Archive for June, 2011

Watch Your Mouth

June 22, 2011

Its true I haven’t exactly been myself lately. My world took a little bit of a kick and its taking me a minute to find my feet. Even The Husband was shocked and caught completely off-guard when the other day, in a moment of frustration I said “what the eff?” instead of my usual “what the f*#k?” Its no secret I straight up curse like a sailor and he’s use to hearing all kinds of colorful and bomb like language falling from my Irish mouth, so me uttering the word “eff” instead of its colorful counterpart, let him know that things weren’t right and drew my attention to the fact also. Up to that point I could have sworn I was functioning somewhat normal, but I guess not. Anyway, I promise from here on out to be less of a Debbie Downer. This is the week I get my proverbial sh*t together. And to prove it I’m about to sit my ass on the couch, get caught up on all my Housewives, desperate and real, before watching a full hour of the politically incorrect, sarcastic and blatantly honest Kathy Griffin. Now there is a women who could give me a run for my money in the swearing department.

The Unexpected Surprise

June 20, 2011

So big efforts were made this weekend to return to some sort of normality. And by normality I mean I worked hard on crying less and The Husband worked hard on dragging me to Home Depot and getting me involved in some household projects. You know, like regular couples do on weekends. I complied, but it was a less than half hearted effort. I really would have preferred to stay at home and focus on my crying and framing the photos of Manson I selected to hang on his wall of remembrance. Yes, even in mourning I am the ultimate in dramatic, but whatever helps you get through, thats what I say.

Everything was going well until I went to the mail box Saturday afternoon and opened an envelope sent to us from our vets office. What was in the envelope sent me into snotty big floods of tears, all over again. Unbeknownst to us, our vet had taken a clay print of one of Manson’s paws, glazed it and sent it to us with a card from all the staff expressing their sympathies for our loss. I could not stop crying. I was so happy and touched. I’ve always loved our vet and how well they take care of all our doggies and appease their over-protective doggie mommy (cough, cough) but this, I can’t even articulate how much this meant. It was definitely an unexpected and completely appreciated surprise. So to all the staff at Dallas Highway Animal Hospital, Thank You. Seriously.

Thank You

June 17, 2011

Its been a very tough week. I wish I could say things have gotten easier, but the truth is, they haven’t. Its one day at a time right now and some days are better than others, not by much, but its all about baby steps.

But I have to take a second and say and huge “THANK YOU” to everyone who called, text and e-mailed. For the comments left on Facebook and here on the blog. Thank you for your support, your kind words, your condolences and also for taking the time to share your own stories. It has meant so much to Paul and I, more than you will know. Not only that, but it has meant a lot to Crookie and Dexter who are missing their wee brother right now, and so they wanted to show their appreciation for all your messages of love and support.

I tried to find the right words. I’ve been staring at my computer screen for 20 minutes or more, waiting for them to appear, but they don’t. This has to be the hardest post I’ve ever had to write and I’m struggling. Today Paul and I mourn the loss of our beloved little Manson. He passed away this morning from liver cancer and we are devastated beyond belief.

Since his biopsy results last week confirmed the disease, we had been doing everything we could to keep Manson alive and comfortable. The vet told us he wasn’t in pain and Manson appeared to be doing well. He was eating and there were definite signs that his energy and personality were coming back. But the vet did warn us that the type of cancer Manson had, was very aggressive and appeared to be spreading fast. There was no telling how much time he had left, it could be anything from a few weeks, to a few months. As it turns out, it was a week. Last night was the night he took a turn for the absolute worst. We did everything we could but Manson’s liver had started to shut down. He was no longer able to stand or walk unsupported. He was dehydrated and his body began to throw up anything he had eaten the previous 24 hours. He cried out in pain and rolled violently in his efforts to find some relief. It absolutely tore my heart apart to see him go through this and know that there was nothing we could do to help. All we could do was hold him. Reassure him we were there and wait for dawn to break and the vet’s office to open.

Those final few hours with Manson were unbelievably tough and filled with so much emotion. This was our little monster, our baby and he was suffering. We knew the right thing to do was to put him to sleep, but knowing this did nothing to easy the gut wrenching pain we were, and still are experiencing. Manson has to be the toughest little doggie I know. When we adopted him almost a year ago he was paralyzed from the waist down, was severely under weight, his hair was long and matted and he was covered in fleas and feces. Not exactly a good candidate for adoption. But for some reason when I saw him, I melted. To me he was perfect, and even though the shelter vet could give me no guarantee he would ever walk again, I was still determined to take him home. And with some unconditional love, some good medication, a much improved diet, a brand new hair cut and a flea bath, Manson grew strong and within a week or so was on his feet walking.

We were close right from the start. Manson was never far from my side. He followed me everywhere. Life is never going to be the same again. Coming home will never be the same. Going to bed will never be the same. Cooking in the kitchen will never be the same. Watching TV, sitting at my computer, even going to the bathroom will never be the same, cos in all of those moments, Manson was always there, either sitting on my lap or right next to me, following alongside me or standing waiting for me. It so hard and too upsetting to imagine all of those day to day tasks now without him. The only thing Paul and I have to hang on to, besides the knowledge that he is no longer suffering, is that whatever situation Manson came from which led to him arriving at the shelter in the condition he was in, for the last 10 months of his life, he was with a family who loved and cared for him more than he will ever know. Who did everything possible to get him better and who will miss him every single day for the rest of their lives. RIP little Manson.

Here are some photos of our beloved little Manson.

These first 4 photos were taken about 4-5 days after we adopted him. His hair has been all cut off. He is flea free and as you can see, standing up on his own 4 feet.

Once he started walking again he was able to join his brother Dexter on our stroll around the lake. He got tired easily though so we had to add a few pit stops along the way.

This is him sick and groggy post neutering.

But not long after he is back on his feet and racing around.

With Paul and Dexter as we inspected the building of the carriage house.

Before we had 3 doggies.

Our furry kids prior to the arrival of Crookie.

Keeping warm during the cold winter.

A little wardrobe malfunction.

Now Crookie is part of the family and Manson is not overly excited at the new addition.

Don’t ask me where the 2 of them are headed.

Manson going for the rasta look.

Freshly cut just in time to wear his St. Patricks Day bandana.

A little bonding time with Paul.

Manson was way cool.

These last 2 photos were taken 2 weeks ago just before his diagnosis.

Home At Last

June 12, 2011

Beyond fatigue, thats the only way I can describe my current condition. I’m typing this post in some sort of over-tired, jet-lagged haze. After pacing the women’s 800m in Oslo Thursday night, I jumped on a plane the very next morning and headed New York where I landed Friday evening, late. Then got up Saturday morning to pace the women’s 1500m at the Adidas Grand Prix. And honestly, not 30 minutes after completing my pace-making duties in New York, I was back at the airport catching my final flight home to Atlanta. I’m so exhausted and disoriented. My brain is foggy and not functioning at full capacity. Its best I avoid making any kind of decisions right now, important or otherwise, cos these are the moments when pajama jeans, suddenly sound like the solution to all of life’s problems.

And although I don’t have any photos to go along with today’s post, I didn’t want to leave it naked, so I dug up some footage of the women’s 800m that I paced in Oslo, Norway last Thursday. When you watch the race, you’ll hear the commentators criticize me for running too fast. Then you’ll hear them change their tune and offer a slight compliment once they realize I’ve taken the ladies through the opening lap, in exactly the time that was requested of me. What they didn’t know is that for the 3 days prior to the race, I’d been grilled and drilled by meet directors and agents to take this race out hard. To hit a 56 mid for the first 400m. These ladies wanted to run hard and the only thing standing in the way of that, was me not doing my job. At least that was the message I was hearing. So not wanting to be the cause of some sub-par performances, I hauled ass.

Click Here to see me hauling.