The Wonderful World of Nancy

That's something I said to Jake every night before we went to sleep.   I also now say it to Ziggy.  Its also engraved on Jake's urn.

I think all of my Vox neighbors and friends know that we lost Jake last week after a valiant struggle on his part.  In the end, his poor little body just couldn't fight anymore.    But oh, how he fought.   Dan used to call him "The Little General" because although Jake was small in stature, he was enormous in attitude and personality.   He was true to that up until the end.

After weeks of dealing with kidney issues, gastrointestinal issues, severe anemia and just general lethargy and weakness, it appeared that he was going to get better.  On Thursday, his vet called with test results that she said were "good news".  We were told to keep on the same path and bring him in this Wednesday for additional blood tests.

By Thursday night, he had slowed down his eating, but had an OK night...he was still going up and down the stairs and going to his litter box regularly.  By Friday morning, he was considerably weaker.  For most of the time, he would ask to be lifted up to our master bath counter where he would lay for hours.  Eventually he would jump down, go potty and grab a snack.  Then he would sleep on the bathroom rug or find one of us to lift him back up on the counter.

On Friday, it was different.  I picked him up and he just snuggled.  He curled himself into my chest and neck and just lay there.  Suddenly, he started to sniff the air toward the open window and he made a feeble attempt to crawl up the towel bar to get to the windowsill.  I lifted him up and he just stared into the sky for what seemed like an hour.   I remember thinking "what a beautiful picture this would make"...the sky was pure blue with only a few wispy clouds in the sky.  And there was The Little General...small, but regal.  Surveying the scene.  It was a touching sight to see.

The rest of the day he slowly stopped eating anything more than a mouthful.  I was frantic to try to find something for him to eat...cottage cheese, cream cheese, chicken broth, ground beef, milk, chicken, turkey even warmed up baby food.  He would eat a bite and then lay back down.

When I spoke to the vet, she said that one of his medication's side effects was a stomachache and loss of appetite.  She suggested that we give him 1/4 tablet of Pepcid AC, bring him in in the morning and keep offering him food.

On Friday early evening, he couldn't walk up or down the stairs anymore.  He used to sprint those stairs and while he did slow down considerably, he always chose to walk them at his own pace without any help from us.   Eventually, he would stand at the stairs and look at me.  The look that meant, "help me".   I had a feeling on Friday morning that today was going to be the last day of Jake's life.  I couldn't shake it, even after the vet called with good news.  Because of that, I started to panic on Friday night.  Dan was gone at his daughter's party and I didn't know what to do.  I couldn't and wouldn't call him to come home, so I found a pillow and laid on the bathroom floor next to Jake.

We talked for a long time about our journey together.  I told him that I would be fine and that he didn't have to hang on anymore for me.  I told him that I loved him more than I thought possible.  I talked to him about Grandpa and Grandpa's boyhood dog, Bubbles.  I promised him that he would see them all.  I thought about my friends like Matt, Een and Navelgazer who have lost their beloved pets recently and I hoped he'd meet all of them.    I told him that I was sorry for not knowing what to do and I begged him to go on his own because I was not brave or strong enough to make that final decision.

He was still getting up and going to his litter box until about 2am.  That is when I was petting him and felt wetness near his back legs and realized it was pee.   Although I couldn't say anything, that's when I knew.  It was time.

Dan wrapped him in my robe and brought him to the emergency vet where we lost him at about 3:30am.  I can't write about that, but many of you have read Dan's blog.  If not, here is the link. Dan wrote about it beautifully and much more coherently than I can right now.

The days since we lost Jake have been harder than I imagined.   I keep thinking I hear him in the bathroom or see him around the corner.  I keep thinking its time to feed him or I check before I close a door to make sure he doesn't get accidentally locked in.  I can't manage to pick up his toys, his food and water bowls or the 6 litter boxes that we have scattered throughout the house. 

I miss him in a way that stays with me all day and into the night.  Its there when I wake up and there when I go to bed.  I suppose when someone has been your constant companion for 14 years, your surrogate child and your best friend at times, its hard to cope with.

The pain is so strong that sometimes I can't believe its just about losing Jake.   I'm sure part of it is additional grieving for my dad.  To lose both of these wonderful, loving, kind family members in 14 months may just be too much.   Perhaps its some misguided maternal transference.  I consider both Jake and Ziggy my babies - probably because I don't have human ones.  Writing that down seems somehow pathetic, but I'm sure its true. 

When you have a pet, you love them and care for them like a baby.  It is a complete unconditional and non-judgmental love.   Pets never let you down.  They never forget your birthday or snap at you after a hard day, they just want to make you feel better when you're sad and play with you when you're happy.  They don't send nasty emails, they don't backstab, they don't steal or lie or make promises they can't keep.  They want you to feed them, love them and keep them safe and in return they will give you their heart.   How nice would the world be if humans treated each other in the same way?   We could take away all of the drama and nastiness that comes from human relationships.

Speaking of human relationships...I cannot express how grateful I am for all of the kind words, comments and emails from my wonderful Vox neighbors.  I haven't been able to talk to anyone in my day-to-day life about Jake and what happened, but its been such a relief to be able to exrpess myself here and also to get such wonderful support and kindness back.  It makes me ashamed that I'm not a better Vox neighbor.

Family and friends have also been extremely supportive.  I've had some really wonderful conversations with my mom lately about death and loss and she has been so helpful.  I guess no matter what our age, when things are really bad, we just want our mommies.   My family all loved Jake and have been so kind from sending cards, emails and gathering pictures of Jake for me.   They've all shed their private tears for me, Dan, Jake and themselves too, I imagine.  Dan's brother Dennis and his wife Crystala sent us a card that meant so much.  They lost their beloved Winslow just a few short weeks ago.   The emergency vet sent a beautiful card with a poem that made me bawl - but in a good way.  People I used to work with nearly 3 years ago heard about Jake and have reached out as well. 

I've been trying to think of a way to memorialize Jake...something that will not only make me feel better, but also be meaningful.  We brought Jake home and have his urn close to us.   I am also going to donate all of his supplies, food, medications, toys, beds, etc. to a local rescue called Homeward Bound.  They are an incredible organization and a non-profit.   I figured they could use all of Jake's things to help another cat.  (Jake was a rescue cat too).  But I'd like to do something else.  If anyone has any ideas, please share them with me.

Writing about Jake makes me feel a little better, so over the next few weeks, I may write more.  I hope its not too depressing to read.

Thanks again to all of my kind Vox neighbors. 

Good-night, sweet prince;
And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest.  - William Shakespeare - "Hamlet"

Friends~

We lost Jake about 3:30am on Saturday morning.  I thought I should let you know.  Nancy will write about it - I'm writing about it.  We spent the weekend crying, missing, and reminiscing.  Nancy will be here soon to tell you more about it...

~Dan 

Its been a long, rough week with Jake.  After appearing to do a little better, he slipped again.  He started to lose weight again, the diarrhea came back and the stumbling was much more frequent.

After another trip to the vet, we learned that he is extremely weak and pale (the gums) due to severe anemia.  A normal cat's red blood cell percentage is supposed to be between around 25%-45%.  Jake's was 15% - down from 38% 10 days earlier.

After a more detailed blood test, it showed that he is no longer making any red blood cells but there is no clear reason why.  It could be one of many things including:

1)   His original diagnosis of kidney failure - apparently it can cause some reason for the body to stop making new cells.  Most likely due to a parasite of some kind.

2)   Some issue with his immune system.

3)   Internal bleeding.

4)  Cancer of the bone marrow or his bone marrow function is simply shutting down.

Because there is no blood in his urine or his poop, they feel confident that they can rule out #3 pretty easily.   To get a definitive diagnosis Jake will have to go through possible endoscopy or exploratory surgery.  Before we try that, the vet feels that #1 and #2 can be remedied with medication.

So...in addition to his daily Subcutaneous Fluid Treatments, the prednizone, the metronidiazole, the renal and fatty acid supplements, he is also on an antibiotic that can help with a possible parasite and an immune system booster.

Twice a day he gets both pill and liquid medicine, which competely pisses him off.  Once a day he gets his IV fluids, which he doesn't love, but seems to be dealing with.

He goes back to the vet on Wednesday for more blood tests to see if these drugs have improved his red blood cell numbers.  If they haven't, then we have some hard decisions to make.  Apparently when those numbers go into the single digits, it becomes life-threatening.

He doesn't appear to be in any pain, he's still eating and drinking quite voraciously and he still goes up and down the stairs.

We now have 6 litter boxes on 2 floors of our house.  We used a baby gate to block his access to the lower level.  He doesn't have accidents during the day because one of us is CONSTANTLY watching him....but at night, he pees on whatever we put down for his bed.  But he also uses the litter box at night too.   I think when he finally allows himself to sleep, he gets so tired that he just can't make it to the box.

The fluids make him pee more, which is why we added so many additional litter boxes.   His last big accident occurred on the aluminum foil on our stair landings and in the corners of every carpeted room that Jake has access too.   So much for cats being afraid of foil...he peed right on it and then stepped in it and tracked it through the room.

Its frustrating, but I feel so bad for him.   He knows he's weak.  He doesn't meow, purr, play or jump....but then he will have a burst of energy and run down the stairs.  Its hard to know what he wants.   He tends to want to stay in our master bathroom most of the time.  I've laid a towel on the counter and that's where he wants to stay.  We lift him up and give him access to fresh water and that's where he sleeps.  Every so often, he'll jump down and sleep on the bathroom rug.

Its hard being here because we are constantly on guard - making sure he's not having accidents, making sure he's lifted up onto the counters so he can drink from the faucet.   We have had to keep him in the kitchen overnight so we can get some sleep and then every morning we start again....moving the gates, moving his food back to its normal spot, moving the litter box out of the kitchen, cleaning the litter box from the night, washing the bedding that he peed on the night before.  His eating has become a challenge too.  He'll eat something and love it for about 3 days and then he won't touch it, so I'm constantly trying to find new foods for him to eat.   Scrambled eggs with cheese, baked chicken breasts, canned chicken, cottage cheese....the other day he stole some salmon salad that I was eating.  He ate all of it...the bowtie pasta, the shredded carrots, the red bell peppers and the vinegar based dressing.   He has access to gourmet wet food, dry food and human food....between all 3, he eats a lot.   But his weight doesn't seem to change much.   Yesterday he was 4.5 lbs - down from his usual weight of 8 lbs.  Its so much work and its so emotionally draining.

I can't even talk about it...I don't even know why I write about here...probably because I need some outlet.  When I write here, I don't cry.  When I send an email or have to talk on the phone, I cry.

I know for sure that he won't get considerably better.   He'll have good days and bad ones, but I know this is close to the end for my sweet baby.  I've made the decision that when he can no longer eat or go up and down the stairs, then it may be time to say goodbye.  Our vet is so supportive.  I asked him directly if now is the time to start thinking about options and he said "not yet".   His thought that was that Jake is obviously debilitated but is still affectionate, still eating and still semi-active.  I trust our vet to be honest.  He knows how I feel about this - I will do anything and spend anything to help him.  But I won't have Jake suffer in any way.   When I see him giving up, then I will know.

He still fights when Dan gives him meds and he gave me a nice big chomp on the arm the other day while I was holding him for his IV treatment.  That bite actually made me happy because that is so Jake.  He's always been little, but he has a classic case of "short man syndrome'....he may be small, but he'll kick anyone's ass who messes with him. 

During the day while Dan is at work, I talk to Jake a lot.  I tell him that its OK to let go if he's ready.  I tell him to give me a sign that he's wants to go or that he wants me to stop.  So far, I can't tell what he wants.  Half of the time he looks at me with the same face and same eyes that he's looked at me with for the past 14 years.  Then other times, he seems blank.   I tell him what a good, good friend he's been and how happy he's made me.   I talk to him about all of the funny quirks he has and how much I'll miss him when he goes.   Maybe its just wishful thinking, but I'd like to believe he understands me.  I also like to believe that I'll be able to make the right decision when it gets to that point.

We've been taking a lot of pictures and video of Jake lately.  It makes me sad to think how few pictures I've taken of him over the past 14 years.   He was always a little camera-shy. 

With our house being turned into "Kitty Hospital Central", we managed to survive the weekend.   The IV treatments were considerably harder on me than they were on poor Jake.  He doesn't even flinch when the needle goes in, but when the fluid starts, he gets PISSED OFF.

My job is to hold him as still as possible so the needle doesn't slip out.  On Friday, it slipped out 4 times.  Apparently, I'm not very good at restraining my cat.   The funny thing is that I've cut his nails since he was a kitten and have no problems with it.  I think this is hard now because he's so weak and pitiful.

But...overall he did a great job with the fluids.   Now the medicine is another story.  Dan has to administer a pill and a dropper full of drugs twice a day.   The pill isn't too much of a problem, but the liquid is a nightmare.  He gags, drools, licks his lips and struggles.   He's smart too...when Dan tries to open his mouth, he clenches his jaw as tight as he can.   The only saving grace is that he knows he's going to get a little cheese and some tuna juice when its done.

He's still eating, but he's so very weak.  He no longer attempts to jump up onto anything.  He will jump down, but he's unsteady on his feet.  This weekend he fell off the kitchen counter onto his back and he just laid there for a minute.  Of course, I started to cry and held him until I knew he was OK.   He was walking down the stairs and just tumbled down the last two.   I'm sure he's still trying to regain his strength from being so dehydrated, but its awful to watch.

Because our bed is so tall he doesn't jump up on his own anymore, so we bought him this gorgeous, plush kitty bed.  Of course, he avoided it for two days and then late last night, he decided to try it out and he loved it.  Whew.

He is also using all of the litter boxes, which is a huge relief.   I don't love having a litter box in my bedroom, my dining room AND the bar, but its a small price to pay to make sure he can access them easily.

I think its going to be a day by day thing with Jake.   A little progress then a bad day.  Hopefully the good days will outweigh the bad ones.

Jake Makes The Bed

I've been a horribly neglectful Vox, Facebook, Email and Phone friend for a while now.  Things have been really crazy around here lately and much of it is not good.   I feel as though I'm running on fumes lately.

So, here's what's on my mind today:

Jake.  My sweet 15 year old cat is rapidly fading.  He was recently diagnosed with Chronic Renal Failure (not uncommon in cats his age).  However, in the last week he has been quite ill.  His weight has dropped to 4 lbs - down from his normal weight of 8 lbs.  He is literally emaciated.   He picks at his prescription food, but is constantly begging for people food.  He will steal meat out of the pan, pasta off someone's plate and will lick the top of a mayonaise jar.  He will not drink water unless its out of a running faucet.  He doesn't purr, he doesn't play and he misses when he goes to jump onto anything.  He also has bouts of diarrhea.

So...last Friday we took him to the vet who ran test after test to find out that his CRF has not gotten any worse, but that is he severely dehydrated.  If we had waited an additional 5 days, it could have been too late to save him.  They gave him subcutaneous fluids on both Friday and Saturday and gave us instructions to feed him anything he will eat - the thought being that eating a lot of not-so-good food is better than eating a little of the good stuff.

We got him a very high quality wet food, which was eating like a madman.  We also purchased a filtered water fountain, which is completely ignores.  He seemed better until Wednesday when I twice caught him squatting on the floor peeing and noticed more diarrhea in his litter box.   We called the vet who advised us to take him into the emergency vet.  Dan brought him in on Wednesday night and once again Jake was severely dehydrated.  His eyes were sunken and he was extremely weak.  The emergency vet thought it was best to keep him overnight to keep him on IV fluids and run more tests.    Those tests came back showing that he is also suffering from some form of digestive disease, but without a biopsy it could be anything from inflammatory bowel disease to intestinal lymphoma.

Early Thursday morning, the emergency vet transferred him to our regular vet to continue on fluids and to keep an eye on him.   By mid-afternoon, he was doing better.   He was eating and going to the bathroom regularly.  He was "perky" and "searching out affection".    Another round of blood tests were ordered which showed that the kidney disease has not progressed and that all other functions are relatively normal.

While he was gone, I went around the house sniffing the carpet to see if I could detect any other accidents...because he only pees a little at a time, you can't see them.   With Ziggy's help, I noticed a few areas in the dining room and on the landing that he had peed.   I cleaned the carpets, Dan bought two additional litter boxes (so we could one on all three floors of our house) and we laid aluminum foil all over the areas where he had previously peed.

Jake came home last night, looking a little more filled out with a shaved leg where his IV was and with a generally pissed off attitude.   He ate a litte, sniffed around the new little boxes and laid down on the middle of the TV room floor.

According to the vet, he does not feel at this point that Jake's situation is terminal, but in watching him and seeing how lifeless he's become, I wonder if this is the beginning of the end of my sweet boy.   I fear it may be.  Perhaps he's just weak and needs to get his strength back, but I also wonder if he's just given up.  He seems to be lethargic and sad.

This weekend is going to be hard.  Dan has to give him daily subcutaneous fluid injections, force him to swallow a prednisone pill and shoot metronidazole liquid down his throat.  Thank God for Dan...I couldn't do those things.  I can barely watch him do it.  I consider myself to be a generally strong person, but when it comes to this situation I'm finding that I can barely cope.  I've been crying for 3 straight days, my head is throbbing and I can't sleep.  Both Dan and I are exhausted.   Thankfully, Dan is able to do the hard stuff.  I don't want to stress Jake out any more than he already is.

I can deal with the cost ($1000+ for vet bills alone...not to mention new litter boxes, drinking fountains, carpet cleaner, etc.), I can deal with how I'm feeling, but I can't deal with the idea of losing this cat.   I don't even like cats, but I'm nuts about this one.   Its so hard to watch him age before my eyes.  Its as though he went from being a happy, healthy cat to being an old, sick one in weeks.

If you pray, meditate, send good vibes or talk to a higher power, can you please ask that Jake doesn't suffer?  I won't ask for a longer life for him....but for the remaining life to be a good one without pain and suffering.  I guess in the final analysis that's what we want for all of our loved ones - the two legged or the four legged ones.

100_1761

'Fess up: What do you do that's bad for the environment?
Sponsored by One Million Acts of Green brought to you by Cisco.

Actually, I think I'm pretty good in this area.   We generate way more recycling than we do trash, I'm a Nazi about turning off lights, I unplug things that aren't in use, we buy in bulk, never waste food or other household items, we donate old things or give them to friends/family members, we have energy-efficient appliances, we coordinate our "errand trips", we wash most clothes in cold water and we use a programmable thermostat.

BUT...there are two things I can think of....

1)  We have a very small backyard and we mow it with a gas-powered mower.  It stinks like exhaust and gas fumes, so I'm sure its really bad.  A hand-pushed one would be better and would be a workout for me. 

2)   In Minnesota, we have to rinse our recycling, separate it and remove the labels.   Every so often when we have an empty peanut butter or maple syrup bottle, I just throw it away.  I'm just too lazy to clean it out.   Whenever I do it, I feel really guilty.

The smell of gasoline: Love it or hate?

I LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE it....which is strange, considering I have a super-touchy nose.

I also like the smell of:

Nail Polish

Nail Polish remover

Permanent Markers

Rubber Cement 

The smell of the vents the first time the heat is turned on for the season.

My dog's and cat's feet

Wet paint

Turpentine

Chlorine Bleach

Liquid Comet

Raw garlic

Dirt/Potting Soil

Old Books

Burnt popcorn

I do not like the smell of:

Carnations

Cooking Oil

Curry

Dove Soap

Dawn Dishwashing Liquid

Raw Hamburger

Coconut

Almond Extract

Cooked Oatmeal

Cool Ranch Doritos

Fruit or food smelling body lotions, bath products, candles or shampoo/conditioner.

Vaseline Intensive Care Lotion (unless its the Cocoa Butter one)

The juice of cooked corn

Old basements

Strawberry Bubble Yum

What is worse? Ignorance or apathy?
Submitted by SavageBart.

Apathy.   By far.   An ignorant person doesn't know.   An apathetic person knows but doesn't care.

I don't believe you can teach apathy to someone who doesn't possess it.  Its either there or its not.

Ignorance can be fixed through time, experience and a desire to change it.

To me, apathy goes to the heart of a person's character.  

Apathetic people bore, anger, disgust, repel and frustrate me.

For some time now (almost two years), I've been having some shoulder issues.   Mainly pain and discomfort, which has now decided to travel to the muscles in my forearm and my shoulder blade.

I'm pretty sure it started when I quit work and was spending a lot of time sitting cross-legged on the floor, hunched over the laptop.

Anyway...after going to my family doctor, two chiropractors, two rounds of physical therapy, X-rays, cortisone injections and acupuncture, I'm still not getting any relief.   SO...this week I went to a well known orthopedic center in Minneapolis to see a shoulder specialist.   After the disinterested jackholes I've seen, this new guy was a dream.  He thinks that I've been subjected to too much "guesswork" and not much concrete information.  He recommended an MRI, which I had first thing this morning.

I've never had one before and wasn't worried about it at all....until I read the instructions asking if I had "claustrophobia".  I don't, although I'm not in love with confined spaces.  (remind me to tell you about the time I got stuck in a tanning bed during a tornado-induced power outage...back in the days when you pulled the lid closed with an electric lift.)

Anyway...while sitting in the waiting room, I started to think about claustrophobic situations; being buried alive, being locked in the trunk of a madman's car, slow death by quicksand, being hugged by someone who's too needy...you get the point.

I should mention that when I was a child, I read a book about witches, warlocks and vampires and there was a story about villagers in Romania who would get so intoxicated that they would pass out in the streets and it was such a dead drunk that everyone thought the person was dead.  The "body" was thrown into the back of a wagon to be tranported to a local field to be buried.  The story was that many people awoke from the bouncing of the wooden wagon wheels on the cobblestone roads.  The book went on to speculate about how many people were buried alive and woke up from their drunken state only to be buried under a pile of dirt and rocks.   That story has always freaked me out.  Oh, I also had a dream as a child that my mother was buried alive and I was the only person who could hear her screaming from the grave.  My dad and Patty sat calmly placing yellow roses on the gravesite, but she was screaming to me to dig her out.  

OK...maybe I do have claustrophobic issues.  But on a conscious level I don't.  In fact, I would prefer to take an airline flight entirely sitting in the bathroom. I like the closeness of the walls and the humming white noise.

So, I get into the MRI room and I see the behemoth and start to get a little angst-y, but I'm still OK.  The technician was great...she had this very soothing mom-like voice, she explained about the call button and that I could ring it whenever I needed, she asked me which satellite station I wanted to listen to on the headphones, etc.   I chose 70's music because that tends to put me in a happy place.

The procedure starts with me being glided into the machine.  I keep my eyes closed because I'm afraid I'm going to knock my head on the ceiling.  I get in and feel a cool fan.  Good news...I tend to get warm when I'm nervous.  I tentatively open my eyes and realize its not as close to my face as I had assumed and I could see out the bottom.  Everything from my hips down was exposed.  Whew.  I'm not totally entombed.

She explains that the scan will take about 25 minutes and it will go in intervals of 2.5 - 5 minutes with breaks in between.  The more she talks, the more the call button starts to get slick with my palm sweat.  I want to tell her to shut her filthy pie hole and get moving, but I push those mean thoughts away.  She's just doing her job and is actually quite nice.

She instructs me to remain still...as still as possible otherwise we have to start over.  Oh shit.  That's too much pressure.  Suddenly I have the overwhelming urge to kick my feet, wiggle my ears, shrug my shoulders, thrust my pelvis up and down....and with that urge comes the panic.   I talk to myself and say "all is well....this is a good thing you are doing for your shoulder....aren't you glad you have health insurance and can afford to have this test done?"  Yes, I calm myself down not with kind, loving thoughts, but with practical, rational ones.  Dan wonders why I don't accept kindness well when I'm stressed out.

So, the machine starts and the headphones kick in.  I expect to hear the soothing tones of Karen Carpenter, maybe a little Barry White, Barry Manilow....fuck, at this point, I'll take Barry Williams.  But no...some song about "clap at the wolfman".   Nice.  What do you think I think about at this point?  That friggin book from my childhood about witches, warlocks and vampires.  No, there weren't any werewolf stories in there, but come on...when you think of Dracula, don't you automatically think about Frankenstein and the Wolfman?

To calm myself down, I start to think about how funny it is.  Oh no...I'm going to laugh.  I'm going to laugh and then I'm going to fart because I ate a Fiber One bar for breakfast.  And if I fart, I'm going to have to live in this machine because I will be too mortified to come out.  I start to deep breathe to control the urge to laugh.  It works.  Hallejuah.

I've done two 2.5 minutes....I'm a 5th of the way done.  Things are going well.  Until the next song....Olivia Newton-John mewling something about "if you love me, let me know...if you don't, then let me go.  I can't take another minute or a day without you in it."  LET ME GO?  I CAN'T TAKE ANOTHER MINUTE?  Is this some sick MRI technician joke?  The urge to laugh kicks in again, but there's a not-so-subtle undertone of panic.  Thankfully, my compulsive need to not embarrass myself allows me to relax again.

After a series of 3 minute scans, the technician says "almost done, you're going great, we're almost done....you've been holding so still."  Uh oh.  The urge to ring that goddamned call bell is raging through me....I want to flail my arms and legs.  Please stop talking to me.  Please stop talking to me.  Don't tell me to hold still because I want to do the exact opposite.  Its the whole "laughing in church" thing....when I KNOW I'm not allowed to do something, this crazy urge comes over me to do the exact thing I'm told not to.  Am I the only person who experiences this?  Shut up Nancy.  Quit thinking about it.  On no, I'm going to start laughing and its going to be 4th grade math class all over again.   Amy Larson farted during a test, I tried not to laugh, I started laughing.  Mrs. Kandler looked up at me over her cat-eye glasses and glared.  I never got glared at by a teacher and I love Mrs. Kandler.  I'm a good kid...didn't you hear that Amy farted?   The only thing I could do to stop laughing was to burst into tears.  Not just little tears...but loud, bellowing, racking sobs.   Something a 4th grader doesn't want to do. 

Don't laugh and don't you dare cry in a MRI machine...you're 43 years old and you've done worse things, more painful things and didn't crack a lip.   Crisis averted...I'm feeling strong again.  Deep breathing really does help.

"OK Nancy, we're ready to start the final 3 minute scan.  Are you ready?  Yes, I'm ready."   The loud banging of the MRI machine starts as does the final song.  "Disco Inferno".  I swear to you.  Disco Inferno with a chorus that goes "Burn Baby Burn".   Now I'm racked with visions of being burned alive like the mother-f-ing witches in that book.   My brain starts thinking about electrical fires and me being trapped in the MRI machine.  My ankle starts to twitch, my leg starts to shake, I have a frog in my throat that swallowing won't get rid of.  I have to cough.  I'm going to choke to death on my own spit.  What if I cough, sit up as a reflex and bash my head on the ceiling of the machine?  I'm going to crack my head open and bleed to death before she gets me out of here.  My ear itches.  Oh god, I don't have a bra on and I'm going to be taken out of here through the lobby without a bra on. Burn Baby Burn.  How do morbidly obese people get in these machines?  Has anyone ever gotten stuck?  Shut up Nancy.  The machine said GE...that's a good company, I'm sure they're sensitive to the morbidly obese.  Dan is in the lobby, he'll pull me out if the electricity goes out.  He's not afraid of fire.  I wonder if he's afraid of werewolves.  He'll know the name of that stupid song.  He went to high school in the 70's, he's kind of a hippie.  Charles Manson was a hippie.  

And then....silence.   Nice mom-voice technician tells me I'm done and that I did a great job.  She slides me out, the air is cool, the sun is shining and I'm totally calm.  She says to me "how was it?".  I reply...'oh it was fine, no problems at all".  You were very still, she replies.  "Some people really have a hard time of it, I'm glad it went so smoothly for you."

If she only knew...

I walked out of there with a bounciness reserved for pardoned death row prisoners and boy, was I happy to get my bra back on.

I consider myself to be a marketing person's dream consumer, mainly because I'm brand loyal, but am also willing to give new brands a shot at earning my business.   I am very vocal when I find a product or service that meets my expectations and I will pay extra for quality.

For the past year or so, I've been buying an 18 oz. bag of sun dried tomatoes from the California Sun Dry company.  This size bag was only available at Costco and at approximately $8.00 a bag, it was a great deal.    Dan and I are sun dried tomato freaks and put them in everything, so it made more sense for us to buy the gigantic bag rather than the 3 oz. bags that most grocery stores carry.

After trips to 3 separate Costco locations and not finding them, I googled the California Sun Dry company and emailed them.

Within 10 minutes I recieved an email response explaining that the 18 oz. bag was made exclusively for Costco at their request, but that they were not selling them quickly enough, so Costco is no longer carrying them.  The company representative also told me where the smaller bags are available in my area.

I emailed back and asked if the large bag was available anywhere else or online....again, an immediate response came back explaining that that size was made exclusively for Costco, but they would be happy to send me some coupons to purchase the smaller bags.

This all took place within about 15 minutes.  While I was not looking for coupons, just a location where I could buy the product, I was really impressed with the level of customer service that I recieved and how promptly I recieved it.   I have sent email inquiries to other companies and never heard anything back.

I hope that the California Sun Dry company does well...they've earned my business even if their products are harder to find or more expensive.   I love good customer service and I'm absolutely willing to pay for it.

www.calsundry.com.   Check them out.