Mushroom For Experimentation

 Entry 1    8:10 a.m.

Sometimes it's eerie, looking out into our yard. Sometimes it is eerie living inside the house. Here is to hoping the two don't decide to coordinate, or worse, compete for which is the creepiest. The fog really does add to the horror show flavor. 

Jenny is asleep. Peter, her friend from NYC, is putting dishes away in the kitchen. Amy is upstairs, presumably still sleeping. They have taken care of all the household duties since arriving. Given my level of exhaustion, and adding to that the bout of insomnia I had the night before, I am grateful.

Jenny tried and failed to keep solids down yesterday. Where I have failed to convince her to stop trying for now, her friends convinced her with very little argument. Also, she has given up the concept of driving herself around--which will last at least until they leave tomorrow. I am debating whether to accompany them today on whatever small outing they embark upon, or to go out on my own.

Last night Jenny was sobbing uncontrollably as Amy held her. Jenny was grieving her loss of independence and her terminal illness. She felt a rash of guilt over not being able to play the host for her friends.  It was genuine lamentation. Amy, her bff since middle school, moved back east in August, after her husband got the top alumni fundraising job at Brown. It has been hell for both Amy and Jenny.  In an interesting twist, Amy had childhood cancer. She won the battle, bur lost her right leg above the knee.  All of her cohort at Ronald McDonald House with the same cancer died from the illness. She has been a great friend for Jenny to have in her corner, not just as a best friend, but as a guide through this terrible time. They have today together, which probably means I will make myself vanish--and happily so.

Jenny is going to receive, for free, treatment for her ongoing terminal  illness depression via a relatively

new and novel approach involving the use of psychedelic mushrooms.  It is not illegal in Washington, and in fact, several businesses have popped up offering therapeutic treatment using mushrooms. [Editor's note: use of psilocybin mushrooms remains illegal in the state of Washington, ketamine is legal, however for psychedelic treatment.] What hasn't been tried, or at least widely attempted, is treating terminally ill patients who seem to universally, and understandably so, carry a diagnosis of depression. So, through someone who shan't be named, Jenny is meeting up today with a clinician who is going to treat her with mushrooms later this week.  As someone who ate mushrooms (thank you, Longacres) each fall as a teenager, I can say that I am excited for her to have at it in a controlled environment. I am excited for her and really hope this helps.

So, the other day we had quite the Willow debacle. Jenny had arranged to have a friend pick up the dogs to take them to grooming. I had strongly suggested it was a bad idea and asked that it not happen. I was afraid Willow, who I am guessing is about 80 lbs. of pure puppy and muscle, would be too hard for just anyone to handle. Jenny paid little heed to my concern. I have a hard time controlling her, and I am used to her.  So, it's Friday. I am working.  The friend comes and gets the dogs.  Willow wears a harness.  It is very sturdy. However, Willow is a known escape artist, with techniques that at times rival Houdini's.  I am in my office upstairs as the person is outside, ostensibly putting the dogs in the car. I happen to look out the window absentmindedly, and see the woman walking up our street, which eventually feeds onto Military Road, with an empty harness and leash. I run downstairs, grab a couple of kongs, and head out to try and capture Willow.  It's bad.  The postal truck is driving slowly up the street. If I get near Willow, she runs toward Military Rd. If the mail truck moves, she heads toward Military Rd. I have the friend of Jenny's get Buddy. Willow loves Buddy and would follow him into hell if she wasn't distracted by a bird, a squirrel or a mail truck. Buddy comes, I start running toward Buddy and away from Willow.  Whenever she gets close, and I turn around, she retreats. A neighbor tris to help.  Finally, somehow, I get her into a neighbor's yard that has a six foot fence around it. The woman with Buddy comes into the yard, and at my direction closes the fence. The chase has been going on 20 minutes or so now, me fearing for Willow's life the entire time.  I finally corral Willow after 10 more minutes. I put a leash around her invisible fence collar (fucking worthless fence, btw) and click it shut.  We go to open the fence and, quell surprise, it is 🔐 locked. It takes a key. We don't have a key, it's not my yard.  I go to the home and knock on the door. No one answers. I walk away. Eventually, a woman in a hijab comes to the door.  I send Jenny's friend to talk to her while I hold an 80 lb. dog who is barking vigorously at the homeowner.  She eventually finds a key, after calling her husband and another 10 minute wait. We get Willow home and I refuse to let the woman take her to her groomed, for fear the dog will escape again.

That afternoon after Jenny gets home with her out-of-town visitors, I tell Jenny the story. Her response?  I'd gladly trade you my pancreatic cancer for that problem.  Zero empathy.  I just walked away, flabbergasted.  Then, I watched this and understood her reaction: