Ok, you can stop your bitching now; I'm finally posting.
School's been in for a week for me, and my class is pretty cool. And small. I have 1/3 fewer students than last year (only 14!) I also somehow became responsible for being the support guy on my campus for Edline, which is ALOT of work, on top of my 3 science clubs, the curriculum development and assessment committee, and regular teaching stuff.
But it's all good.
In other news, we took Nick for swimming try-outs, and he was so good the coach wants him on the JO team. We also got him registered for school. AND Erin went back to work this week.
So, what's up with this blog's title, you ask?
Well, it was 113 degrees F today, and as I was riding my motorcycle home from work, the phrase "oppressive heat" came to mind. And I thought, you know, most people who use that phrase probably don't have a clue what oppressive heat is. Its kinda like a middle-class white guy for Ohio trying to tell an impoverished black guy from Tunica Mississippi that he sympathizes, because he too has experienced oppression.
The way I figure it, as far as analogous words go, most people who say "oppressive heat" are more likely experiencing unfriendly, or at worst, discriminatory heat. To qualify for oppression, as my thinking went, one must have an impending sense of fear for their safety from the oppressor, not just a feeling of discomfort or unfairness. And let me tell you, the heat today was more than just uncomfortable. It was truly menacing.
Now to the depressing...
I had to take Sebastian in to the vet again today. He has absessed anal glands (eeew!) and the $600 worth of medicine we gave him didn't clear them up. Basically, his butt is swollen and painful, and there's nothing much to be done about it. He is getting old, and I just found out today that the the anal gland problem is symtomatic of a deeper, more serious and permanent problem. He has perianal fistulas, which is an immune system condition with unknown causes, and it is incurable. His immune system has turned on him, and is attacking the tissues around the abssesses. The vet basically said sorry, but Sebastian probably has a year at most to live before his pain gets so bad that we will have to put him down.
So, shit.
I really love this dog.
I am not looking forward to the inevitable end, though I realize it's par for course in owning a pet. It just made me consider today that pets guarantee tragedy on an installment plan. Am I reconsidering having pets? Not for a moment. But I am thinking, perhaps for the first time, that this kind of tragedy is not in my future for the last time in my life. It is a heavy price.
Anyway, I know that as posts go, this is a long way from Zermatt, just as my life is. Reading my last few posts right now is like looking at someone else's life. Not that I am dissatisfied with things (I'm not; I'm glad Nick is here, work is good, Erin's great, etc.) I'm just a little melancholy that it already seems such a distant memory.
So there you have it. I'll try to get back into more consistent posting soon, but right now I simply am not thinking as much, and therefore, have't had alot to say. :)
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5 comments:
Big hugs to sweet Sebastian.
I wish that love and pain never had to cross paths -- their co-existance is an emotional paradox that has never seemed in the least bit just to me.
Good job to Nick.
The kids got a mean back stroke as I recall.
I am sorry about Sebastion. I had to go through similar stuff with Ginger. It sucks. I was with her when they put down. It meant something to me to be with her, petting her, talking to her, etc. when she slipped where ever dogs slip off to. Maybe it meant something to her as well. Who know. I have her ashes. I still need to go spread them by a stream... a little tardy on that one. But then, what ever part of her might enjoy the stream isn't really trapped in the ashes... so no big loss really. Give Sebastion lots of loves and pats. I think dogs (and creatures of all sorts) understand love, and it comforts them when they are in pain or frightened.
I wish I knew something comforting to say. We had to let Hannah go in March. She was 13 and it was the hardest thing I've ever done ( we, of course, were in the room with her ), and I only knew her for 7 of those 13 years. Now that I've weighed in with my own depressing story, I'm sure you feel infinitely better.
Apparently, we need to start complaining again... you've stopped posting. I kind of think you do this on purpose, a solicitous effort on your part for begging from friends.
By the way, how is Sebastian doing.
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