Last night I woke up at 2:37 am. My cat, Mr. Jones, jumped onto the bed from the bookshelf where he sleeps and woke me up. I was kind of resigned. I don't fall asleep easily once I'm awake. I got up and opened the bedroom window and leaned on the ledge and looked outside. Night noises. Something had gotten ahold of something else far away. Sounded like a duck. There are a lot of predators around here. Lots of duck ponds. There's one across the road, the guy sells duck eggs. Mr. Jones had jumped up onto the bookshelf next to the window again and was staring fixedly out the window. Then at me. Then out the window.
Do any of you have cats? They are odd creatures. Loving and friendly, beautiful and clever, cruel to our eyes, but excellent in all the ways that nature intends. Good hunters.
That look he was giving me was, what's the word? I've seen that look. The look a predator gives. Dead eyed but excited way down there. He heard that sound too. He kept staring out the window with me. I looked at him and wondered what he was hearing. I couldn't hear much of anything. Just sounds of distant quacking. Not something you hear at night. Poor duck. I could see him looking at me and wondering why I was standing there. He just kept looking outside and then looking at me. Nothing I could do.
I eventually closed the window and went back to bed.
Turns out that what I was hearing was a raccoon in the henhouse. It killed our rooster and two baby chickens. Edith, a silver laced Wyandotte and Florence, a Barred Rock. Both were only a few weeks old. Left Annie, Joni and Grace huddled together up near the roof. But alive…
Shitty. I heard it and I didn't know what I was hearing. It sounded far away. It sounded like a duck. So this morning was a bloodbath to clean up. The whole henhouse was a mess. Liza is out there re hanging the gate and tightening up the wire enclosure. I'm sitting here on the porch, done with crying and gagging. I really need a beer.
ahhh…better. Not a lot better but…
Yesterday I got out of SCCA – Seattle Cancer Care Alliance – where I'd gone for yet another throw down. Beating this bitch to the curb is an on going thing.
I've been feeling poorly. I pay attention now. When I lose energy and I feel lousy, I like to stay in touch with SCCA.
They took out the port that the drugs flowed through into the vein in my heart. It was there so that the drugs could sweep through my whole body really fast. The needle in the heart. It wasn't a good feeling. I could feel my poor old heart beating at strange rhythms, sometimes really hard, sometimes very fast, sometimes it scared me. So I called them.
They said they wanted to take the port out, but it's not because I won't ever need chemotherapy again. To be frank. It was because I wasn't doing well with it in there. There I said it. I admitted it. I suppose that's what this blog is for. Sometimes I think it's just to talk to all you lovely people. Sometimes it's just so I can say out loud (as it were) what is bothering me or scaring me.
I hate to admit it but I don't like to tell my family stuff like that. I don't want them to worry about me since worrying won't help. In fact it's stressful to me to worry my family. Can you understand that? I know they want to help. I know they should know important stuff but, to me, getting the port out was all they needed to know. It meant no more chemo to them. I didn't tell them my numbers were up again from October. I felt like I should have when I found out in January but I didn't want to. And I didn't put it here either. And now this.
Not that I'm worried. Hell no. I think my heart was acting up because I had a bloody needle in it. Screw that. I feel better already. Or I will when the stitches in my chest are gone. They are internal stitches so I have to be careful for a little while so they can do their job.
So that's my day…I had fun after the hospital. Really I did. But last night, going to bed, feeling good after an afternoon of being indulged by my family and then failing to protect my chickens…standing there last night hearing the whole thing, maybe I could have saved Elvis. I loved that rooster. He was beautiful. I feel like crap today.
I am going to drink Blue Moon ale and plant some flowers.
And I'm going to plan a better post. Something that I did that I loved. Something. I can't think of anything right now. Tomorrow is another day.