Moving Forward

I bought a marker for Fifty’s grave.  It is a flat stone with two paw prints on it and the inscription, “If love could have saved you, you would have lived forever.”  I placed the stone on his grave and put a flower in the ground next to it.  I miss him.  As I mentioned before, he was quite a demanding little character and now the house is so silent.  I feel him close to me but I am surprised at how well I am coping with his absence.  When my cat Elliott died, I cried for weeks.  I would cry all the way home from work every day.  One day when I came in the house, my son noticed I had been crying and asked, “Again?”

I said, “Still.”

I missed the hike on Thursday with my Living Strong group and on Saturday with the weight loss challenge group.  I went to my weight loss challenge meeting on Sunday and weighed in.  My weight stayed the same but that is a victory because my eating was out of whack for most of last week.  I went to the Y on Monday and Wednesday for my workouts.  Today was the weight loss challenge hike at Almaden Quicksilver Park. 

I met up with the group and leaders.  I was assured there were two options for hiking and I could choose the less rigorous route.  We started off at a place where there was a billboard with maps and information about the park.  My eyes zoomed in on three words on the sign; mountain lions and ticks.  Okay, I am already way out of my comfort zone.  I am shy and meeting a lot of new people, I don’t really like to exercise and I am on a hike.  Now I have to deal with the fact that I may be killed by a mountain lion or bitten by a tick.  I am aware that one should not run from a mountain lion but since I am more than likely the oldest, heaviest and most out of shape hiker in the group the others have a rare opportunity.  They can easily run away while the mountain lion has me for breakfast.  You’ve all heard the phrase, survival of the fittest.

I trudge on and quickly find the terrain arduous.  There are loose rocks and large stones protruding from the ground.  I feel like I have to watch my every step.  I am walking with a leader who assures me we’ll take it as easily as I need to.  Before long, I am falling behind.  She, engaged in conversation with another hiker does not seem to notice.  A couple of others catch up to me and tell me they will walk slowly with me.  The trail begins to incline as I lumber along breathing heavily.  Soon it is an effort to take small steps.  As I look ahead I know I cannot make it up the first hill.  A hiker who is not part of our group comes from behind and leans close to me, “You can do it” she says encouragingly.  “And when you get to the top, you will feel so proud of yourself.  Only the fact that I know she is trying to be kind and supportive stops me stops me from telling her to……..well, you can guess.

I decide I cannot continue and one of the leaders guides me back to the entrance.  She urges me not to feel bad.  I don’t.  I know my limitations.  I am not a quitter but I know when I am in over my head.  I stop at the grocery store and buy fruit, vegetables, yogurt, cottage cheese and other nutritious foods.  I will do what is in my power to improve my health.  Baby steps, always baby steps.   

Goodbye friend

A dark cloud hangs over Catnip Cottage today.  I had to let my cat Fifty-fifty go.  He was sixteen and though he had been slowing down for a while still seemed in pretty good health.  This past week he began failing so I took him to the vet.  I feared I would not bring him home alive.  The doctor called this morning to inform me that there was little that could be done for him that would be more than just prolonging his suffering.  I spent time with him, telling him I loved him and what a great friend he had been to me.  He was alert which made it harder but I was glad he knew I was there and could hear my voice.

I wrote the following piece for an online writing class I took a couple of months ago.  I think it serves as a fitting tribute to my buddy:

My Pal Fifty

In October of 1995 I found a long-haired orange and white cat on my doorstep.   I scorned my son Jordan’s attempts to befriend the cat, saying, “Don’t feed it, talk to it or let it in the house.”  Jordan said I was mean but we already had three cats.  After two or three days passed with the tenacious creature holding his ground, I relented and the furry intruder was fed, watered and allowed to come into the house.  Once I let myself get close to the newcomer, I noticed the deep wound on his head.  Deciding the injury needed medical attention I made an appointment with the vet.

The stranger needed a name.  I usually christened my pets with human names but because of his coloring I decided to name this cat Fifty-fifty.  His orange and white coat reminded me of the vanilla and orange-covered ice cream bars I ate as a child.  Over time the determined cat that would not leave our yard came to be called Fifty.  I was once asked if he was named after the rapper 50 cent.  “Of course I’ve heard of him” I said, “but come on I’m 63 years old and not that hip.” 

The next day after treating Fifty-fifty’s injury, Doctor Fisher asked if I would like to have him neutered.  I agreed and Fifty-fifty spent the night.  The next day I told my friend Pauline with whom I commuted to work, about the cat’s visit to the vet and the procedure he was having.  She looked at me eyes wide open and said, “But he’s not your cat!” 

I said, “I guess he is now.” 

She asked, “What if he is a prize breeding cat?” 

I said, “He’s not anymore.” 

We laughed all the way to work.

Fifty happily adjusted to his new home despite the hostile reactions of the felines in residence.  Elliott, a white short-haired male and head honcho tolerated Fifty but nothing more while Gidget, a blue-eyed Siamese cross showed her disdain swatting Fifty across the face each time he crossed her path.   Fifty never got the drift.  Johnny a black short-haired male named after the lead character in Dirty Dancing, kept his distance from Elliott and Gidget who treated the sweet-natured cat as their whipping boy.    

Fifty kept us entertained with his playful antics.  He skidded from one end of the house and back again as if being chased by a rabid dog.  He tossed his toy mouse into the air then bit it ferociously.  Fifty has slowed down and spends most of his time sleeping but once in a while speeds through the house chased by that invisible assailant.  Fifty loves when we pet him.  If you lay your hand on his head he will rub back and forth against it.  Jordan says, “You just put your hand by his head and he does all the work.”         

Fifty is my constant companion; sometimes against my will.  I can’t walk into the kitchen without hearing the pitter patter of his paws behind me.  He’s always hungry.  He eats several times a day then wakes me for his midnight snack.  I call him bugateer, pain in the butt and say that if you look up the word pest in the dictionary you’ll find his picture there.  He is also the devoted friend who laid by my side throughout the eight months I was ill last year.  His first interest is always his own comfort but I don’t mind coming in second.   

    

Changes

In May I started a strength and fitness program created for cancer patients and survivors that was recommended to me by my oncologist.  I hoped it would help with the painful joints, fatigue and lack of stamina which are side effects from my treatment for ovarian cancer.  I have never been a physically active person.  I was in good health but I can’t say I was ever physically fit.  I have been overweight most of my life and am not sure whether that fact contributed to or was a result of my lack of physical activity.  The answer is probably both. 

It has been two months now and I am beginning to recognize changes.  I haven’t lost much weight which isn’t the goal of the program but is always mine.  I work out on seven machines and try to spend 30 minutes on the treadmill.  As I spend more time on the machines it has been difficult to complete 30 minutes on the treadmill.  Last Wednesday I left the house early so I would have the time I needed to get in all the exercises and 30 minutes on the treadmill.  I travel 26 miles to the Y where the program takes place and halfway there I said to myself, “I am going to the gym early so I can spend more time on the treadmill?”  That was (as Oprah would say) a light bulb moment.

A couple of weeks ago the instructor mentioned that we would be going on an hour-long hike.  The group appeared to be pleased but I’m sure if there was a snapshot of my face in that moment it would show a look of stark fear.  I felt my fight or flight response kicking in and flight was in the lead.  She reassured us that we would do only what we were able to do and that we could choose to travel the hilly or flat terrain.  If my group was willing so was I.

In the meantime I heard about a ten-week Weight Loss Challenge at the Y that was taught by our same instructor.  I was interested but visions of The Biggest Loser filled my brain.  I watched the premier episode one season where extremely overweight people had to ride an exercise bike for 26 miles that first night.  I was shocked.  I talked to the instructor about it and she reassured me it was not like the TV show.  I asked if she thought I was up for it and she said of course.  I thought about it for a couple of days and then decided I should do it.

The Weight Loss Challenge consists of a weekly meeting a la Weight Watchers and daily exercise.  Every Saturday there is an hour-long hike with two instructors.  I asked, “You expect me to hike twice a week?”  She matter-of-factly answered, “Yes!”  So on Saturday I went on my virgin hike.  There were a few other women, younger and thinner who forged ahead of me.  As we started to go up a hill (ok a little incline) I said, “I don’t think I can do this.”  So my instructor veered me off to the flat terrain.  I was still secretly thinking I couldn’t do it but we started talking.  I begin to tell her about the last five years of my life which I believe could be turned into a Lifetime movie.  As I related intimate details of betrayal, painful reconciliations, more betrayal, long-kept secrets revealed and finally death, I told her I must not be getting the oxygen my brain needs to edit myself.

Before I knew it we had finished the hike.  She asked how I felt.  I felt okay.  I was tired, sore and sweaty but I had accomplished something I wouldn’t even have attempted prior to being in this program.  The program is called Living Strong/Living Well.  The program is not over yet but I think I am already living up the name.