January 1, 2009
Tamar Geller wrote a book called The Loved Dog. I picked it up a while ago because I couldn't find one called The Mostly Liked, But Sometimes Barely Tolerated Dog. As you know, I had to do something about Willie. He doesn't chew stuff as often or as thoroughly as he used to (at one time I compiled this list of Willie Treats that he helped himself to), and in fact, the only materially important thing he has chewed lately is a newly delivered box of PICC line supplies carelessly left on top of the drop-leaf table by the front door. A whole year has passed since he pulled the ten-pound pork loin roast off the counter while it sat patiently waiting for carving.
The problem isn't his inside behavior, it's his outside behavior. The Tennessee Titans have two runnings backs, Smash (LenDale White) and Dash (Chris Johnson), known for their force (LenDale) and speed (Chris). Willie channels them both every time he goes outside. Plus, his auditory system picks up noises made by bunnies and field mice burrowing and imaginary sources of danger kilometers away, but not anything broadcast on the human voice frequency.
Because we have a neighbor who shoots canine intruders to his property and others living nearby who don't appreciate Willie dashing up and smashing into them, I set out on a course to train him, using Tamar Geller's methods. Ms. Geller, a former Israeli Intelligence officer and wolf pack observer, somehow combined and parlayed those two career experiences into a third career as a life coach (?) for dogs. She highly recommends using a hierarchy of treats (gold, silver, and bronze) to reward and reinforce the behaviors you want your dogs to have. Sounds good, right? So far, I have trained Willie and Teddy to sit on command (unless they are really distracted by taunting squirrels or unless they are already sated by a wagonload of gold treats) and to lie down sometimes. We are working on the only one that really matters to me: Willie Come.
Gold treats come from the parts of meat dishes that older, paunchier folks like me should eliminate from their diets anyway (roasted chicken skin, the fat from the Christmas day standing rib roast, anything, practically that gives meat extra flavor). If Willie hasn't wandered too far away. . .if he isn't distracted by hunting small, scampering mammals. . .if he isn't playing with one of his best friends (everyone is his best friend). . .if he doesn't smell something stinky and alluring, he will come to me and sit when I call him, give him a jackpot of gold treats, and (as Tamar Geller recommends) make a party for him with a high, singsong voice and much praise and attention.
He has learned many important lessons from being treated like a "loved dog." Here's one: When we take our morning walk, he can get my attention by running as fast as he can down the back side of the dam, across the fence into the ranch, and directly towards the neighbor's cows. I then call "Willie come" and he races back across the pasture, through the fence, up the dam slope to sit at my feet. Then, I give him chicken parts from the zip-lock bag in my pocket. The first time he came back, I was as proud as if he had presented me with an All-A report card. The next day when it happened, I bragged about him some more. After that, I decided that I hadn't trained him; he had trained me. Before I started passing out the gold, he rarely crossed the fence. Now he does it regularly. I swear his ears are perked as he runs away, waiting for me to call "Willie come" so he can come busting back and get his jackpot.
I guess this is my week for lessons. I learned another one last night from Erin: Don't take your daughter to get tanked up on red blood cells on New Year's Eve, unless you were planning on staying up to make a party and welcome the new year in. We got home from the hospital about 9:00 last night, and Erin was . . .what's the word? Lively. Quite Lively . Walter and I, on the other hand, had visions of pajamas, absorbing, though not stimulating books, and a couple of night caps. Guess who welcomed in the new year? The Buengers, you bet!
Showing posts with label Willie. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Willie. Show all posts
Thursday, January 1, 2009
Saturday, October 18, 2008
I Have Responsibilities
October 18, 2008
A Day-Late Birthday Greeting to my baby sister, Kat (the B-I-G 4-0!). You never knew how great it would feel to earn a 4.0. Welcome to the fantastic decade.
So, with unchanged scans after two rounds of IV chemo (topo with vincristine and adriamycin and topo/cyclo), we face some decisions. Maybe the IV chemo stopped rapid progression (good thing), but maybe it didn't kill back the tumor like it should have (bad thing). That means we have to decide if we're going to use one or both of those again or change things up. The change up offered by Erin's doc is either ABT-751 or pemetrexed (both are phase II trials). We have next week off regardless of what we decide because if we continue some form of topo we wouldn't start until October 30, and the earliest we can start either of the others is October 28 (because of the mandatory wait time between therapies if you are starting a clinical trial). Honestly, we haven't decided which direction to jump yet, mainly because I tend to conduct a rather rigorous due diligence on these kinds of decisions (Hint, hint, if you have experience with any of these drugs, I'd love for you to weigh with your thoughts and opinions. Our e-mail is at the bottom of the page.).
If we do a trial, Erin will have to run down to Houston either the 24th or the 27th for bone marrow aspirations and biopsies, which we haven't done in three and a half years. I gave her the choice of going on Monday with the caveat that only Walter would go with her because I had class that I couldn't miss. She immediately protested that she couldn't possible go without me. I told she could also go on Friday, but I didn't know if she would feel like going to the school dance that night if she had just had her hips drilled. I added that I didn't even know if she intended on going to the dance, I just wanted to lay out her options. She said, "Of course, I'm going to the dance. The Student Council is sponsoring the dance. I'm the Treasurer. I have to be there. I have responsibilities."
So we tried to figure out how to arrange a Monday BMA. Ultimately, she decided she could go to Houston without me IF Walter would go ("because he's smart and can figure out all the details of where and when we need to do things so it goes efficiently"), AND if Moo would go ("because she's fun and entertaining"), AND if Jackson's mom, Shirlene, would go ("because she's calm"). Now, if I just took three people to replace in all the other parts of my life, my stock would really rise. . .
If you were wondering, Erin has thrown off almost all of the side effects of the two rounds of chemo and doesn't seem to have any tumor-related effects either. Her labs yesterday either looked super or were headed steadily up:
A Day-Late Birthday Greeting to my baby sister, Kat (the B-I-G 4-0!). You never knew how great it would feel to earn a 4.0. Welcome to the fantastic decade.
So, with unchanged scans after two rounds of IV chemo (topo with vincristine and adriamycin and topo/cyclo), we face some decisions. Maybe the IV chemo stopped rapid progression (good thing), but maybe it didn't kill back the tumor like it should have (bad thing). That means we have to decide if we're going to use one or both of those again or change things up. The change up offered by Erin's doc is either ABT-751 or pemetrexed (both are phase II trials). We have next week off regardless of what we decide because if we continue some form of topo we wouldn't start until October 30, and the earliest we can start either of the others is October 28 (because of the mandatory wait time between therapies if you are starting a clinical trial). Honestly, we haven't decided which direction to jump yet, mainly because I tend to conduct a rather rigorous due diligence on these kinds of decisions (Hint, hint, if you have experience with any of these drugs, I'd love for you to weigh with your thoughts and opinions. Our e-mail is at the bottom of the page.).
If we do a trial, Erin will have to run down to Houston either the 24th or the 27th for bone marrow aspirations and biopsies, which we haven't done in three and a half years. I gave her the choice of going on Monday with the caveat that only Walter would go with her because I had class that I couldn't miss. She immediately protested that she couldn't possible go without me. I told she could also go on Friday, but I didn't know if she would feel like going to the school dance that night if she had just had her hips drilled. I added that I didn't even know if she intended on going to the dance, I just wanted to lay out her options. She said, "Of course, I'm going to the dance. The Student Council is sponsoring the dance. I'm the Treasurer. I have to be there. I have responsibilities."
So we tried to figure out how to arrange a Monday BMA. Ultimately, she decided she could go to Houston without me IF Walter would go ("because he's smart and can figure out all the details of where and when we need to do things so it goes efficiently"), AND if Moo would go ("because she's fun and entertaining"), AND if Jackson's mom, Shirlene, would go ("because she's calm"). Now, if I just took three people to replace in all the other parts of my life, my stock would really rise. . .
If you were wondering, Erin has thrown off almost all of the side effects of the two rounds of chemo and doesn't seem to have any tumor-related effects either. Her labs yesterday either looked super or were headed steadily up:
HGB 10.2 (not quite normal but certainly enough juice to keep her going)
WBC 8200 (super)
ANC 6000 (super)
PLT 55,000 (still low, but should be fine by soccer next Tuesday)
Last night we had regular Erin at home for the first time in quite a long way. Not dragging from chemo. Not dragging from low hemoglobin. Not dragging from low white blood counts. Not dragging from the grind of keeping up with eight classes while missing at least one day each week. Not dragging from the disruption of her life. She bubbled. She prattled. She told funny stories. We beamed.
This morning has been second verse same as the first. She has a friend (Peyton McCracken) in from Oklahoma. They have ridden bikes, tromped around behind the dam, played Legos and roof ball. They helped me with the recycling (WARNING--OFF TOPIC STORY: I don't know when the last time I recycled, but it was before I sent the old van up to Dallas for Annabelle to drive during her senior year. Anyway, as the folks were unloading the stuff from the back of my van, a worker asked if the brown bottles were from my business. I said no and why did he ask. He said they couldn't take recycling from businesses. I think he just wondered how I could be so slim if I drank that much beer.)
Anyway, that's all for now. We're headed to Adam's birthday party in a couple of hours. If you have wondered about Willie lately and noticed I hadn't written much, you can check out The Davis Report and read the latest.
Last night we had regular Erin at home for the first time in quite a long way. Not dragging from chemo. Not dragging from low hemoglobin. Not dragging from low white blood counts. Not dragging from the grind of keeping up with eight classes while missing at least one day each week. Not dragging from the disruption of her life. She bubbled. She prattled. She told funny stories. We beamed.
This morning has been second verse same as the first. She has a friend (Peyton McCracken) in from Oklahoma. They have ridden bikes, tromped around behind the dam, played Legos and roof ball. They helped me with the recycling (WARNING--OFF TOPIC STORY: I don't know when the last time I recycled, but it was before I sent the old van up to Dallas for Annabelle to drive during her senior year. Anyway, as the folks were unloading the stuff from the back of my van, a worker asked if the brown bottles were from my business. I said no and why did he ask. He said they couldn't take recycling from businesses. I think he just wondered how I could be so slim if I drank that much beer.)
Anyway, that's all for now. We're headed to Adam's birthday party in a couple of hours. If you have wondered about Willie lately and noticed I hadn't written much, you can check out The Davis Report and read the latest.
Friday, May 2, 2008
Conehead, the Barbarian No More
May 2, 2008
Willie still has his contact lens (until Monday), but the cone came off first thing this morning after nine style-filled days. His reaction really reminded me of the early years of Walter and my marriage. For many years in our early married life, Walter and I had ten-and-a half month contracts with the university at what I now consider laughably low wages. During the six-week summer stints when we had no pay checks (and practically nothing saved), we had to scrimp to make ends meet, dining on pasta and anything else we could afford on our stretched-thin budget. We became experts at making special combos from whatever we had in the house, until even our imaginative brains were taxed by the pantry that held only a jar of olives, a box of pearl barley, and a quart of V-8 juice. Once that regular fall paycheck hit the bank, all of our pent-up spending urges would come swooshing out, and salespeople at any shop we entered could boost their commissions.
When we took the cone off Willie this morning, he did two things in quick succession. First, he apologized profusely for whatever it was he had done to merit such a wicked punishment and swore he would never do whatever it was again. Second, he made a break for it, as if he had pent up urges of his own, much like our spending urges after a long summer. In this case, he had to investigate across every fence, under every out building, and through every narrow space that he had been barred from for the last week plus. Wearing the cone apparently adversely affected his hearing because in every test we ran this morning (regardless of pitch, decimal, or tone of voice), he did not return when called. When he finally dragged his sorry self back to the house, he was happy as a clam (can anyone tell me why in the world a clam would be happy and where this simile came from?).
Erin had the TAKS tests this week (a make-up reading test for having taken a pre-spring break vacation the first time it was offered and the fifth grade science test). Neither did any good for her back. Apparently, the teachers/principals/administrators want everyone taking the test to try their hardest. To discourage anyone from rushing through the test in the hopes of finishing early and having fun, no one is allowed to do anything except sit at their desk and read until every single person taking the test is done. One child got sent to the office for drawing at her desk (too much fun?). Since Erin was taking the re-test in reading with the students who had not passed the first time, everyone was very concerned that the test takers take their time. Erin finished her test at 11:25, but had to stay seated until 2:59 when the last child finished. Thursday, I was wiser and picked her up from school when she finished. Unfortunately, the Wednesday session had wreaked havoc with her back. In physical therapy on Thursday she was so knotted up that the whole session was heat and massage (no exercises, not even any stretching). Anyway, for a variety of reasons I'm glad to get this week behind us. Hopefully, she can continue making progress on her back after this setback.
We did manage to turn Thursday into a productive day. With Davis home for a couple of days and Erin out of school over the lunch hour, we made it a family event to attend the opening day of Gina's. For those of you wondering if the new Gina's would be as good as the old Gina's. . .all I can say is try it. We're going back (Leslie, do you want to meet there after church on Sunday?).
I'm going to end with a story that some of you will think I have made up. I swear everything I'm about to write is true and totally Erin.
At breakfast the other day, Erin started asking roundabout questions about her Make-A-Wish trip. After a few exchanges, I gleaned that she was trying to figure out if she could ever have a second wish. I figured she was wrangling for another trip to Wyoming (which was going to have to come on our own dime next time). When I finally asked her what she had in mind, if she ever did have another wish. She said she would ask to meet all the Senators and Representatives in Washington personally, so she could ask them to support the Conquer Childhood Cancer Act. I told her that it probably wouldn't do much good to meet them all, because she wasn't their constituent. So she amended her wish, and said that she wished she could meet Senator Kay Bailey Hutchison in person to tell her about the bill and ask her to support it. I told her that was a good idea. Then she looked at me and said, "I think the Senator doesn't support the bill because she's not informed. And I think she's not informed because her staff is incompetent." Another adult at the table said, that that wasn't true. She didn't support the bill because she was a [and he named something that starts with trog and rhymes with lodyte]. Anyway, I had to agree with Erin's assessment. I don't think the bill is on the Senator's radar at all. This would be a good time to go to my April 11 entry and refresh your memory about how to contact legislative aids.
Willie still has his contact lens (until Monday), but the cone came off first thing this morning after nine style-filled days. His reaction really reminded me of the early years of Walter and my marriage. For many years in our early married life, Walter and I had ten-and-a half month contracts with the university at what I now consider laughably low wages. During the six-week summer stints when we had no pay checks (and practically nothing saved), we had to scrimp to make ends meet, dining on pasta and anything else we could afford on our stretched-thin budget. We became experts at making special combos from whatever we had in the house, until even our imaginative brains were taxed by the pantry that held only a jar of olives, a box of pearl barley, and a quart of V-8 juice. Once that regular fall paycheck hit the bank, all of our pent-up spending urges would come swooshing out, and salespeople at any shop we entered could boost their commissions.
When we took the cone off Willie this morning, he did two things in quick succession. First, he apologized profusely for whatever it was he had done to merit such a wicked punishment and swore he would never do whatever it was again. Second, he made a break for it, as if he had pent up urges of his own, much like our spending urges after a long summer. In this case, he had to investigate across every fence, under every out building, and through every narrow space that he had been barred from for the last week plus. Wearing the cone apparently adversely affected his hearing because in every test we ran this morning (regardless of pitch, decimal, or tone of voice), he did not return when called. When he finally dragged his sorry self back to the house, he was happy as a clam (can anyone tell me why in the world a clam would be happy and where this simile came from?).
Erin had the TAKS tests this week (a make-up reading test for having taken a pre-spring break vacation the first time it was offered and the fifth grade science test). Neither did any good for her back. Apparently, the teachers/principals/administrators want everyone taking the test to try their hardest. To discourage anyone from rushing through the test in the hopes of finishing early and having fun, no one is allowed to do anything except sit at their desk and read until every single person taking the test is done. One child got sent to the office for drawing at her desk (too much fun?). Since Erin was taking the re-test in reading with the students who had not passed the first time, everyone was very concerned that the test takers take their time. Erin finished her test at 11:25, but had to stay seated until 2:59 when the last child finished. Thursday, I was wiser and picked her up from school when she finished. Unfortunately, the Wednesday session had wreaked havoc with her back. In physical therapy on Thursday she was so knotted up that the whole session was heat and massage (no exercises, not even any stretching). Anyway, for a variety of reasons I'm glad to get this week behind us. Hopefully, she can continue making progress on her back after this setback.
We did manage to turn Thursday into a productive day. With Davis home for a couple of days and Erin out of school over the lunch hour, we made it a family event to attend the opening day of Gina's. For those of you wondering if the new Gina's would be as good as the old Gina's. . .all I can say is try it. We're going back (Leslie, do you want to meet there after church on Sunday?).
I'm going to end with a story that some of you will think I have made up. I swear everything I'm about to write is true and totally Erin.
At breakfast the other day, Erin started asking roundabout questions about her Make-A-Wish trip. After a few exchanges, I gleaned that she was trying to figure out if she could ever have a second wish. I figured she was wrangling for another trip to Wyoming (which was going to have to come on our own dime next time). When I finally asked her what she had in mind, if she ever did have another wish. She said she would ask to meet all the Senators and Representatives in Washington personally, so she could ask them to support the Conquer Childhood Cancer Act. I told her that it probably wouldn't do much good to meet them all, because she wasn't their constituent. So she amended her wish, and said that she wished she could meet Senator Kay Bailey Hutchison in person to tell her about the bill and ask her to support it. I told her that was a good idea. Then she looked at me and said, "I think the Senator doesn't support the bill because she's not informed. And I think she's not informed because her staff is incompetent." Another adult at the table said, that that wasn't true. She didn't support the bill because she was a [and he named something that starts with trog and rhymes with lodyte]. Anyway, I had to agree with Erin's assessment. I don't think the bill is on the Senator's radar at all. This would be a good time to go to my April 11 entry and refresh your memory about how to contact legislative aids.
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
Keep Up the Wonderful Work
April 29, 2008
Another downside to Willie's weepy eye was that his trip to the emergency room last Friday overlapped with the awards ceremony at Erin's school by just enough to make me miss it. Walter made it, but I was left holding the leash, so to speak. Erin was chosen as artist of the six weeks for fifth grade. Her wonderful art teacher, Lucinda Houtchins, who makes the very best and most thoughtful presentations of anyone in the school, was kind enough to share with me a copy of what she said as she introduced Erin and made the award:
Another downside to Willie's weepy eye was that his trip to the emergency room last Friday overlapped with the awards ceremony at Erin's school by just enough to make me miss it. Walter made it, but I was left holding the leash, so to speak. Erin was chosen as artist of the six weeks for fifth grade. Her wonderful art teacher, Lucinda Houtchins, who makes the very best and most thoughtful presentations of anyone in the school, was kind enough to share with me a copy of what she said as she introduced Erin and made the award:
The artist of the six weeks for Fifth Grade is
Erin Buenger
from Mrs. Kutzenberger's class.
Erin Buenger
from Mrs. Kutzenberger's class.
I was so delighted to learn that Erin has chosen ART as her elective for 6th grade!! It suits her very creative nature perfectly.
Whenever I've listed the requirements for a project, I've counted on Erin to bring uniqueness, personal meaning, joy, and beauty to her completed artwork. You can find these qualities in her self-portrait prints now on display in the library. these prints were selected to represent our school for a special exhibition that was displayed at the Post oak Mall during the month of March as part of Youth Art Month. The sunny bright colors, the wavy lines of her hair and the repeating patterns in the clothing all draw our attention to her impressive portrait.
Likewise, Erin's clay mask in the form of a tree trunk waiting for roots and branches is most unique and well thought our. With its bands of green and brown in the upper branches, with its complex texture patterns in the forehead, and with its very sad facial expression, Erin's mask has made us think and consider why a tree would be sad even as we enjoy its colorful design.
Congratulations, Erin, on making us think about art! Keep up the wonderful work!
Whenever I've listed the requirements for a project, I've counted on Erin to bring uniqueness, personal meaning, joy, and beauty to her completed artwork. You can find these qualities in her self-portrait prints now on display in the library. these prints were selected to represent our school for a special exhibition that was displayed at the Post oak Mall during the month of March as part of Youth Art Month. The sunny bright colors, the wavy lines of her hair and the repeating patterns in the clothing all draw our attention to her impressive portrait.
Likewise, Erin's clay mask in the form of a tree trunk waiting for roots and branches is most unique and well thought our. With its bands of green and brown in the upper branches, with its complex texture patterns in the forehead, and with its very sad facial expression, Erin's mask has made us think and consider why a tree would be sad even as we enjoy its colorful design.
Congratulations, Erin, on making us think about art! Keep up the wonderful work!
As long as we are on the topic of Willie, I might as well update you. When I took him in for a recheck yesterday, the doggie ophthalmologist didn't think he had made much progress over the weekend. The infection has cleared, but the ulcer hasn't healed. According to Dr. Millichamp, Willie's eye has made new corneal tissue cells, but they're not sticking. To remedy this, Willie is now sporting, in addition to his Elizabethan ruff, a monocle contact lens to protect the surface of the eye. The contact doesn't add to the stylish look like a regular monocle would, but I'm sure the confidence it gives him, just knowing that it's there, makes him the dapperest dog in the entire county. It also adds to his creds as an up and coming dog of great expense.
Saturday, April 26, 2008
Woe is Willie
April 26, 2008
I never expected Willie to cost more than Luke. Willie came to us for free, a skinny stray pup with questionable parentage. Luke arrived without papers, as well, and never had that look about him that screamed pure bred. He also came with a price tag, $300, that allowed us to separate him from his unscrupulous and abusive owner and prove to Davis that sometimes having a generous heart is more important than having any sense. The toll for owning Luke has only increased with each passing year. Most of the bills come because Luke has taken it upon himself to familiarize himself with the American health care system for pets. Twice he was hospitalized after dog attacks. Despite weighing 95 pounds and living life like most yellow labs, as the friendliest doofus on the block, he has managed to accumulate hundreds of dollars worth of charges for treatments for lacerations and and other battle wounds. I swear, he has NEVER started a fight, and if you compared the damage he inflicted with the damage he got, you would never even believe he fought back, even for a second. Even bigger expenses have come, however, because he refuses to die of old age. At fifteen plus, we sort of expect him to keel over at any point. He doesn't. He may be the fittest geriatric patient at the A&M Small Animal Clinic. I think the young clinicians there plot ways of keeping him going, maybe in hopes of achieving new records. He has had a range of anti-inflammatory drugs (both steroidal and non-steroidal), hydrotherapy, and of course, pain management protocols. All of which come with a price tag.
So, Willie reaching the level of our six million dollar dog seemed unlikely. Two weeks ago, Willie was his normal, irrepressible self. Despite dire predictions to the contrary, he welcomed Erin's new dog Teddy into the household, showed her the ropes, and for the first time in his life had a friend to call his own. He was happy and fulfilled.
Then he took the big fall. You know about Achilles and his heel? Samson and his hair? Baldor and mistletoe? Willie's vulnerability was his eye. He ran up to me in the yard a couple of Saturdays ago, winking. At first I thought he was practicing so he could make a move on the girl dog down the street, but nope, he just had a bit of grass stuck in his eye. I pulled it out and he seemed okay. Over the next few days he started squinting noticeably in one eye, giving us a chance to poke fun at him with new nicknames: Winky, Squint, Pop-Eye. When it started looking worse rather than better, we headed to the vet. Oops, we all felt guilty for taunting him when we learned he had an infected eye ulcer. Some antibiotic eye drops every couple of hours on Wednesday and Thursday should have done the trick, but when the vet checked on Friday (a week ago, not yesterday), he was worse not better. We re-doubled our efforts, unfortunately without progress. The next time the vet saw him, he ordered mandatory kenneling at the clinic. (I fully believe that the vet thought he was dealing with incompetent humans who would lie about treating their dog and sell the unused antibiotics on the black market for cash profit.) Three days of special care at the vets (are you seeing how we think that Willie at age two has a good start at matching Luke's lifetime expenditure record), and he was unambiguously not better. I kept wishing for a secondary market where I could sell his eye goop to offset our vet bills. Yesterday the vet told us he couldn't do anything more. He made arrangements to have Willie transferred to the A&M Small Animal Clinic. The on-call emergency room doctor triaged him quickly (do pediatric hospitals have something to learn from vet hospitals?), and Walter and I (experienced enough in the waiting game to bring journals to read and papers to grade) waited. By 2:00 we headed home, Willie in tow.
By digging around a little the ophthalmologist found a second piece of grass living under the third lid of Willie's eye. (Did I even know dogs had three eyelids: upper, lower, and third? Nope, not until recently). Here is what Willie had carried in his eye for the last two weeks (not the dime, that's just there so you can see the size of the grass and wonder how it had eluded the first vet after repeated exams).
It might not look like it from this photo, but Willie is much better now (thanks in part because Walter and I set the alarm to go off at midnight, 2:00, 4:00, and 6:00 so we could continue the every two hour administration of meds to our boy). The misery expressed so poignantly on his face is from the embarrassment of having to dress like Queen Elisabeth for a least a few more days (you can click on the photo and get a really good idea of what his eye currently looks like).
In other medical news:
In an effort to keep Erin hydrated so that she can tolerate celebrex and cyclophosphamide without ruining her kidneys, I diluted Erin's hemoglobin down pretty effectively this month. Everything else looked quite good.
I never expected Willie to cost more than Luke. Willie came to us for free, a skinny stray pup with questionable parentage. Luke arrived without papers, as well, and never had that look about him that screamed pure bred. He also came with a price tag, $300, that allowed us to separate him from his unscrupulous and abusive owner and prove to Davis that sometimes having a generous heart is more important than having any sense. The toll for owning Luke has only increased with each passing year. Most of the bills come because Luke has taken it upon himself to familiarize himself with the American health care system for pets. Twice he was hospitalized after dog attacks. Despite weighing 95 pounds and living life like most yellow labs, as the friendliest doofus on the block, he has managed to accumulate hundreds of dollars worth of charges for treatments for lacerations and and other battle wounds. I swear, he has NEVER started a fight, and if you compared the damage he inflicted with the damage he got, you would never even believe he fought back, even for a second. Even bigger expenses have come, however, because he refuses to die of old age. At fifteen plus, we sort of expect him to keel over at any point. He doesn't. He may be the fittest geriatric patient at the A&M Small Animal Clinic. I think the young clinicians there plot ways of keeping him going, maybe in hopes of achieving new records. He has had a range of anti-inflammatory drugs (both steroidal and non-steroidal), hydrotherapy, and of course, pain management protocols. All of which come with a price tag.
So, Willie reaching the level of our six million dollar dog seemed unlikely. Two weeks ago, Willie was his normal, irrepressible self. Despite dire predictions to the contrary, he welcomed Erin's new dog Teddy into the household, showed her the ropes, and for the first time in his life had a friend to call his own. He was happy and fulfilled.
Then he took the big fall. You know about Achilles and his heel? Samson and his hair? Baldor and mistletoe? Willie's vulnerability was his eye. He ran up to me in the yard a couple of Saturdays ago, winking. At first I thought he was practicing so he could make a move on the girl dog down the street, but nope, he just had a bit of grass stuck in his eye. I pulled it out and he seemed okay. Over the next few days he started squinting noticeably in one eye, giving us a chance to poke fun at him with new nicknames: Winky, Squint, Pop-Eye. When it started looking worse rather than better, we headed to the vet. Oops, we all felt guilty for taunting him when we learned he had an infected eye ulcer. Some antibiotic eye drops every couple of hours on Wednesday and Thursday should have done the trick, but when the vet checked on Friday (a week ago, not yesterday), he was worse not better. We re-doubled our efforts, unfortunately without progress. The next time the vet saw him, he ordered mandatory kenneling at the clinic. (I fully believe that the vet thought he was dealing with incompetent humans who would lie about treating their dog and sell the unused antibiotics on the black market for cash profit.) Three days of special care at the vets (are you seeing how we think that Willie at age two has a good start at matching Luke's lifetime expenditure record), and he was unambiguously not better. I kept wishing for a secondary market where I could sell his eye goop to offset our vet bills. Yesterday the vet told us he couldn't do anything more. He made arrangements to have Willie transferred to the A&M Small Animal Clinic. The on-call emergency room doctor triaged him quickly (do pediatric hospitals have something to learn from vet hospitals?), and Walter and I (experienced enough in the waiting game to bring journals to read and papers to grade) waited. By 2:00 we headed home, Willie in tow.
By digging around a little the ophthalmologist found a second piece of grass living under the third lid of Willie's eye. (Did I even know dogs had three eyelids: upper, lower, and third? Nope, not until recently). Here is what Willie had carried in his eye for the last two weeks (not the dime, that's just there so you can see the size of the grass and wonder how it had eluded the first vet after repeated exams).
It might not look like it from this photo, but Willie is much better now (thanks in part because Walter and I set the alarm to go off at midnight, 2:00, 4:00, and 6:00 so we could continue the every two hour administration of meds to our boy). The misery expressed so poignantly on his face is from the embarrassment of having to dress like Queen Elisabeth for a least a few more days (you can click on the photo and get a really good idea of what his eye currently looks like).
In other medical news:
In an effort to keep Erin hydrated so that she can tolerate celebrex and cyclophosphamide without ruining her kidneys, I diluted Erin's hemoglobin down pretty effectively this month. Everything else looked quite good.
WBC 4.9 K/uL (4.0-13.5)
ANC 3.3 (1.5-7.8)
HGB 10.4 g/dL (11.5-14.5)
PLT 296 K/uL (140-440)
with
BUN 21 mg/dL (5-26)
Cr 1.0 mg/dL (0.5-1.5)
AST 37 IU/L (0-40)
ALT 20 IU/L (0-40)
All the other chemistries were normal, too. That's the last (hopefully) we will see of the clinic until May 13 when we go to Houston for scans.
Tuesday, January 1, 2008
Un-Able to be Corriged
January 1, 2008
That's Willie: the dog unable to be corriged. I know all dogs do naughty things, but I was hoping for a better start to the new year than having Willie attempt to pull the ten pound pork loin onto the floor for a gnosh, while we entertained the new minister and his family in the living room. All I heard was his nails scrabbling on the formica (am I the only person in America that still has formica counter tops?), but I knew that scrabbling nails were just a precursor to incorrigible behavior. I was not wrong. When I punished Willie by putting him up in my bedroom (risking gnawing or worse among my personal possessions), the tender-hearted, dog-loving pastor plead his case (even though he knew not the exact nature of Willie's transgression). I told him that letting Willie lounge around on my bed and rest his chin on my down pillows wasn't exactly like sending him to Gitmo.
Disaster averted. Dinner saved. But hope for the new year dashed. Oh well, I wouldn't want to waste all my positive energy on getting my dog to behave when we have scans coming up.
That's Willie: the dog unable to be corriged. I know all dogs do naughty things, but I was hoping for a better start to the new year than having Willie attempt to pull the ten pound pork loin onto the floor for a gnosh, while we entertained the new minister and his family in the living room. All I heard was his nails scrabbling on the formica (am I the only person in America that still has formica counter tops?), but I knew that scrabbling nails were just a precursor to incorrigible behavior. I was not wrong. When I punished Willie by putting him up in my bedroom (risking gnawing or worse among my personal possessions), the tender-hearted, dog-loving pastor plead his case (even though he knew not the exact nature of Willie's transgression). I told him that letting Willie lounge around on my bed and rest his chin on my down pillows wasn't exactly like sending him to Gitmo.
Disaster averted. Dinner saved. But hope for the new year dashed. Oh well, I wouldn't want to waste all my positive energy on getting my dog to behave when we have scans coming up.
Thursday, September 13, 2007
A Use for Willie
September 13, 2007
I forgot to mention something you can do this month to promote Pediatric Cancer Awareness: donate blood. That's what I did this morning. Unplugging a vein and dripping into a bag took 6 minutes and 35 seconds, according to my blood tech. Doing the paperwork took a few minutes longer. Do someone a favor. Save a life. Give blood.
On with the update. . .
Willie resented the start to school more than anyone. Sure, Erin belly-ached about the earlier bedtime, but she more than made up for that inconvenience by getting to hang with her friends and learning all the fifty states. Walter and I might have felt like lounging around for a couple more weeks before we took the plunge into the fast-paced fall, but we appreciate the back-to-work salary that goes with the back-to-work job. Willie appreciates none of it, as demonstrated by the renewed feasting going on at my house in my work-day absence.
In the meantime, I have been pondering the many e-mails and comments prompted by my request for what to say on the radio last Friday. Thank you all for pointing out both the obvious and subtle things that the public ought to know about pediatric cancer. I think we did okay--Dr. Vance invited us to be his guests again next September to celebrate(?) Pediatric Cancer Awareness Month. We agreed, and as everybody knows, once something gets put on my calender, it gets done! But back to the thought I started with (unless it died of loneliness waiting for me to get back to it). I wanted to thank my friend Phyllis Washburn for the following advice:
I think you should stress how your family has tried to maintain a normal life for all of you. I have been so impressed with the upbeat attitude of each member. I believe that your positive outlook on life and your faith has made a real difference in how Erin views her illness.
Now, I'm not sure I know what "normal" is. I have always really considered myself more akin to the brain in the jar presented by Igor (pronounce eye-gore) to Gene Wilder in Young Frankenstein: "Abby somebody, Abby Normal, I think." I do know that whatever we do, we do for love. Cancer has stripped almost everything else that wasn't essential away from our lives.
Beyond love, I have only a few other bits to offer (based on my experience with the stress and tension brought on by approaching scans and the other abbynormalities in our lives).
While these three carry me pretty far, the inevitable dark moments poke their way into my thoughts. Why has Congress kept the Conquer Childhood Cancer Act of 2007 bottled up in committee, while at least eight children I can think of have died since we went to Washington? What will happen if Erin's tumors flare up? What happens to cancer families who can't afford treatment and who lack the support network we have?
Final Solution. Because I have an obnoxious dog who will eat up the house if he doesn't get exercise, I spend the first 25 minutes of every single day walking Willie. I give myself permission to let my mind wander through random thoughts about Erin and her illness and the insidiousness of it all during these mostly pre-dawn walks. Usually, after about ten minutes or so, my mind wanders on to other topics, and by the time I have made it home, I have set aside any negatives and am ready to start the day. If I have any lingering doubts, I look at this (taken at Mark and Alicia's wedding in July) and refer back to #3 above.
I forgot to mention something you can do this month to promote Pediatric Cancer Awareness: donate blood. That's what I did this morning. Unplugging a vein and dripping into a bag took 6 minutes and 35 seconds, according to my blood tech. Doing the paperwork took a few minutes longer. Do someone a favor. Save a life. Give blood.
On with the update. . .
Willie resented the start to school more than anyone. Sure, Erin belly-ached about the earlier bedtime, but she more than made up for that inconvenience by getting to hang with her friends and learning all the fifty states. Walter and I might have felt like lounging around for a couple more weeks before we took the plunge into the fast-paced fall, but we appreciate the back-to-work salary that goes with the back-to-work job. Willie appreciates none of it, as demonstrated by the renewed feasting going on at my house in my work-day absence.
In the meantime, I have been pondering the many e-mails and comments prompted by my request for what to say on the radio last Friday. Thank you all for pointing out both the obvious and subtle things that the public ought to know about pediatric cancer. I think we did okay--Dr. Vance invited us to be his guests again next September to celebrate(?) Pediatric Cancer Awareness Month. We agreed, and as everybody knows, once something gets put on my calender, it gets done! But back to the thought I started with (unless it died of loneliness waiting for me to get back to it). I wanted to thank my friend Phyllis Washburn for the following advice:
I think you should stress how your family has tried to maintain a normal life for all of you. I have been so impressed with the upbeat attitude of each member. I believe that your positive outlook on life and your faith has made a real difference in how Erin views her illness.
Now, I'm not sure I know what "normal" is. I have always really considered myself more akin to the brain in the jar presented by Igor (pronounce eye-gore) to Gene Wilder in Young Frankenstein: "Abby somebody, Abby Normal, I think." I do know that whatever we do, we do for love. Cancer has stripped almost everything else that wasn't essential away from our lives.
Beyond love, I have only a few other bits to offer (based on my experience with the stress and tension brought on by approaching scans and the other abbynormalities in our lives).
- Humor. I rely heavily on humor and constantly look for things, even little things, to laugh at and with. I especially like to share jokes and funny, private moments with Erin.
- Tolerance of Ambiguity. I work very hard at not having to be sure of everything (those who have known me for any length of time realize that this is a real stretch for me, Vickie "Know-it-All" Buenger). I try to look at the positives of fuzziness and remind myself that it is pure hubris to imagine that I have to know/control everything.
- Valuing Erin. When those two fail and I feel the churn start in my stomach, I just ask myself about how I want to spend my time with Erin. The future holds variations of two scenarios: survival or not. If she's going to survive and grow to adulthood, do I want to waste time in the dark moments of worry and anxiety? Answer: no, that would be counterproductive. If she's going to die, do I want to waste the even more precious time I have with her in the dark moments of worry and anxiety? Answer: definitely no, if I only have her for a short amount of time, I want to squeeze every bit of positive I can out of the time.
While these three carry me pretty far, the inevitable dark moments poke their way into my thoughts. Why has Congress kept the Conquer Childhood Cancer Act of 2007 bottled up in committee, while at least eight children I can think of have died since we went to Washington? What will happen if Erin's tumors flare up? What happens to cancer families who can't afford treatment and who lack the support network we have?
Final Solution. Because I have an obnoxious dog who will eat up the house if he doesn't get exercise, I spend the first 25 minutes of every single day walking Willie. I give myself permission to let my mind wander through random thoughts about Erin and her illness and the insidiousness of it all during these mostly pre-dawn walks. Usually, after about ten minutes or so, my mind wanders on to other topics, and by the time I have made it home, I have set aside any negatives and am ready to start the day. If I have any lingering doubts, I look at this (taken at Mark and Alicia's wedding in July) and refer back to #3 above.
Monday, April 3, 2006
Willie and Other Delights
04/03/06
We have settled on a name for the puppy: Willie (short for Will Rice, where Davis will live next fall, which is short for William Marsh Rice). This moniker opens up all kinds of possibilities for fun. It started out as a continued plea from the kids: "Willie (get it? Will he?) stay or willie go?" Now that we've settled that question, we have gone on to other versions. When he's bad on the carpet we can call him Wee Wee or say "Whoopsie Willie." When he does something clever (we're still waiting) he's Slick Willie. When he insists on NOT COMING when we call, we sing "Little Willie, Willie won't (pause) go home, but you can't push Willie round, Willie won't go." (For those more youthful types, this is a lyric from a smarmy pop song from decades ago. . .probably a one hit wonder.) Erin, by the way, isn't really in the spirit. She insists on the more formal "William" most of the time, even when he is not in trouble. I think she was holding out for "Jo Jo," which had possibilities, or "Brownie," favored by my mother on the premises that we could always have a laugh when we stared down at a Willie mess and said "Heckuva job, Brownie!"
Erin has clinic in Houston this afternoon. Hopefully, it will be a quick in and out, with everyone remarking on her vibrant health and rosie cheeks. Her counts last week during the third week of round three all hit in the normal range which is quite a blessing. We're hoping for the same today.
Like Erin, we have all been exceptionally well the last week. Davis's high school soccer career came to an end last Tuesday in a lop-sided loss to The Woodlands in bi-district. Bryan high's loss is my gain. Since he no longer has to attend soccer practice OR soccer class, he is coming home early this afternoon to mow my lawn! Hey, what a deal. Word on the street is that he is going to use his new found time to start his summer job early.
The Panther's also took the field last week. Erin again had a great time and played her little heart out, in an exciting(?) 18-15 loss. She was behind the plate for two innings (the whole game only last three innings) and opined that she might wait to play catcher again until she grew a little. I think the equipment weighed her down more than she expected.
The adult units of the Buenger household adjusted quickly to the free Friday evening (first one in 2006). We enlisted Nico to entertain Erin and spend the night, and of course, Davis was soaking in the freedom of an unencumbered schedule, as well. We made our leisurely way out to the deck with our refreshments, enjoyed the warm breeze rippling the recently leafed out trees, and wrapped ourselves in the sunset. I think you'll be able to find us there regularly on Friday evenings, from now until further notice. Come on over. The dogs will bark a warning to let us know you've arrived. Otherwise, don't expect us to get up.
Thanks for the support with the aluminum cans. Erin is still collecting cans and will be for the whole month. We really like this kind of fundraising because it has double benefits: raising money for cancer research and getting cans out of the landfill and into the recycling process. If you wouldn't be comfortable with Erin taking the kind of cans you accumulate up to her school, you can always take them to the Finfeather recycling center yourself, and donate the money you earn. If you are virtuous and don't drink beverages that come in aluminum cans, but would like to support Erin's Relay for Life team, you can make a direct contribution. I feel sure that the Honoraria and Memorial Luminaria that many of you bought last year will be available again. I just don't have the specific information yet.
As always, we appreciate all the big hearted ways you support us and the cancer cause. These feelings are especially important to lift us up in good times and not-so-good times. This weekend, three children in the neuroblastoma world died. We did not know any of them personally, but Nick Snow fought the disease for seven years, pioneering all sorts of treatment options, before he became disease-free in 2002. In the end he died of severe pancreatitis and complications from a perforated bowel, both conditions probably stemming from the heavy treatment he endured. Another younger boy from Florida, Cameron, also died. His parent's web site will really make you think about what it means to be a neuroblastoma warrior.
We have settled on a name for the puppy: Willie (short for Will Rice, where Davis will live next fall, which is short for William Marsh Rice). This moniker opens up all kinds of possibilities for fun. It started out as a continued plea from the kids: "Willie (get it? Will he?) stay or willie go?" Now that we've settled that question, we have gone on to other versions. When he's bad on the carpet we can call him Wee Wee or say "Whoopsie Willie." When he does something clever (we're still waiting) he's Slick Willie. When he insists on NOT COMING when we call, we sing "Little Willie, Willie won't (pause) go home, but you can't push Willie round, Willie won't go." (For those more youthful types, this is a lyric from a smarmy pop song from decades ago. . .probably a one hit wonder.) Erin, by the way, isn't really in the spirit. She insists on the more formal "William" most of the time, even when he is not in trouble. I think she was holding out for "Jo Jo," which had possibilities, or "Brownie," favored by my mother on the premises that we could always have a laugh when we stared down at a Willie mess and said "Heckuva job, Brownie!"
Erin has clinic in Houston this afternoon. Hopefully, it will be a quick in and out, with everyone remarking on her vibrant health and rosie cheeks. Her counts last week during the third week of round three all hit in the normal range which is quite a blessing. We're hoping for the same today.
Like Erin, we have all been exceptionally well the last week. Davis's high school soccer career came to an end last Tuesday in a lop-sided loss to The Woodlands in bi-district. Bryan high's loss is my gain. Since he no longer has to attend soccer practice OR soccer class, he is coming home early this afternoon to mow my lawn! Hey, what a deal. Word on the street is that he is going to use his new found time to start his summer job early.
The Panther's also took the field last week. Erin again had a great time and played her little heart out, in an exciting(?) 18-15 loss. She was behind the plate for two innings (the whole game only last three innings) and opined that she might wait to play catcher again until she grew a little. I think the equipment weighed her down more than she expected.
The adult units of the Buenger household adjusted quickly to the free Friday evening (first one in 2006). We enlisted Nico to entertain Erin and spend the night, and of course, Davis was soaking in the freedom of an unencumbered schedule, as well. We made our leisurely way out to the deck with our refreshments, enjoyed the warm breeze rippling the recently leafed out trees, and wrapped ourselves in the sunset. I think you'll be able to find us there regularly on Friday evenings, from now until further notice. Come on over. The dogs will bark a warning to let us know you've arrived. Otherwise, don't expect us to get up.
Thanks for the support with the aluminum cans. Erin is still collecting cans and will be for the whole month. We really like this kind of fundraising because it has double benefits: raising money for cancer research and getting cans out of the landfill and into the recycling process. If you wouldn't be comfortable with Erin taking the kind of cans you accumulate up to her school, you can always take them to the Finfeather recycling center yourself, and donate the money you earn. If you are virtuous and don't drink beverages that come in aluminum cans, but would like to support Erin's Relay for Life team, you can make a direct contribution. I feel sure that the Honoraria and Memorial Luminaria that many of you bought last year will be available again. I just don't have the specific information yet.
As always, we appreciate all the big hearted ways you support us and the cancer cause. These feelings are especially important to lift us up in good times and not-so-good times. This weekend, three children in the neuroblastoma world died. We did not know any of them personally, but Nick Snow fought the disease for seven years, pioneering all sorts of treatment options, before he became disease-free in 2002. In the end he died of severe pancreatitis and complications from a perforated bowel, both conditions probably stemming from the heavy treatment he endured. Another younger boy from Florida, Cameron, also died. His parent's web site will really make you think about what it means to be a neuroblastoma warrior.
Monday, March 27, 2006
Bear Wear
03/27/06
Erin attended her first wedding ever this weekend and believe me she took it all in (and approved, by the way). She, Walter, and I ignored the barrels of oil we sacrificed to drive out to west Texas (7.5 hours each way) to take part in the wedding of our baby nephew Mike and his new bride M'Kenzie. Erin pronounced everything "lovely." I slipped up (apparently) and forgot to pack a suitcase for Rosie (Erin's best beloved traveling bear companion). Imagine my embarrassment when Rosie had nothing but a sweatsuit to wear to the ladies' luncheon on Saturday. Erin attempted a quick fix by fabricating a beautiful decorative belt for her, but they were both much aggrieved that there was NOTHING formal for Rosie to wear to the wedding that evening.
Do you believe in divine intervention? If not, this may change your mind. At the luncheon, Erin received an unexpected gift as thanks for taking part in the wedding (she was scheduled to pass out the birdseed for guests to hurl at the departing couple). What present would be a sign of divine intervention? New bear party-wear? Better yet: a $12 gift card at WalMart. A trifecta. A new outfit for Rosie with change leftover for new puppy toys (more about that miracle later) all rolled into a shopping spree at the largest (only?) discount store for miles around. Not just great gifts, but entertainment, too.
The wedding came off without a hitch, and we enjoyed sharing the evening with all our friends and relatives. Erin danced with all of the single and many of the married men and tucked away chocolate-covered strawberries as if they had life-prolonging properties (Hey! Maybe they do. I'll volunteer for the Phase I trial).
Davis, in the meanwhile, like any normal, red-blooded almost eighteen-year old, languished at home, alone. The Vikings played (and won) their last regular season game in Waco Friday night (playoffs start tomorrow at 6:30 against The Woodlands), and although Waco wasn't that far out of the way on our trip west, we really needed to be further down the road than that by game's end. We also couldn't guarantee a timely return on Sunday for him to get his radio show prepped and on the air. So he stayed home (did I mention he was alone?). I have yet to find any telltale signs that herds of teens used our home as a watering hole or that there was a dancing girl reunion in our absence. I really expected much worse given the phone conversation we had Saturday afternoon:
Mom: "Are you more awake than when we talked this morning?"
(I had done the unspeakable and called before 11:00.)
Davis: "Yep. I just got back from helping with the KEOS fundraiser at Half-Priced Books."
Mom: "How did that go?"
Davis: "I found some great vinyl you can get me for my birthday. Maybe we can go there together next week."
Mom: "Sounds good. What do you have lined up for tonight?"
Davis: "The guys and I are going to play pick-up basketball at 4:30. Then, I'm going to grab some dinner and probably watch some college basketball."
Mom: "That's fine. Don't forget to feed the dogs and walk them."
Davis: "No problem."
Mom: "So, what are you going to do until your game?"
(Here's where it starts to get fishy.)
Davis: "Since I have a couple of hours, I thought I'd work on that essay for the scholarship application that's due next week."
Mom (thinking to herself): "Oh sure, it's a beautiful Saturday afternoon, and next week is like next year from a teen's point-of-view. What's he up too?" Then says out loud: "Really? That's the best you can find to do?"
Davis: "Welllll, maybe not."
(I can think of a litany of things he might be considering.)
Mom: "Okay, what are you REALLY going to do?"
Davis: "Come to think of it, I do have something more important."
Mom, bracing herself for the worst: "What?"
Davis: "I think I'll work on my sermon for the Easter Sunrise Service instead."
(Now I'm really chuffed. What unspeakable thing is he thinking of doing if he needs to pull out the big guns and tell his mother he spending the afternoon writing a sermon? I'm onto him now, but I don't let on. Instead, I decide to let him figure out how to make his own bail when he's arrested.)
Mom: "Don't you think the scholarship application is more important? It is for $5000, and the deadline is coming up real fast."
(That ought to confuse him.)
So, I don't really know what he did while we were gone. And that's probably all for the best.
Now, what's all this talk about a puppy? I know. I know. I have on this very page complained about our Corgi who leaks at both ends and does not know the meaning of the words "good manners" and our Yellow Lab who is to the Buenger family budget what the Iraq War is to the federal deficit. Are we really idiotic enough to adopt a third dog? Apparently so. This new pup, To Be Named Later, showed up weekend before last, so skinny he could almost fit through the spokes of Erin's bicycle. We fed him out of compassion, not because we wanted another pet. We spent the next several days enumerating reasons why we shouldn't keep him (a list, by the way that far exceeded the almost empty list of why we should). But he's still here, round puppy belly and all. I'm going to Once Upon a Child this afternoon to look for a child gate so he can stay in the kitchen when we are at work everyday. I know. We're hopeless.
Three additional updates of past entries:
1. Erin will continue to collect cans for another three or four weeks. It's best if you rinse them out first.
2. No lasting effects from the port-removal surgery. The steri-strips should fall off in the next few days and the whole thing will become a memory. The best part (so far) is that when Erin complained of an itchy throat and sniffles this morning, I didn't have to hesitate about taking her temperature. If she had fever, we wouldn't have to head to the hospital for a three-day stay to check for possible infection. She could curl up on the couch with Rosie and nap in between cartoons. As it was she was normal and went to school.
3. I'm too modest to boast about Erin's softball debut last Tuesday, but let's just say that she didn't look like a beginner to me.
What's coming up: Erin will have blood counts done this afternoon. Davis has a first round play-off soccer match tomorrow night in Magnolia against The Woodlands. Go Vikings! Erin has her next softball game on Thursday. Go Panthers! We're hoping Aunt Kat and Emma get to come for a visit really soon. Go Emma! Davis has ForwardFest this Saturday. Go KEOS! Cousin Matt is stopping by for a visit on Sunday afternoon (if he survives ChiliFest). And finally, but maybe most importantly, Erin has a clinic visit in Houston next Monday to get approved for the next round of etoposide. After that I may have to go into hiding, as exams and student projects will flow in steadily until the end of the semester.
Erin attended her first wedding ever this weekend and believe me she took it all in (and approved, by the way). She, Walter, and I ignored the barrels of oil we sacrificed to drive out to west Texas (7.5 hours each way) to take part in the wedding of our baby nephew Mike and his new bride M'Kenzie. Erin pronounced everything "lovely." I slipped up (apparently) and forgot to pack a suitcase for Rosie (Erin's best beloved traveling bear companion). Imagine my embarrassment when Rosie had nothing but a sweatsuit to wear to the ladies' luncheon on Saturday. Erin attempted a quick fix by fabricating a beautiful decorative belt for her, but they were both much aggrieved that there was NOTHING formal for Rosie to wear to the wedding that evening.
Do you believe in divine intervention? If not, this may change your mind. At the luncheon, Erin received an unexpected gift as thanks for taking part in the wedding (she was scheduled to pass out the birdseed for guests to hurl at the departing couple). What present would be a sign of divine intervention? New bear party-wear? Better yet: a $12 gift card at WalMart. A trifecta. A new outfit for Rosie with change leftover for new puppy toys (more about that miracle later) all rolled into a shopping spree at the largest (only?) discount store for miles around. Not just great gifts, but entertainment, too.
The wedding came off without a hitch, and we enjoyed sharing the evening with all our friends and relatives. Erin danced with all of the single and many of the married men and tucked away chocolate-covered strawberries as if they had life-prolonging properties (Hey! Maybe they do. I'll volunteer for the Phase I trial).
Davis, in the meanwhile, like any normal, red-blooded almost eighteen-year old, languished at home, alone. The Vikings played (and won) their last regular season game in Waco Friday night (playoffs start tomorrow at 6:30 against The Woodlands), and although Waco wasn't that far out of the way on our trip west, we really needed to be further down the road than that by game's end. We also couldn't guarantee a timely return on Sunday for him to get his radio show prepped and on the air. So he stayed home (did I mention he was alone?). I have yet to find any telltale signs that herds of teens used our home as a watering hole or that there was a dancing girl reunion in our absence. I really expected much worse given the phone conversation we had Saturday afternoon:
Mom: "Are you more awake than when we talked this morning?"
(I had done the unspeakable and called before 11:00.)
Davis: "Yep. I just got back from helping with the KEOS fundraiser at Half-Priced Books."
Mom: "How did that go?"
Davis: "I found some great vinyl you can get me for my birthday. Maybe we can go there together next week."
Mom: "Sounds good. What do you have lined up for tonight?"
Davis: "The guys and I are going to play pick-up basketball at 4:30. Then, I'm going to grab some dinner and probably watch some college basketball."
Mom: "That's fine. Don't forget to feed the dogs and walk them."
Davis: "No problem."
Mom: "So, what are you going to do until your game?"
(Here's where it starts to get fishy.)
Davis: "Since I have a couple of hours, I thought I'd work on that essay for the scholarship application that's due next week."
Mom (thinking to herself): "Oh sure, it's a beautiful Saturday afternoon, and next week is like next year from a teen's point-of-view. What's he up too?" Then says out loud: "Really? That's the best you can find to do?"
Davis: "Welllll, maybe not."
(I can think of a litany of things he might be considering.)
Mom: "Okay, what are you REALLY going to do?"
Davis: "Come to think of it, I do have something more important."
Mom, bracing herself for the worst: "What?"
Davis: "I think I'll work on my sermon for the Easter Sunrise Service instead."
(Now I'm really chuffed. What unspeakable thing is he thinking of doing if he needs to pull out the big guns and tell his mother he spending the afternoon writing a sermon? I'm onto him now, but I don't let on. Instead, I decide to let him figure out how to make his own bail when he's arrested.)
Mom: "Don't you think the scholarship application is more important? It is for $5000, and the deadline is coming up real fast."
(That ought to confuse him.)
So, I don't really know what he did while we were gone. And that's probably all for the best.
Now, what's all this talk about a puppy? I know. I know. I have on this very page complained about our Corgi who leaks at both ends and does not know the meaning of the words "good manners" and our Yellow Lab who is to the Buenger family budget what the Iraq War is to the federal deficit. Are we really idiotic enough to adopt a third dog? Apparently so. This new pup, To Be Named Later, showed up weekend before last, so skinny he could almost fit through the spokes of Erin's bicycle. We fed him out of compassion, not because we wanted another pet. We spent the next several days enumerating reasons why we shouldn't keep him (a list, by the way that far exceeded the almost empty list of why we should). But he's still here, round puppy belly and all. I'm going to Once Upon a Child this afternoon to look for a child gate so he can stay in the kitchen when we are at work everyday. I know. We're hopeless.
Three additional updates of past entries:
1. Erin will continue to collect cans for another three or four weeks. It's best if you rinse them out first.
2. No lasting effects from the port-removal surgery. The steri-strips should fall off in the next few days and the whole thing will become a memory. The best part (so far) is that when Erin complained of an itchy throat and sniffles this morning, I didn't have to hesitate about taking her temperature. If she had fever, we wouldn't have to head to the hospital for a three-day stay to check for possible infection. She could curl up on the couch with Rosie and nap in between cartoons. As it was she was normal and went to school.
3. I'm too modest to boast about Erin's softball debut last Tuesday, but let's just say that she didn't look like a beginner to me.
What's coming up: Erin will have blood counts done this afternoon. Davis has a first round play-off soccer match tomorrow night in Magnolia against The Woodlands. Go Vikings! Erin has her next softball game on Thursday. Go Panthers! We're hoping Aunt Kat and Emma get to come for a visit really soon. Go Emma! Davis has ForwardFest this Saturday. Go KEOS! Cousin Matt is stopping by for a visit on Sunday afternoon (if he survives ChiliFest). And finally, but maybe most importantly, Erin has a clinic visit in Houston next Monday to get approved for the next round of etoposide. After that I may have to go into hiding, as exams and student projects will flow in steadily until the end of the semester.
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