A New Guide (dog)?

On January 19, a black Labrador retriever came to our home. Yes, typically I'm the one who goes out and finds the homeless animals, but this time he came to us.

We thought he belonged to a neighbor three-doors down, as it is extremely rare to see dogs off-leash in our area. This guy was full of energy (and testosterone), but without a collar or (as we found out later) a chip .

After realizing he was not our neighbor's dog, I spent the next two weeks trying to find this guy's family. It was very strange, as if he fell to earth and found us. We could not find his owner, and we couldn't bring ourselves to call animal control ... what's one more mouth to feed, right?

He was extremely smart, house trained and loving. He really calmed down after having him neutered.

After Shelby's Transition:
Little did I realize that only a few short weeks later, Shelby would be diagnosed with cancer . During the weeks ahead, Victor (as he is now named), was getting used to his new surroundings but would not really 'connect' with me. After Shelby made her transition, a very strange thing happened -- Victor has become my constant companion.

He now makes eye contact with me, follows me everywhere, sleeps with me, and even walks the treadmill with me! It is as if he was sent to me to help me through the difficult times to come.

My Guide Dog:
I used to meditate often, and I'm trying to make it a regular practice again. My favorite meditation technique involves visualization and finding a "guide" for help with answers to problems. I first learned of this through a book by Dr. Dean Ornish, entitled, "Reversing Heart Disease."

I just gave-it-a-shot this morning, and guess what...as I was walking along the beach (that's my 'happy place!') looking for my spiritual guide for answers to life challenges. As I was walking along, waiting for an "encounter," Victor showed up. He was in his dog form, and spoke to me (not through words but through thoughts). Perhaps that's why he appeared on our doorstep and became a part of our life.

He brings a calmness to my life and is constantly by my side. I believe he's the spirit of Chelsea and Shelby, and perhaps my mom and dad, sent to keep me focused on the "now" of each day!

Than you God, for the wonderful gift of Victor!

Namaste,
Chele

To My Wonderful Shelby, I Love You!

Ode to my sweetheart:

On September 17, 2007, I posted a blog entitled,"Pet Therapy" where I featured my loving golden retriever, Shelby. Since that time, Shelby was diagnosed with advanced stage lymphosarcoma. There was little we could do except keep her comfortable and hope to enjoy her for another six to twelve weeks.

In the meantime, Frank was out of town for a month to work his 'dream job' at spring training in Arizona. He was a parking lot attendant for the Oakland A's . She was diagnosed about a week after he left, and we had to say 'goodbye' to her about two weeks later.

Shelby was truly my friend 'who loved me when no one else did' -- even when I didn't love myself! She always had soggy head from my tears, but she gladly absorbed them for me. In my true 'woo-woo' thinking (as Frank calls it), I've wondered if she also absorbed my cancer.

A Peaceful Transition :

Shelby was my second girl we've had to make the decision to euthanize it's always an extremely difficult decision. The last time, we were 'talked out of staying with her' by our veterinarian -- a decision that I've always regretted.

This was an extremely important moment for me. Since my diagnosis and subsequent treatment for Stage I breast cancer, my mother made her transition the weekend of my first chemo treatment, a good friend from high school made her transition in March, and Shelby was diagnosed with and made her transition on March 20 (first day of Spring).

They say that God only gives as much as you can handle. My psychiatrist says that we have to face all of our 'issues' sometime. According to him, we have a mind that can handle so much at one time, the rest we compartmentalize. As we handle those things our mind is holding (and empties), it's then filled with those things we've 'set aside!' It could be months or many years later...but, we must eventually address those issues.

While I still have much to 'address,' this moment with Shelby was very spiritual and awakening for my mind. It would seem that I wouldn't want to revisit that experience, but because of the profound spiritual nature of it, it actually helps me to keep my life on track --- keep things in perspective.

To be with her, in that moment, all other thoughts vanished from my mind. I've tried to meditate, to quiet the 'noise' in my head, but I've never achieved the level of mindfulness and 'living in the now' as I did that Spring day in the vet's office with Shelby.

Going Home:

While our house is filled with other wonderful dogs and cats, there was a definite emptiness when I returned home from the vet's office. My other 'kids" didn't react to her illness, but there was a real sense of loss for many days after we said, "goodbye."

She's remains with us now. Her ashes are in a beautiful Mexican-pottery urn (that Frank brought back from Arizona), and her spirit is alive in my life ... as long as I stay present in the now and keep my mind from being distracted by shenpa (attachment), I can feel her presence and comfort.

Thank you, Shelby, for your beauty, love, happiness, spirit and loving kindness you graced us with for such a short while! God bless you, sweetheart!

Namaste,

Chele

Can't Sleep...

So much time has passed. So much has happened. I know it's important to keep moving forward, but if I don't deal with issues, they keep coming back to me.

I've been through 4 chemo treatments, my last one was January 11, 2008. I've lost all my hair, as they promised I would. I've gained weight, experienced mood swings that put my worst PMS episodes to shame. Gotta love the steroids!

All-in-all, I had very few problems with the treatments ... for which I thank God and my family. The worst experience of all was the passing of my mother during my treatments.

She "made her transition," the Monday following my first treatment. She'd suffered with dementia for several years ... actually, we all suffered with her, in our own way. We lost her completely to dementia about 3 years ago. I had a very difficult time going to see her, especially during her last year.

I would visit her when it was less painful to see her than the guilt of not seeing her.

When I learned of my breast cancer diagnosis I was mad at her. Actually, I was mad at her dementia. It had robbed me of my mother, with whom I needed to talk with. I always talked with her about life issues, she always made things better. She was my mom.

My last visit with her was just before Halloween, 2007. I was to start my chemo treatments on November 9. I wanted to visit her before I started the treatments, because I knew I wouldn't be able to see her once they were stared.

I also wanted to tell her about my diagnosis, but I didn't want to worry her...if there was any chance that she possibly knew. I really her. I needed the comfort of my mother and her assurance that everything would be okay...just as she did when I was afraid as a child.

I brought her some things she needed plus "fun stuff." Mom always loved to decorated for holidays, so I wanted to take her some Halloween things ... including candy corn. The nurses also advised that I should buy her a baby doll, because she liked holding them.

For the first thirty minutes of my visit, she was asleep. She finally awoke as I finished marking her name on all of the items. She awoke with that far-off, frightened look. The look that always broke my heart, because there was no recognition of who I was.

She finally sat up, and made her way over to a chair next to me. I gave her some candy corn, and she brightened up. Mom always loved candy. At that point I decided to 'go for it' and tell her about my diagnosis. As I was explaining it, she seemed to connect with me.

I explained that they had successfully removed it and I was about to start treatment. I told her that I was scared, but that I felt that everything was going to be okay. At that moment she looked at me, and with the most clarity I'd seen in years, said, "Of course it will!"

Then, just as quickly as she seemed to be in the moment, she slipped away...back into the recesses of her dementia. I wanted to talk more...I wanted more from her...but that's all she could give. And, it was more than I could have ever hoped for.

I didn't realize that it would be my last visit with her, but I'm sure she did. She made her transition on November 12, 2007, but left me with parting words that keep me moving forward on my road through treatment and recovery.

I love you, mother. Neither of us are saints and we had plenty of difficult times and hurtful words...but, you were there for me when I needed you the most!

God bless you and keep you in his loving arms ... and, tell Dad "hi!"

Namaste,
Chele