Ice Ice Baby

 Entry 1 10:07 a.m.

I work all day, every day. It's how I make my money. I do the chores. Its what I do. What I don't do is take Jenny's behemoth for a walk each day, as she needs. I am up with her each morning, tending to her for several hours each morning, and then intermittently for the rest of my waking hours. 

This morning, at 5:30, I stood on my stoop with a hot cup of coffee as the dogs, mostly Willow, cavorted through the yard, did their business and sniffed and snuffled everything in site for 15 minutes. It was her first frost. Buddy went back in after 5 minutes, as a good old man dog should. Willow, exploring her first frost, wasn't interested in returning. I let them out again, because in the morning they go out over and again, around 6. In between, I prepared their morning treats. This is daily. It allows me to get some peace for a very few minutes while I drink my coffee. This first treat is a dog bone in a puzzle. One for each. That took a very short time today, sometimes it can keep them occupied for a good 10 minutes. Willow actually returned from the second outing of her own volition after a quick snuff around the yard--quick being about 5 minutes. She generally returns on her own the first time, and the rest of the day it is a game to her. She needs training. In lieu of that, I leash her so I don' have to fuck around with the chase. In between, I am working or doing other things around the house. 

Which brings me to the announcement this morning that Jenny's sister has hired a dog walker 2x a week, and will herself take Willow for a walk 2x a week. I can't imagine what the discussion was that brought this about--nor do I want to do so. 

I took Willow to the mailbox (about a block away at the end of the cul-de-sac) in a driving drizzle the other day, two times actually, because the first time, upon arriving at the mailbox, I discovered I had grabbed the wrong keys and could not retrieve the mail. She is as strong as a horse, and it took all of my strength holding the lead to get her there and back 2x. I can't imagine how Jenny will ever be able to walk her if Willow doesn't get a trainer soon. 


Jenny just came to see me, she is leaving to run errands for the day. She is so skinny. Cancer thin. I fucking hate it. This isn't fictional, not some version of Charles Woolrich's Dark Melody of Madness. It isn't Thinner. Her own body, not voodoo, is killing her. She goes on living as if she isn't dying--in-fact in some ways living more than ever. Tonight she will be out to dinner with a friend, Heather, to celebrate Heather's birthday. I imagine some of these escapades she comes up with are el pinché lies, why wouldn't they be?  No matter, she keeps disappearing both figuratively and literally, and it's the literal that is tearing me apart. Watching your spouse disappear, waste away, being eaten alive by cancer isn't something I had ever really contemplated. I always, knowing Jenny's grandmother lived to be almost 100, foresaw Jenny living a long life. 

Tomorrow is chemo. Dr. P is out-of-town. I am betting no CA 19-9 will be drawn. I asked her if she has weighed herself recently, when she told me she was leaving. She hasn't.

Entry 2. 10:39 p.m.

153 lbs.

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