilostane Day 48

… sorta’. We skipped a dose early on because she was being weird. We skipped 2-3 doses (once daily) in the last week because of her trip to the emergency vet. She binged Thursday with the help of our co-workers, so I didn’t worry when she was very tired and not as hungry on Friday, but as Saturday ticked on, she lost mobility and moved into lethargic levels, to the point she wouldn’t/couldn’t walk. I didn’t feel like it was Addison’s, but I knew with her Cushing’s diagnosis, everyone (read: urgent or emergency vet) would have to rule that out first.

She had a little “ruffle” on her left hip, right at her lump of scar tissue from that dog bite long ago, and I thought nothing of it until I actually touched it. Turns out once the vet focused on that too, we found the problem; a NASTY, under the skin infection. We will likely never know what caused it, but a week of antibiotics and an anti-inflammatory pain killer our regular vet added on Monday, and she’s back to normal, her new fussy about how I take my meds aside.

This little crisis has shown me how blessed we are. We have great veterinary care, and my co-workers are the most amazing, kind, supportive, animal loving people ever. Gg HATES the cone (e-collar, or whatever you know it by), and she’s been a good girl minus two nights, but work has been quite easy, thanks to a pack ‘n play we’ve been loaned indefinitely. It’s kept her clean and safe, and she seems to like it! She gets even more pets and attention than she gets wandering around on her own.

She doesn’t know she’s fourteen years old. Most of the time, she doesn’t act like it, but she is a very senior dog. She is slowing down, she sleeps more, she takes more medications, but she’s still my spunky, sweet, utterly devoted sidekick. I miss our runs and wogs, but I’m hoping as the temperatures cool, she’ll want to trot down the road a bit now and again. It’s truly an honor and a privilege to be her person, and I’m a better person because of Lady Gretchen Greer. Here’s to many, many more years together!

Trilostane Day 7

Or is it Day 6, since we skipped Friday, Day 5? Gretchen wouldn’t eat her breakfast, so I called the vet and they advised that I skip her dose for that day, as the side effects we’re monitoring her for include decreased appetite and lethargy.

Her tribe concurs that it’s likely heat and long work days that caused her behaviors, but there’s no denying the girl is off her game. She didn’t go to Ladies Group (workout) yesterday morning. Her humans had decided she wasn’t going because she hadn’t eaten, but she also made no effort to come with me until I was basically out the door, so she somewhat opted out; she didn’t know we had decided she wasn’t going.

She always sleeps a lot on Sundays, so it’s hard to judge what’s going on today. It’s also hard to say whether we’re seeing positive changes, because her routine is so far out of whack, but that’s necessary because she needs constant supervision for the first couple of weeks on this medication.

This is hard. I trust our veterinary team explicitly, but in the end, it’s up to me to figure out what’s working and what gives Gretchen Greer the best quality of life. We’re waiting for the next round of testing to see what the labs say, because Gg’s Cushing’s journey is so muddy and muddled because the symptoms are so very similar to the anxiety issues she’s had her whole life.

Trilostane Day 1

Have I even blogged about Gretchen’s Cushing’s diagnosis? (I mentioned it, but barely.) So, let’s recap:

The week after Thanksgiving, Gretchen had a binge bender than brought me home mid-day to figure out why the puppy cam was upside down. She did some impressive at any age table-surfing and found her “headed out the door”dog treats, AND an old powerlifting meet gift bag that included some (non-chocolate, thankfully) KIND bars in various stages of all gone and what was left was in shredded plastic! She repeated that feat again on Saturday morning (but with no nommies found), and then came absolutely unglued when she was crated (rare, but she was crate-trained) while we went to the work holiday fete that night.

To the vet we went, and we were all surprised when this healthy-looking gal tested positive for Cushing’s Disease. (I’ll probably add her results here at some point so they’re all in one place.) At the vet’s recommendation, we went holistic, in part because she was back to being all but symptom free by then AND because our vets are friends and they KNOW I’m resistant to certain big pharma medications. That went really well for several weeks, and again, I’ll almost assuredly create a Cushing’s page here to track it all, but then in late April, she began having acute anxiety again. On May 31, our holistic vet broke up with us. (No, not really, but I try to keep things light, and when the holistic vet tells you it’s time to use conventional pharmacology, it’s sobering.)

And somewhere in the midst of all of that, baby girl was also diagnosed with high blood pressure. She’s on a microscopic dose of Amlodipine (2.5 mg tab QUARTERED, and one of those pieces twice daily), and while it dropped her BP a bit, it remains a little higher than desired. With everything else going on, we’re going to re-evaluate THAT when the vet tells me it’s time… I think in September?

So, today is day one on Trilostane. She’s on a whopping 15mg compounded into a chicken flavored chewable tablet that the princess rejected as a “treat” but thankfully, she did gobble it down with her breakfast. Yes, that’s a high-maintenance, home-made meal, which I’ll also include on the Cushing’s page. She loved it at first and seems bored with it at this point. I know there’s plenty of room for discussion; my dogs have put me in camp “we like variety when a slow switch is done”. They definitely seem to get tired of the same flavors day after day, week after week.

So far, so good. She’ll be at my side for the next 10 days, until we do her first monitoring bloodwork to assure this is the right dose for her. Despite what I’ve read, I’m still insisting she’s going to live to be 20, and have a happy, healthy life until then.

Authentic vs. Imposter

I don’t talk much in detail here about the people in my life, but I need to open this post by saying I know I’m blessed. I have some of the best people possible surrounding me, cheering for me, supporting me. I have a good job with the very best co-workers, many of whom are dear friends. I have the most devoted (read: clingy, neurotic, riddled with separation anxiety) dog, and life is good.

One night last month, I had one of those sweet, simple and yet so impactful nights that I know I’ll remember for the rest of my life. A friend coordinated a get-together, and four of us whose lives intersected through the Junior League but have stayed entwined through cross-country moves (and thankfully, back again!), seven children, my divorce, and more, sat down and picked up as though there had been no pandemic, no years since we all laughed together. (I’m pretty sure the last time we were together was the baby shower we hosted for the first of the group to have a baby, probably about five years ago?)

I hope each of you has a tribe like that, or at least one friend with whom time and distance don’t exist, where conversations flow as though you’d just clinked glasses together the day before, NO MATTER WHAT.

… which brings me to the meat of this soul-barring confession…

My name is Chan and I am an imposter.

… and those brilliant, strong, beautiful ladies knew it all along and loved me anyway. Each of them tried to love me towards being authentic in her own way, but ironically, it took a pandemic and the isolation that came with it, our busy lives and all of the other circumstances that led me to being able to look them in the eyes and admit that I’ve spent my ENTIRE LIFE trying to be what I thought I was supposed to be in that moment, for this person or that one, for this role/job or another…

I was proud of being a chameleon, and I actually said so out loud many times. I NEVER stopped to question my logic, or to wonder if I could just be me and see what happened.

Honestly, it began before I have any recollection of being aware of my behaviors. I had to be on my best manners for this person, so she’d give me presents. (Literally… one of my few memories of her was of a post-toddler-nap moment when she rather succinctly explained that if I couldn’t be a happy, grateful little girl, I could give the toy she’d just given me back and go home.) Then, I was told I couldn’t pursue tennis as a passion because it required someone else to play with me. Then, yet another nurturer told me I couldn’t major in music in college because it would lead to frustration (as so few make it as professional oboists) and I didn’t want to be stuck being a music teacher.

I can go on and on, but my point isn’t to blame any of these people; I just want to know why it took me 52 years to realize I’m perfectly good the way I am and I don’t have to try to be what ANYONE else thinks I should be, or most specifically, I SHOULD NOT try to be what I THINK someone else wants me to be!

Impostor syndrome and the idea of being authentic are getting a lot of press right now, but this is hardly a 21st century issue. We’re watching Reign on Netflix, and certainly the characters depicted within were not afforded the privilege of pursuing what made them happy, fulfilled, etc. Nor is it uniquely an issue for females; people pleasers come in all shapes, sizes and costumes. I don’t think anyone in my life intended for me to make a life out of trying to guess what someone else thought I should be and doing my best to become it, but that’s just what I’ve done.

What’s most difficult for me to talk about, what I’m still very much working on, is how this all relates to my self-confidence. Up until very recently, I and most people who know me, would say I’m a very confident person. But the truth is, confidence is just one of the many costumes I’ve learned to wear well. I appear confident and self assured when I am feel I’m doing a good job in the role/image I’m projecting, when the people I am trying to please are pleased.

So tell me… what is one thing that is authentically you?

21.2

Humbling is thinking you’re fit and strong and doing a workout of the day and discovering you have PLENTY of room for improvement.

Disclaimer: I don’t speak Crossfit. The only reason I know to call what I just did 21.2 is because CVG’s Instagram feed told me to. I happen to know how to do dumbbell snatches because I spent 3 years in a great gym, but I had to turn to YouTube to figure burpee box jump overs. (Hint: burpee + box jump ain’t quite it. Again, I’ve done something similar, but my gym was no Crossfit gym.)

Empowering is making what you have work for you – and work you HARD. I don’t have heavy dumbbells at home, so I scaled down by more than half, which honestly, wasn’t ideal. I’m not going to be so bold as to say I could have pushed through with a 35# instead of a 15#, but… instead of saying “I don’t have the right equipment so I can’t do it” I modified and I assure you, I still got a great workout. I don’t have a box for box jumps, but ironically, I’d just whined about this to my guy, and he – King of adapt and blow them away anyway – pointed out that the two stumps in the yard are roughly level and roughly small box, big box sizes.

So, after roughly a year of no box jumps, I started on soft, mossy ground (read: unlevel), and did it anyway. I still want heavier dumbbells, and I still want the sweet, dense foam boxes I once knew… but I can make do and sweat heavily without them.

As always, my faithful cheerleader kept me company, even if she thought it was weird. She also enjoyed looking for her lizard friends (too soon, sweet girl) and chasing squirrels, which she can’t do in a gym. Pros and cons…

What are you making excuses to avoid?

Face your fears

Gretchen’s battle with anxiety inspires me almost daily, but this post is about my fear, specifically the one I’ve named since the day our vets were exposed to Covid 19 and had to change the way they do business. They are still not allowing non-staff into the building, and I knew that would be a challenge for Gg when she had to go visit.

What I didn’t know is that an unbreakable, pain induced, six hour long anxiety attack would get us there. Turns out she was yelping and trying to get me to take her somewhere (to the vet??) because she had another raging urinary tract infection, but it was an all-day diagnosis, because she’s very modest about the whole sample thing.

She lived through it. I lived through it, and if it was possible to respect and adore my vets and their staff more, I do. It appears she is back to being afraid of nighttime, but she has had a no-symptoms of the UTI pain day, and I’m delighted.

Valium is NOT her friend. We had tried it before, years ago when she was an awful (read: makes a mad cat look easy to pill) patient, and Friday night, I had to coax her to take it, hidden in her favorite pill pocket. Last night, she was already in full panic mode, so I’m shocked it went down even in the pill pocket, smeared with her favorite egg and cheese.

She panted and shook for three hours after that before exhausting herself. Tonight I’m going to take the Valium (kidding!) and give her more melatonin, which she doesn’t mind as long as we don’t stay heavy too many nights in a row.

I’m sitting with her on the deck now, and feel we need to change things up with her sitter. SOMETHING (loneliness? a poorly timed bee sting?) sets her off about this time nightly. It isn’t even dusk yet, so I welcome any and all ideas. She prefers to be outside, and we often find her on the back deck when we get home, regardless of the weather, or amount of light left in the day.

Not being able to protect her from her fears is my greatest fear. What is yours?

12 or 64?

Yesterday was Lady Gretchen Greer’s 12th birthday. According to two different internet sources, that makes her roughly 64.

That chart gives me more hope that we have many years together yet to come. It also means I’m less inclined to let her dictate the pace and distance of our runs. Yeah, she’s a senior, but the girl isn’t ready for a doggy rocking chair yet!

Hanging with the ladies on a Saturday weighted vest walk. Credit Toni J

It’s been a rather unremarkable year and that makes it very special. Her meds didn’t change, other than varying her nightly melatonin dose according to her current state. Her thyroid is properly supported, and so is her emotional well-being. We’ve dodged the contactless Covid operations at our local vet thus far, and there have been no injuries or issues other than her dental surgery, immediately pre-Covid. (That was basically her first cleaning with a known broken tooth to complicate things; it was all but a non-event.)

She did have sore toe a few weeks ago that was easily fixed by her new friend at DogTopia. Our vet isn’t doing weekend hours right now, and none of the local groomers I’ve used before (or had positive recommendations for from a trusted source) answered their phones or had any availability the Saturday morning in question, so I rang up that new place near work, and my hot mess, doesn’t like to leave my side girl didn’t even look back when her new friend met us at the car. Before I could order from my Dunkin’ app, they were back. I may never cut her nails again; for $10 and a very generous tip, Gg made a new friend and the “jammed because it was too long” nail and its friends were all cut back without incident.

Here’s to another 12 years together, sweet girl. You’re high maintenance and it took me 10 years to figure out your stressors, but I love helping you live your best life.

Chanpagne

Un-settled and bubbling through life

#resilient