Lost Dog

I wrote recently about my dog, Grendel, who had bladder cancer.  By the time he was diagnosed, it had gone into his prostate.  This is bad because the prostate blocked his elimination functions.  If you can't go, you're a goner.

I loved this dog.  I got him in March 2001 when he was six weeks old, five pounds.  My ex got him for me, and he was my dog right away.  He was with me when I moved to California to be a screenwriter, through the divorce, through a couple of years of being that angry guy you've probably met a time or two, through meeting my new wife (and her pets!) and through nine months when I went back to school in a different city and he and the other dog stayed with my now-wife.  Even when I was scared and lonely, that dog never doubted me.  (I know it's in the nature of dogs, but I appreciated it anyway.)

So he got cancer, and I realized later that what I'd thought were signs of aging and maybe (treatable) diabetes were signs of the prostate enlarging.  We put him on chemo pills, and he was supposed to live for four to six months.  He lasted just about three weeks.  He started to slide last Thursday, refusing to eat.  By Sunday morning he could barely stand up by himself.  It was time.  Even the vet cried.  She thought he was a great dog.

On Sunday, after having been up all night and then taking him to be put to sleep, I found myself unable to sleep at all.  I could, however, eat.  I ate.  I ate a lot, probably more than I have in nine or ten months.  I knew I was doing it, and I didn't care.  I had the sensation that I was punishing myself, as if my dog's death wasn't enough.  I suspect I was punishing myself for failing to understand what was happening to him.  If I had caught it sooner, he might have responded to treatment.  He might have lived longer.  At least, I think that's what was going on with me.  But it was a clear feeling--every time I went to eat something, part of me said, "bad idea," and another part of me said, " suck it up and eat it."

So I did.  It didn't feel good, and it didn't comfort me.  It just made a sucky day suck worse.  Who knows?  Maybe we need to feel like shit sometimes.

I've been doing better the last couple of days.  Right where I wanted to be yesterday, today, a little over.  But not out of control.  Not actively trying to hurt myself.

I have not drawn any conclusions here.  I'm just watching.  But here's some advice:  If your dog is deathly ill, avoid "Please Don't Go" by KC and the Sunshine Band.  Trust me.

Been awhile

There's a lot going on at my house.  I've written about my dog, and that continues to be a drag.  He gets to eat anything he wants, and the other night he ate ten chicken McNuggets.  That was good.  But he wouldn't eat any last night.  I don't know if it's the illness or the meds, but he doesn't want to eat.  I think he knows he's sick.  At least, he knows he feels crappy.

The other thing that's going on--now it can be told--my lovely wife is pregnant.  With twins.  And let me tell you, she has been sicker than you can imagine for weeks.  She can't keep much down, but she needs the calories because of the kiddos, so she's eating full fat/full calorie versions of everything--lots of ice cream, mac and cheese, cookies, peanut butter, pop tarts.  Everything.  Lots of carbs, too.  In short, the kind of diet that got me where I am.  She has lost five pounds.  Puking will do that.  Morning sickness for her is about 23 hours a day.  She is on an anti nausea drug that they give to chemo patients.

What this all means is that I do just about everything around the house--laundry, meals (she can't even go into the kitchen without retching), etc.  On the plus side, my dog and my wife are eating a similar diet (and boy are the other dogs pissed off!).  This has all made me just a little overwrought.  I work pretty long days with a long commute, and then I come home and try to keep everything together.  I know it's temporary, but I suspect it's training for when the twins (girls) get here.  Even so, I'm frazzled.  And a little fragile.

What does this mean for the weight?  Well, I've learned that if I don't try the mac and cheese, I won't feel the need to eat it.  But one bite = one plate.  Also pop tarts.  I had forgotten how compelling they can be.  And what I've figured out is that when I'm exhausted and frazzled and overwrought, it's easy to succumb to the available sugar fix.

Yes, I'm up a tiny bit.  And yes, I will be more careful going forward.  But this is good information for me.  In the not so distant future, there is going to be food around that I don't want to eat, and I'm going to be harried and tired and vulnerable.  I want to figure out how to avoid that.  It might mean cooking more on the weekends for the week.  It will also mean having some low cal dessert options around.  It will mean being disciplined and attentive.  I hope I can do it.  I think I can.  I haven't really been bingeing.  More, I've been lax.  Loose.  Not careful.

I also realize how much going to the gym can improve the way I feel physically.  When I'm stressed out, my neck tenses and hurts.  This leads to headaches that feel oddly like sinus pain.  A good workout staves off such feelings.  So that's useful.  I'm trying to take the lessons here and not freak out.  So we'll see how it goes.

Food Porn

Is it eating more or the little rotating staircase that kicks my ass?  Either way, I'm down a bit.  Yesterday was a BIG day.  HUGE.  In terms of eating, anyway.  I would not call it a binge, because it was not driven by emotion.  Rather, I just gave myself a day away from the obsession.  Pizza with my stepson figured into it.

Speaking of emotion, however, because I often do.  This has been a pretty challenging week.  The biggest deal to me is that one of my dogs--the first dog I ever had as an adult, in fact--has bladder cancer.  He's a goner.  He's on chemo pills which are supposed to stop the progress of the disease.  The vet says that will buy him four to six months of good quality of life.  (Reading between the lines, I assume this means the pills will not actually arrest the disease process.)

This is the kind of situation that would historically throw me off the rails.  What I've found, though, is that I have mostly not been interested in eating when I've been upset about this dog.  In fact, there have been instances in which I could barely bring myself to eat because I was sad about him.  I consider this the zen miracle. 

I guess that my  eating habits have really become habits.  Friday, someone brought doughnuts into the office.  I like to go look.  I consider looking at the goodies food porn.  But Friday I was in a state--overtired, overwrought--and I thought, fuck it.  So I went to look, with every intention of taking at least one doughnut back to my desk.  But I was unmoved.  Nothing there looked that good.  Don't get me wrong--they were fine-looking doughnuts.  I just didn't care.  Apparently, the porn quality to them was plenty satisfying for me.

So there it is--movement of a sort.  I can be sad without eating.  Who knew?  I hope that it will apply in all areas of my life at some point--stress, boredom, whatever.  Maybe it already does.