I can do this, I think

I didn’t think it would be possible for me to have a summer worse than the last one.  For anyone who doesn’t know, last summer my mom had a severe stroke and almost died.  Thankfully she’s doing much better now.

This summer has been really tough.  My depression has been rearing its ugly head again which makes doing anything and everything more difficult.  I don’t enjoy having to admit I’m struggling, mostly because I don’t like being treated differently simply because I have depression.  I’ve haven’t been able to find a job since moving in with Adrienne.  This has been a huge source of my frustration and anxiety.  I’ve only ever looked for work three times in the past, and all three times I got the job I wanted.  I understand that’s probably unusual (or just plain lucky), and that most people aren’t successful right off the bat when job hunting – that doesn’t make it any less stressful.

I also haven’t been able to find a co-op.  I admit this is mostly my fault, as I waited too long in hopes that I could find a paying co-op instead of volunteering, but I really do need to try and have an income.  In any case, I’m still co-op-less, and I’ve applied to have an extension to my co-op completion date based on the difficulties I’m having this summer.  Perhaps I’ve never mentioned it, but I hate having to ask for special treatment in relation to my anxiety and depression.

Late last year my Uncle Brian was diagnosed with liver cancer.  I was given the impression that he had a fairly good chance of recovering as he would be a candidate for a liver transplant, and there are enough willing relatives that finding a match wouldn’t have been too difficult.  At the beginning of this year he began chemotherapy, and again I was under the impression that it was all going well.  At the beginning of July (or thereabouts) my mom told me that the doctor had given my uncle 3 months to live.  He wasn’t going to beat his cancer.  That hit me like a slap in the face, because I always believed he could do it.  My parents kept telling me he didn’t have long, and I visited him on August 1st.  He was so thin.  I had seen him last at the beginning of May at a family barbecue, and while he was obviously ill, he didn’t look like he was on death’s doorstep.  He did this time.  He was in bed the whole time, and was mostly sleeping, but we talked for a bit and he acted like his regular self.  I don’t know if he was doing it on purpose or whether he really was just being himself, but I appreciated it nonetheless.  I talked to my mom last Thursday and she told me how Brian was feeling so much better.  He was up and walking around the house, and he even went to the bank with my other uncle.  My mom sounded upbeat, saying that there was always a chance the doctors would be proved wrong.  I hoped she was right.  Uncle Brian died on Friday, the very next day. His funeral is this Thursday.

The one thing that is weighing on my mind a lot now is my dog, Mable.  I adopted her almost two and half years ago, on April 15, 2010.  She was eight years old at the time and very old for her age.  I knew I wouldn’t have her for long, but I loved her and was willing to make that sacrifice in order for her to live happily ever after.  That ever after ends on Wednesday.  On Wednesday I will be putting Mable to sleep.  It took me a long time to admit I had to make the decision, and even longer to choose a day.  It hit me last week when I was at my parent’s house with Mable.  She slipped on the deck, and couldn’t get her back legs under her, even with my help (she did eventually get back up).  I know better than to let Mable get to the point where she’s completely reliant on me for everything.  She has always had skin problems, and while I did what I could to keep it under control and Mable comfortable, it’s beyond my ability to treat now. Her arthritis is rather bad, and she can’t do stairs anymore unless I’m there to help her.  She can’t hear anything now except for very loud noises, and I don’t enjoy having to yell at my poor old dog just so that she hears me.  She can’t see very well either; in low light and darkness, she’s completely blind.  On top of all that, her mammary tumours have been growing back steadily ever since they were removed (before I adopted her), and when I checked last week the largest one had doubled in size and was quite firm.  I’m only human, and there’s nothing I can do now to make her as comfortable as she deserves, except to be strong and let her go.  I’m already dreading Wednesday, and I hope I can be strong for Mable.

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~ by blacksheepintheroom on August 13, 2012.

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