Jasper Lives!

I spent the last week nursing my 2 favorite geriatric patients post-surgery. The first one was my 81 year old mother—she had eye surgery.  The other was Jasper, my 16 year old dog—he had 6 infected benign cysts taken off of his body, groin and leg and 1 melanoma taken off of his lip. And it is with a clear conscience that I can say---the dog was a better patient.

By either dog or human terms, Jasper is ancient. I have owned him for nearly 15 years and he was not a puppy when we adopted him. The shelter believed he was at least a year old.

As a young dog Jasper would not exactly be described as “nice”—he was tentative, protective, and untrusting. I believe he suffered some abuse before we adopted him. In his old age he has mellowed. But what Jasper was then and still is now—is a survivor.

Around a week before Thanksgiving I noticed that Jasper was slowing down. He also began to drool. I googled “old dog drooling” and discovered that he was likely in pain and that drooling was often associated with liver disease or melanoma—both diseases of which are prominently flagged in his medical chart. I feared this was it—the end--which was why I took another week to bring him into the vet. I was happy in my world of denial. I was afraid she (the vet) was going to recommend me putting him down—especially since I detected a lump on his lip.

Yet the vet happily told me that Jasper was in good shape—for his age at least-- the drooling was because of an infected gum and yes he had a melanoma growth on his lip but it appeared to be encapsulated. He also had several large benign yet nagging infected epidermal cysts-- which while causing discomfort were never going to kill him. Jasper was overall too healthy to put down---but the lip tumor had to go.

And so we made a decision that despite the danger of anesthesia to a 16 year old dog—Jasper was no ordinary dog. And if the anesthesia killed him, he was at least dying with us trying to help him—no one made an active decision to send him to his maker.

And not only did Jasper survive surgery but as soon as he came home he hobbled to the door to go out—his mind was still sharp—and he was not willing to endure the embarrassment of peeing on the floor. He was going outside like a dog—no doggie diaper for him. And despite the stitches on his lip and lanced abscess in his gum—he was eating that homemade cooked chicken I had prepared especially for him.

It is day 3 post surgery and so far Jasper is progressing way better than many humans under similar circumstances.  He does not feel sorry for himself or begrudge the onset of  illness. He does not curse the things he cannot do anymore. He does not whine to his peers.He gets up and does his job. He does not worry about tomorrow. He lives moment to moment.   

And although I cannot predict how much longer Jasper will live, I know this surgery has extended his already expired warrantee. He is not ready to give up yet. It is inspiring to watch. He is a lesson in tenacity and resilience. And like Tiny Tim in Dicken’s A Christmas Carol---he did not die—instead he is our Christmas miracle—and I thank God for the blessing.

Prayer

I was waiting for a funeral mass to begin the other day when my mother leaned over and said did you know they changed all the prayers? And I said no. To which she replied well you better go learn them in case you have to recite them. But I told her I had no intention of learning the new prayers—the old ones were perfectly fine.

Here’s the thing—a prayer is a prayer. It is not the words so much as it is the intention. New prayers are not like the improved version of Cool Whip nor or are they like New Tide with Oxi-clean. Prayer changes do not make them work better—they just make the intention more understandable to the reciter. As long as the intention is pure, the language is inconsequential.

When I lived in Yonkers and attended Christ the King school I learned the act of contrition prayer. When I moved to Dobbs Ferry Sister Grace required me to learn the version of the prayer Sacred Heart School taught. And when my girls learned the act of contrition at Saint Joseph’s School in Garden City I relearned the prayer again---just so I could quiz them . I learned the act of contrition three times but all three times fundamentally the prayer did not change—it can’t. An act of contrition is a constant. Which is why if I were asked to rewrite the prayer it would simply say:

Sorry God. I screwed up. Sin is wrong.  I offended you and others and I deserve consequences. With your grace I promise to do better next time. Please forgive me.

And I can guarantee you if I said that in a confessional booth God would get it, even if the priest did not.  

Pacifiers and Trees

Kara was the only one of my children to use a pacifier. She was magically self-soothed. It’s not that I didn’t try to coax my other 2 into using a blinky—they just had an aversion to it. They preferred my arms to a plastic odontic nipple.

Unfortunately my father became gravely ill during Christmastime. And the thing about death is that it waits for no one---and I was acutely aware of that at that time. So I had to be prepared for the worst during the busiest time of the year—because that is the other thing—Christmas arrives on the 25^th—it waits for no one either.

And my children were little—8, 6 and 4 years old. They waited all year for Santa and the tree and all things Christmas to come. And while yes Christmas is all about family and being together, it is also about the “stuff” too. It was a little overwhelming. I didn’t know what to do first.

I needed to prioritize. I needed to develop a plan. And what I realized was that all we needed was a wreath on the door with a spotlight shining on it, a tree, and a few presents underneath it—the gifts didn’t even have to be wrapped, and Christmas could arrive—no matter what the circumstances. I didn’t need to decorate the fireplace or bake cookies. I didn’t need to send cards or polish the silver. Ribbons, bows and spectacular wrapping paper were just a perk. A tree and a wreath and a key present or two was all that was needed.

And now every year that is the mindset I put myself in. Because it is really easy to get caught up in all the things we think we need to do at Christmas. It is really easy to get so consumed with the details that you forget to be in the moment. It is really easy to become the Grinch and Scrooge rolled up into one.

So a day or 2 after Thanksgiving I put up my children’s tree—which is artificial—and then hang the wreath on the door. And then I exhale. I feel better. I am self-soothed. Life can hit me with her best shot and Christmas can still arrive. No binky is necessary.

Christmas vs Hannukah

Jesse Weiner was one of my best friends when I was growing up. He lived next door. Every December we engaged in the same debate—which was better: Christmas or Hanukkah.

We both agreed that a tree trumped a menorah---that was never a sticking point. The sticking point was about gifts. He was guaranteed 8 of them. I had no such guarantee. And the thing is that little kids fundamentally do not care about how much oil was left in the lantern or how many wise men arrived at the stable. Little kids care about toys—and how many they will get. Little kids at holiday time are consumed with anything related to the Toys R Us Catalogue—it’s their bible—not the Pentateuch or the gospel according to Matthew.

But not only was Jesse guaranteed 8 gifts he also did not have to work for them like I did. No one held a lump of coal over his head. There was no psycho fat guy in a velvet suit watching him every minute of the day and night for an entire year waiting to yank his booty from a big bag drawn by a magical sleigh. And Jesse was getting those gifts no matter what the weather brought either. No matter how foggy it was on Hanukkah eve his gift would arrive—Jesse had no concerns about a red nosed reindeer’s ability to navigate. Ruth, his mother, provided all the navigation his gifts needed to get from the top of her closet downstairs to their menorah.

So while yes I had a tree and more holiday songs than Oh Hannukah Oh Hannukah and Dreidel Dreidel Dreidel, I am still not sure Jesse had it all that bad—even though I made him believe he did.

I think the luckiest kids in the world are those who celebrate Chrismakah: candy canes and gimmel, a Christmas tree and a menorah, eight gifts plus whatever you get for Christmas. It’s too awesome to contemplate—unless you want to ruin everything by remembering what the two holidays are supposed to be about—faith, miracles and trust in God.

The Smarter Person

I had to drive Briana early to the train station one morning and when I got closer to home I noticed that a blown truck tire was blocking the right lane of a soon to be busy road. So I called the Garden City police to report it. I was being a good citizen. I wanted to prevent accidents.

When the policeman answered the phone I said Yes Officer. I would like to report an obstruction on the west side of Clinton Road between Locust and Poplar. I felt good about how well I described the location. It was very Law and Order-like.

But the officer said On the west side coming from which direction?—Garden City towards Hempstead or Hempstead towards Garden City? I was confused. West is always West on a road that runs north/south. Only left or right matters if you are traveling north to south or south to north. East or West is a constant---that is the point. But because he was an authority figure and I wanted to be respectful I overlooked his comment and said the obstruction is on the right side going south on Clinton from Garden City towards Hempstead.

My mother had cataract surgery on her left eye the other day. She wore a patch over it. My mother’s right eye has macular degeneration. She is legally blind in that eye. And when I drove her home from the hospital post-op she said Why are you going home this way? I was confused. How could she tell which way I was going? She couldn’t see. She couldn’t see yet she was giving me directions. But as my mother is an authority figure and I wanted to be respectful I overlooked her comment and simply said this way is faster.

Sometimes being the smarter person means keeping your smarts to yourself.

Evening Out Gifts

When my girls were little I would line up 3 glasses when pouring their beverages and virtually used  a graduated cylinder to make sure no child received one more drop than the other. Because if the amount was not equal, a brawl would break out.  

One Christmas I arranged the gifts such that two of the piles were physically taller than the other one. Each of the three piles had the same number of gifts. The child who had the shorter pile began to cry. She thought her sisters got more than she did.

 I never made that mistake again.

I spent all of Black Friday Christmas shopping with various permutations of daughters. I have given up surprising them with gifts. I take them shopping so that no one experiences disappointment.

Scratch that. I take them shopping so I will not have to deal with their experiencing disappointment. It is all about me keeping my sanity and a peaceful kingdom.

  And on Saturday morning I set up an excel spreadsheet accounting every gift and its monetary value. And of course the columns were not equal. They never are. So we spent all day Saturday shopping together trying to hit the target budget number within a dollar or two. The only child who was successful was Samantha—the accountant. She completely zero-ed out. She was not a penny over or under. Briana--the finance major went over budget within a standard deviation—finance people view budgets as guidelines. And Kara, the management major is under budget—she is still exploring her options. All attempts at evening things out between the 3 of them resulted in failure.

When I went to Weight Watchers my leader warned the group of falling into the trap of evening out the cake syndrome. She warned that feeling the need to cut and consume the uneven cake slices led to a person to obesity. She offered the concept that it was okay if the cake looked a little crooked. Straightening it out was self-sabotage.  A cake will never look even no matter how much trimming you do. And so the lesson here is trimming cakes and budgets is a recipe for disaster. At Christmastime the only thing you should be trimming with certain success is your tree.

Velvet Jeans

No matter how much I run around in the month of December I start to resemble Santa. And by that I do not mean the ho ho ho—ing or the fluffy beard part—I mean the increased girth.

Because even though I tend not to be an over-eater under ordinary circumstances holiday season is not ordinary. I do not have the time to shop for or put together healthy meals. And there is too much temptation—even if you only take a single bite. And if you add all those single bites to the extra glasses of Pinot Griglio the sum is the need for more than control top pantyhose.

I tried on my velvet jeans today. They fit well and looked great. They did last year at this time too. But by the time I needed to wear them in late December last year I had to lie down to zipper them up. And even my silk blouse was a little too voluminous to tuck in. Plus I could not sit down without fear that the seams would split.

With certainty I can predict the same thing happening again this year.

A friend of mine wrote on Facebook that since her fat jeans no longer fit she was contemplating buying some of those pajama jeans they advertise on TV for $19.99 if you buy now. I wonder if they come in velvet? Because I would pay money for those for sure.