HayZeus the Helper

I'd love to say that my excuse for not posting anything lately is that I'm so busy, but when you consider that I've been off work for over a month you know I'd be lying. It's amazing what kind of things you find to fill your day when you have all day to essentially do nothing. My time management skills are non-existent when I have this much time on my hands.

One productive thing that I have been doing is getting myself organized and prepared to do the paramedical examining that I got hired to do. I'm working for a company called Great Lakes Paramedical. Essentially, when someone wants to take out a life or health insurance policy, most companies require the person to go through a paramedical examination - they give a urine and blood sample, have their vitals taken, and are asked questions about their health history. So that's what I'll be doing. I visit "proposed insured" persons in their homes or office, draw blood, collect urine, take their vitals, go over their health history, and sometimes do an EKG. It's a nice little "side gig" (as my Dad calls it) since I'll be part time at Biolife (if I ever get to start). Not exactly intellectually challenging, but it's actually pretty good money. Examiners in bigger areas make upwards of $50,000 a year.

In preparation for this little "business," I've spent a lot of time getting our second bedroom set up as an office. We bought a printer/scanner/fax/copier that I've been using constantly to print off the forms I need for the exams I do, print off wedding stuff like out guest list (which is a whole other headache), or to scan some photos we have laying around in boxes. Soon I'm hoping to get a file cabinet, because the box I'm using for my files now isn't going to cut it for much longer.

During the time I've been spending in our "office" I've had a very loyal companion/helper. HayZeus, it turns out, is a top notch printer monitor and is learning how to type. Unfortunately, he frequently falls asleep on the job.

He and I have had a lot of time to bond lately. We chat (I meow at him, he meows back), and he does everything he can to drive me insane. He always likes to be where I am, which is nice most of the time, but its really hard to type with him lying on my hands and impossible to write stuff down when he's sitting on my paper and has knocked every single pen off the table. His love for pens and pencils is flat out unhealthy.

Other than all that office-type stuff I've been working on some wedding planning. We applied to use St. Paul's Episcopal Church for the ceremony and I've picked out bridesmaid dresses and invitation paper. Our main focus right now is the guest list. We are planning for no more than 200 people at the reception, and since about 25% of those you invite don't come (on average) we don't want to invite more than 275 people. So Joe and I made our preliminary list and then went through and slimmed it down. The problem is everytime we take people off, someone reminds us of someone important we forgot or requests that additional people be added. It's a headache and I'll be happy when we've got it all done.

My sister in law says I'm way too organized with this wedding stuff but I just can't see how thats a bad thing. I mean I get it, September 29th is a ways away, but I don't want to be scrambling in July or August. When my brother Joe got married I hand made all of the invitations in a period of two weeks because they didn't figure out who was marrying them/where the ceremony was/at what time until 8-10 weeks before the wedding. I don't want to deal with that. By the end of March I want those details taken care of so I can get my invites printed and labeled. Maybe I'm a little anal retentive or OCD about this stuff, but oh well! Plus, it gives me something to do while Joe's at work.

Joe's sister, Crystal, sent me a recipe for lamb stew on Friday and I think I'm going to make it today. Instead of lamb, though, I'm going to use venison that we got from Joe's Dad. I'm anxious to see how it turns out. :)

Bad Mood

I've been in a bad mood for like three days now. At first I thought it was Valentines Day, but now I'm thinking it's PMS because I have zero energy. Weird though, because I usually don't PMS.

Joe and I are getting engagement pictures taken on Sunday and I'm trying to decide whether or not I should get my hair cut before hand. My hair is super long right now - the longest it's ever been in my whole life. I kinda like it though, so I'm thinking I might not mess with it. But what am I going to wear?

I feel stressed out, but I don't have anything to be stressed out about. I don't even work (at least not for a couple more weeks). And while I'm enjoying the time off, it's longer that I am without health insurance...which is a big problem for someone who requires prescription medication every day. So maybe I'm stressed about that, because it's an issue I need to address ASAP. I wonder what my non-generic available meds would cost without insurance....yikes.

Black Wednesday

Today is Valentine' Day....and I hate Valentine's Day. Which is a bummer because I'm pretty sure Joe doesn't hate Valentine's Day. So it's weird. Because I don't do Valentine's Day...but I'm not about to ruin it for him too? But then I get all excited and mushy (which is normal for me on every other day of the year - I'm a total sweetheart, you just don't know it)....and then I'm always horribly disappointed.

Not because Joe isn't wonderful don't get me wrong. I just get tooooo excited and I expect something a little more creative than the norm. Because on Valentine's Day, the norm just isn't going to do it for me. Which is why I hate it.

It's cyclical. I hate it because I never (used to) get anything out of it. And now that I do get something out of it I'm so bitter about it that I expect something extravagant (not materially, but creatively) and when I get something less I'm disappointed and start hating it again. I've been digging this hole for myself for years.

It doesn't help that I think the whole holiday is BS. We spend 364 days building up to a day that we spend doing things for the people we love when we should actually be doing those things all the time. Not just on Valentine's Day, but on the day after the Super Bowl or on Tuesday before bowling or 10 am Saturday when you're just getting out of bed. The whole thing frustrates me.

And every year its the same thing - get her flowers! cook him dinner! get her a card! put a note in his lunch! spend money on each other!

Look. I love flowers. I really do. And Joe even got them for me once (he thought I was mad at him, which I was, but not after I returned to my Canadian hotel room to a huge bouquet...smart boy...). And I certainly wouldn't think less of them on Valentine's Day. But hey, we're in love 365 days a year, not one. And I do cook him dinner. Nearly every night. We get each other cards for our "half-birthdays" (now thats a kickass holiday). I write cute little notes for his lunch on random weekdays. Get it?

There are a million rational reasons to think this day is BS.

But I'm a girl.

So I'm going to be all pissy all day long because it's Valentine's Day and it won't live up to my expectations.

But hey, at least some random day next week or next month will kick ass for me. Take that one Hallmark!

Getting Settled

So I guess we've been in the UP for about three weeks now and we're finally getting into the routine of daily life. I'm still not working because of a ridiculous hold up on my background check, but I will start on the 26th. The first two weeks I had off were really nice since our first week up here was so chaotic. I was able to get everything unpacked, find a place for most of it, and get things to feel "normal" once again. I'm enjoying how all of my days are consistent - I sleep the same number of hours, go to bed and get up and the same time, eat around the same times, etc. And what's great is that my daily pattern shouldn't change very much once I'm back to work.

The other thing I've had a lot of time for has been wedding planning. We're getting a lot of the big details worked out. We'll meet with our banquet coordinator this week and sign our contract/put down our deposit and I've picked out my dress and the bridesmaid dresses. Joe's sister, Crystal, is going to make our cake and we're both super stoked about that. Kristy is going to make the jewelry for the bridal party as well as do some art work for the invitations and I have a sample of the invitation paper coming any day. My flowers are picked out and I'll be getting samples of them soon as well. It's all coming together.

That leaves one very important detail: the ceremony. Joe and I are both baptized Catholic but decided a long time ago that we did not want to get married in the Catholic Church. Neither of us are practicing Catholics and we feel that going through the 6 months of preparation just so we can have our ceremony inside the building isn't right. So I've spent hours and hours researching marriage requirements in other churches and religions. We considered the steps inside the courthouse (they're marble and gorgeous) but the courthouse won't open on a Saturday for such a function. There is a theater we can rent and they'll set it up like a church, but I've been trying to get a hold of the rental office for the place for the past week and have thus far been unsuccessful. We know of a retired judge that can marry us, but we need a location. And we know better than to plan an outdoor wedding for the end of September in the UP. So that brings us back to a church.

Truth be told I think I'd really like to get married in a church. The Cathedral in Marquette is gorgeous, but I just don't feel right getting married there. I have many, many objections to the ways of the Catholic religion at this point in my life and I feel like I'd be using the Church wrongly if I go through the motions of marriage prep with the religion. If the bride doesn't feel worthy of communion at her own wedding then why would she get married there? I don't know, it's hard to explain.

There is an Episcopalian Church on Ridge Street downtown that I visited yesterday. I spoke with the secretary about having a wedding there and looked around a little. St. Paul's is a breathtakingly beautiful. It's an old Church, complete with stone walls, stained glass windows, and horribly uncomfortable, solid wood pews. I didn't get a great look at the altar but it certainly seemed to fit with the rest of the church. The secretary gave me a form to fill out about the wedding. It's a $300 fee to rent the church for the day and we have to provide our own clergy. We can ask the pastor of St. Paul's to do it, but we have to discuss that with him, where as a committee at the church will decide if we can use the building. Basically, anyone could marry us there, we'd just be renting the space...which is what we've been looking for all along.

My mother thinks it's outrageous to pay $300 to rent the church when we'll have to pay clergy on top of that. And she might be right, I don't know. But after being inside St. Paul's yesterday and having the chance to play through the idea in my mind, I know I want to have the ceremony in a church and I'm pretty sure I want it to be at St. Paul's. She wants me to look into other churches, which I'll definitely do, and she suggested I find out how much it would be for a member to have a wedding in the church and then find out what we'd need to do to become members. I'm not going to do this. A cheaper wedding ceremony is the wrong reason to join a church, and I know that. Maybe the $300 is just a little punishment for being disconnected with God. :)

When Joe and I sat down and talked about it, we decided that the ceremony is the one area of our wedding day that we're not going to cut corners. We're already saving a lot of money in other areas - we went with a cheaper reception site, we have friends doing the DJing and photography (hopefully). His sister is making the cake (and even if she does let us pay her for it, I know she won't let us pay her what we'd have paid retail). We're getting the flowers wholesale and arranging them ourselves. I know that the final price tag for our wedding is going to be hard to swallow, but there are some things I just don't want to skimp on - and the ceremony is at the top of the list.

The Big Nap

I think I've finally centered myself enough to sit and write about Mollidog. I've tried a few times these past few days, but I've found myself too distracted and sad to come up with coherent thoughts. But I refuse to miss out on the therapeutic benefits of writing about it, so here goes.

I spent all of last weekend preparing for our trip to the vet. As I previously mentioned, we were in Minnesota for Joe's Grandpa's funeral, which was very difficult for me. I had this sense of time running out and wanted nothing more than to be home snuggled with her on the couch, soaking up every last minute I could with her. Still, I think being with Joe's family and even attending the actual service helped me start the healing process. Maybe it helped put things into perspective - I really felt like a jerk crying over my dog while at the funeral of someone's father and grandfather. But I also know my heart has never broken for the death of a human as it did this dog.

As odd as it sounds, I think I may have needed a break from the stress of caring for her in order to see that it really was time to let her go. After a mere three days with her, Mame said she couldn't believe that I'd been nursing that leg for nearly four months. And I'll admit, it wasn't easy. And I was far from perfect. But yes, I loved that dog enough to sit with her up to 4 or 5 times a day and remove her blood soaked gauze and tape, wash her leg or entire body, and re-wrap the cancerous sores on her poor little leg. And I just accepted that I couldn't keep her from oozing onto the couch or the bed. And I knew it was up to me to keep her pain free. I just never considered there to be another option. She was my Mollidog.

While we were in Minnesota, Mame and I spoke once on Saturday so I could tell her that we'd made it. On Sunday we spoke twice - once so she could double check Molli's medication dosage and once because another tumor on her leg had burst. On Monday Mame called 5 times. She was going to take Molli to the vet for more medication and to discuss possible amputation (which we all knew wasn't going to work, but we all felt better exploring the option). On Monday night, she called a 6th time to tell me Molli couldn't wait for the weekend for her nap. I gave permission to make an appointment for Wednesday afternoon and the vet gave enough medication to keep her as comfortable as possible until then.

From then on, there was a faint "tick-tock" sound in my head.


My brain told me it was time. She was in pain, and she would only get worse. Our apartment is carpeted and I could never keep up with the bleeding. She was getting weaker from the blood loss. I just couldn't take care of her anymore. But my heart wouldn't stand for it. It argued that she had too much spunk left - that she still wagged her tail, even when I changed her dressing, and that her eyes would still light up at the idea of going outside. And every single time I took her out, up the the very last time, she would limp out there, throw herself on the ground, and roll in the snow like it was her job. And really, it was.

Still, I knew it was selfish of me to keep her here. I knew she would only suffer more. And even though I knew I'd have guilt and maybe even regret for putting her down, I also knew that I would never forgive myself if I made her suffer more than necessary. And so I was resolved.

I should mention that while Molli never lost her spunk, the light in her eyes, the wag of her tail, or the perk in her ears, it was clear she wasn't well. A healthy Mollidog would not only wag her tail at the prospect of food or perk her ears up at the mention of "ride in the car" or "outside." No, a healthy Mollidog would bound from the couch, jump in the air, twirl around, shift from foot to foot excitedly, and if you really got her riled up, bark and try to tackle you and lick your face. But she just hadn't been up to it. Mame said she rarely left the spot she'd settled into under the chair in the living room the entire time I was gone. But the instant I walked in the door to pick her up, that pup was in her feet, bounding for the door, jumping, spinning, barking, the works. In and instant she was on a chair with her paws on my chest licking my face like it was the best tasting thing she'd ever encountered.

Talk about crushing my resolve....she walked all over it. I was having trouble with the idea that in less that 24 hours this energetic puppy would be gone. At least I was until I got her home.

Molli needed a bandage change right away. So we got her home and got down to it. The last week or so I had been having Joe help me - he would hold her head so she wouldn't lick the wounds while I worked on them (she would lick his hands instead). So I got out all my supplies, slapped on my gloves, and started cutting away the old bandage. For months now, Molli's cancer has had a scent about it, but it's never bothered me. I'm an pretty strong stomached person - blood, guts, smells, etc don't get to me. So me telling you that I had to choke back vomit more than once while changing her dressing should give you an idea of how bad the smell was. The lower part of her paw was necrotic and infected. Things other than gauze and tape fell from her leg when I removed the outer wrapping. If it hadn't been my Molli's leg, I probably would have thought it was cool. If I hadn't been convinced before we got home that it was time, I certainly was after that. So I took a few deep breaths, got ready for bed, and snuggled with her under the covers for the last time.

In the morning I got up and Molli and I drive Joe to work. We ate breakfast together - I made myself some toast I didn't eat and made her some chicken noodle soup. We went for a walk down to the mailboxes and we stayed out until my ears were frozen. We made Joe lunch and drive over to give it to him and wish him a happy birthday. We went to Target and the laundromat. We hung out at home and glared at the cat together. And she ate half a bag of dog treats.

Later in the afternoon we went to see Laura at the Title Company to give her some extra dog food and so Laura could say goodbye. Then we drove to the vet (in Gwinn) the long way - Molli always liked the back roads because I'd go slow enough for her to keep her head out the window. So I cranked the heat, rolled down the window, and we cruised to Gwinn. About halfway there she ran out of energy and couldn't keep her little head out the window or her little eyes open. So she snoozed on the seat next to me as we spent our last hour together.

Mame and Steve met us at the vet. I walked in the door with her and was doing quite fine until they asked me what I wanted to do with her body (I'm sure they asked it in a better way). Then I started to cry and lost a contact. It had fallen into Molli's fur, so I told her she could keep it and I popped in a new one. I did a lot of nervous chit chat before I went into the room with the pup.

When I first brought Molli home, she always slept on this really soft blanket I got for Christmas a few years ago. So whenever we'd travel, I'd bring that blanket and she'd curl up on it and snooze like she was at home. I brought that blanket with us. I didn't want her to have to lay on the sterile metal table. And so I lifted her onto the blanket on the table and she laid down on it. I folded one corner over her bad leg so that it wouldn't be a part of my memory later. The vet came in and started the IV, which she yelped about but still wagged her tail. The gave her an anesthesia, so she got sleepy and I bent over and wrapped my arm around her and kissed her on the head. I told her she was a good puppy and that she'd get all the treats she wanted and get to go on tons of rides in the car and everything. Her tail stopped wagging.


It really all happened quite quickly. The vet ran the med through her IV. Her respirations slowed and got labored. She had a mini convulsion. And in about 15 seconds, I knew she was gone. A moment later the vet checked for a heartbeat, but I knew it had stopped. That little light behind her eyes had clicked off and I knew she done suffering(her eyes didn't close, and I really wanted them to). And so the only thing left to do was sob....which Mame was already doing, along with Steve. Of the three of us, I was doing the best. I snuggled with her body for a little bit, and when I was ready the vet picked her up to take her to the back. The vet was so gentle, and when she gathered Molli in her arms, Molli's head was cradled in her elbow like a baby's. Finally, Molli's eyes had drooped and the way her little head was positioned made her ears perk up. She looked so adorable. And that's the last time I saw her.

I swallowed the lump in my throat for the rest of the day. It was Joe's birthday and I was hellbent on celebrating it. So I picked him up from work. I made corn muffins to go with the chili Molli and I had defrosted and put into the crock pot. I took the bottle of wine I'd opened the night before and poured us each a glass. We ate dinner. Then I gave him his present and cards.

While we'd been at Target earlier in the day, Molli and I had been picking up Joe's birthday present and card. While I was choosing a card, a card with a dog on it caught my eye. I was a birthday card from the dog. I know these have existed for a long time, but this was the first time one caught my eye. So I picked it up, took it home, and Mollidog signed it. Here's what it read:

FRONT
This birthday card is from me. The Dog. I know what you're thinking.

Where did the dog get the money to buy a card?
How'd the dog get to the store to buy the card?
How'd the dog even get the card into the envelope?

INSIDE
How'd the dog send a card all the way from puppy heaven? (this one was in handwriting that looked a lot like Molli's)

Let's just say I know people.
Happy Birthday from...that's right....the dog.


That was the first card he opened. Then he opened the one from me (and the cat) and opened his iPod shuffle. All the while we continued to talk normally while tears streamed down my cheeks. Finally, I lost it. I was hysterical for the better part of an hour. Not just crying, but violent sobs. It was only a matter of time I suppose. I've done better since then. I've cried myself to sleep once or twice. I burst into tears at the sight of the cat drinking from Mollidog's bowl on Thursday. But when Kristy brought over this gorgeous charcoal of Molli that she drew for me, I was able to stay composed. I'm a puddle right now of course, but that's a given. Tomorrow I'm going to work on the shadowbox Joe got for me to put her stuff in. One day at a time.

But I miss her.

More than once I've called her when I go outside. I started talking to her the other morning (when I was home alone, I used to tell her my plans for the day - i.e. "Ok pup, I'm gonna get in the shower and then we're going to go to the post office"). When I wake up at night (which is more often than not this week) I do a double take because I think the shadow next to me is her. And everytime I drop food on the floor I have to remember to pick it up because she's not there to eat it.


The crazy thing is I was never a dog person. And truthfully, I still don't think I am. I'm certainly more inclined to like them now, but I'm not your typical dog person. But for some reason or another, three years ago I just knew I needed to adopt a dog. And it took me months to do so. I went to the humane society twice a week for two months before I found her. The day I adopted Molli I was there to look at a different dog for the second time to decide if it was the right dog for me. But I never made it to Bertie's cage because I stopped dead when I saw Molli. I looked at the dog tender and said "I want to see that one" and she's been my pup ever since.

I'll never find another Mollidog, and I really hope I'm not dumb enough to look for one. She was a one of a kind pup, and even though it really hurt to have her take her big nap I'm forever grateful that I got to be with her as long as I did. I'll always love my little Mollidog.

Quick Update

I apologize in advance for my brevity, but I've been extremely busy. Here's the skinny on my life:

My last at Munson was peachy. Paul bought us all lunch, I said goodbye to everyone, and I went out on the town in TC with the girls from the lab (whom I'll miss very much). The next day we went to Lansing for Joe's Holiday Party and I had a very surprising amount of fun. They had a chocolate fountain out for dessert and I want one at the wedding.

I spent the first part of last week packing, mostly by myself, and feeling quite pissy about it. Joe and I got the uhaul, he loaded it, i cleaned the apartment, we threw the couch in the dumpster (which we're not sure was a legal move) and hit the road. We spent Wednesday night in Grayling where I had a hard time sleeping because I was worried about Molli in the garage (she was fine, I just wanted to sleep with her - ps the bed at Joe's parents was UNBELIEVABLY comfortable and now I'm very jealous). Thursday we made way for Marquette, taking a longer route to avoid weather. I got into town at about 3 pm and signed our lease/picked up keys. Joe rolled in half an hour later and dropped my POS car off at his work. Then we set out to unload the uhaul.

Joe was listening to his voicemail as he was lifting the gate on the back of the truck. His Mom had called to let him know his Grandfather had passed away (this was somewhat expected, not that it makes it easier). The funeral was planned for Monday and she really wanted him to come to Minnesota for it. As soon as Joe decided he would go there was never a question of whether I would go with him. So we attempted to get settled in the 24 hours we had in Marquette before the drive to Minnesota.

Joe did very well with the news. I expected it to suddenly hit him, but I think he just dealt with is all little by little. On Saturday, the day we were to meet Joe's dad in Escanaba to ride over to MN with him, I had an extremely hard day. It has been well over a year since I felt so unstable. When I was in my psych nursing class, we went over this mental health questionaire and some of the things that were supposed to make someone vulnerable to mental upset were moving, change of job, death of a family member, and change in personal realtionships. Check, check, check, check. I was a wreck.

I was sedated for the majority of the drive to Minnesota and was ready for bed the instant we got there. I felt like an absolute jerk being so upset (and crying for 20 minutes once Joe and I went to bed) when we were there for Grandpa Harry's funeral (whom I didn't get the chance to meet before he passed away). I felt like I didn't have what I refer to as a "safe spot" - a place that I knew I would be able to recenter and recover. I was aware of the fact that we no longer lived in TC, but I am just now starting to get the feeling we live in Marquette. I didn't have any place to depend on, if that makes sense. And then there's Molli.

I knew when we left TC that Molli didn't have long. We were planning on Superbowl weekend for her big nap. While we were in MN, she stayed with my Mom (who is probably the only person I would have been ok with - Molli needed someone she loved and someone who could take care of her - Grandma, RN to the rescue). My mom's excellent care aside, however, Molli got significantly worse and needed to take her big nap a lot sooner than planned (more on that later).

I struggled a LOT while we were away. It wasn't until Tuesday that I started to feel much better. I was on the verge of tears 90% of the weekend, but as most of my family and friends know, I'm a master at disguising this (there's a reason most people can't believe I'm bipolar). Almost everyday we were there it seemed like everyone was waiting on Joe and I to get somewhere - which is not because we were doing something dumb like making out or tickling each other or some other silly thing that we do all the time. It was because I was having a tough time with the simple things, like getting out of bed or putting my socks on.

I hate feeling that way. It scares the shit out of me. I lack the ability to be rational when I feel that way. I lack the ability to keep myself safe when I feel that way.

Turns out that all the medication I take and all the hours I spent in therapy are worth it, because I've managed to get back to feeling positive. For starters, I've taught myself how to cry in the past few years, which helps immensely. I've also managed to surround myself with a lot of very positive people. Joe's parents dropped us at our car in Escanaba on Tuesday, and as we exchanged our goodbyes Jack gave me a hug and told me Molli would go to heaven. Even though it made me cry, I think it was in that moment that I knew I would be able to handle her "big nap".