Friday, March 26, 2010
Adoption Is Not My Life
Today, I could give a damn about any of it. I am facing surgery, today, at 3:00 and I am not above being a little scared. It is supposed to be minimally invasive and a quick in and out of the hospital and, for that, I am grateful. But I don't like needles and pain and any of the rest of it any more than anyone else.
Hubby has a procedure on Monday and his sister, bless her, will provide transportation since I will be unable to drive. This is a yearly thing, but, because he has an incurable IBD, we always dread the results. When he gets sick, I concentrate on him, not what celebrity is raiding a third world county for kiddie accessories. He is one in a million and I love him more today than I did 20 years ago when we were married. He is kind, strong and a real gentleman and has more manhood in his little finger than any other man that was ever in my life had in his whole body.
Then, an unexpected jolt came yesterday afternoon. Our Rocky-dog had a funny-looking lump removed from the area right over his neutering scar this past Monday. The vet called while the RockMeister was out with hubby for his afternoon walk and I went to pieces. The mass was cancerous, mast cell cancer, and the prognosis is guarded pending an examnation by a vetinary oncologist. This little fella has had a rough road with his health. We just want him to have the best quality of life, possible. We are preparing ourselves for the worst, but hoping and praying for the best.
This sweet, little dog has been a source of joy since we adopted (the only way to adopt) him from the shelter. He is a typical terrier who thinks he is a bull mastiff, he has some grungy habits and loves garbage and rolling in smelly stuff. He will turn up his nose at his food in order to beg from the table and will then clean his bowl when we refuse his begging. He is chubby, barks at the doorbell or any knock, barks at people in wheelchairs and scooter chairs (to our chagrin) and is a friend to anyone who will scratch him behind his ears. He stresses when we are gone and goes nuts with ecstasy when we come home. He dances in little circles of excitement when we get his leash out.
So, you see, adding my children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren, friends and family to the mix, I have a lot of life going on...some wonderful, some problematic. This is one of those times when my cause takes a real back seat to everything else. There are plenty of brave moms and adopted people with the right ideas to carry on and I will be back with them, after I take care of the most important people in my life right now; Me, My Hubby and the Rock-Man.
My maternal grandmother (a staunch Southern Baptist) used to quote this little ditty when I would say, "It's just not FAIR!" She would chant, "Life is real and life is earnest, and the grave is not our goal. Dust we are to dust returneth, is not spoken of the soul."
Grandma, I don't know that I agree with the theology, but you're right about one thing. Life is REAL. And if there is a heaven and you are watching me, take care of us, OK?