Shock

There is no easy way to say this, so here it is - the man called this morning to tell me Duke had died at the vet overnight. Said that the vet tech came in this morning and he looked like he was sleeping. Said it looked like he didn't suffer, that he had just stopped breathing in his sleep. I was a wreck. I stood outside my office building and was overcome with despair. I've been basically mourning for a week, I've been so distraught that I've made myself physically ill, I've been so upset at work (bad enough that the new proof reader gave me a card for Duke - so sweet), I've cried me eyes out every day and the people in my life who love me have been taking care of me. I've not been in good shape.

Now, here's the part that's really not easy to say - all is not as it seems. I started putting 2 and 2 together after that phone call this morning and I had some questions. Why did the man avoid my question last week about whether Duke could come live with me? Why did he then tell me Duke was very sick and he didn't tell me earlier because he didn't know how? Why didn't he have an answer when I asked what kind of cancer it was? Why did he make a point of telling me that he took Duke's crate to the vet? Why did he tell me that he cleaned the house this morning and got rid of Duke's things so I wouldn't be upset everytime I turned around? It all started to sound like he was covering his bases. Like he was answering in advance the question I'd have about why nothing remained of my dog at his apartment.

I asked him for the vet's phone # so I could call and talk about what would happen to Duke's body. I didn't want my beloved dog to be disposed of in some bio-medical bin. He wouldn't give me the phone #. I called him and said that I didn't know how to say it, but my bullshit detector was going off loud and clear and I needed to know where my dog is. What I got in response was hurt and anger and denial that anything was amiss. I was the bad guy. I insisted that if he were in my shoes that he'd be asking the same questions. He said he never would doubt me like that. He would never accuse me of something this awful. Everything got shoved back at me and I was the asshole. He said he'd email me the vet's #. I apologized and let him know that I had to run the risk of being wrong and making him angry because if I didn't confront him about my doubts it would eat me up inside. I asked if it was still OK that I come down this weekend (I was to leave for the airport in an hour) and he said he needed a couple minutes to process things and he'd let me know.

I then got an email half an hour later saying that he still wanted me to come, but that he didn't think it was a good idea, that he'd send me my things and he'd pay me back for the money I spent on the flight. I asked again for the vet's #. I got nothing. I left work and just started walking. I didn't know where I was going, I just needed to walk and clear my head. I was walking around lower Manhattan crying and talking into my cell phone like a crazy person. I must have looked like a total mess. I was a total mess. I didn't know what to do. I called Kristie. I called MT. I called my mom. I called the man again and left a msg saying that I wanted to make sure I wasn't coming to Miami because that was my last chance to make my flight. He didn't call back.

I called MT again. He was so calm and so smart. He looked up the # of the vet who supposedly did Duke's 1st biopsy a couple weeks ago and said he'd call them and find out what was going on. I walked around in utter confusion waiting for him to call back. I called Kristie and she kept me from freaking out. MT called back and said that the vet hadn't seen Duke since February. The receptionist didn't want to give out any information, but he pleaded with her and said if she knew how upset I was because I thought my dog was dead she'd give him something. She said, "DEAD?? Hold on a moment..." and when she came back she told him they hadn't seen him since February.

I called the man again, no answer. My msg said that I needed him to call me back and explain to me why Dr. Fernandez hasn't seen Duke since Feb. if he's the one who did a biopsy 3 weeks ago. I said that I needed him to make it all make sense for me, that I wanted more than anything to be wrong - to be the asshole for real and be accusing him of something falsely. What I got was a text msg telling me that I was right, that he had given Duke away and that he didn't know why he lied to me, that he couldn't control it, that it had gotten out of hand, that he was so sorry and he was sick about doing this to me.

It was all a lie. It was all an elaborate series of complicated deceptions. I've spoken to him almost every day since last week. I cried to him, he comforted me. I thanked him for doing everything he could for Duke, he said he did it gladly. He heard the devastation in my voice for a week and he kept adding to it every time we spoke. Each phone call was another layer of lies. First it was cancer and a second opinion was needed. Then it was one night in the animal hospital. That became 3 nights. Then it was trouble breathing. Then the respiratory condition might be treatable and separate from the cancer - he actually fed me information to give me hope about a totally fake illness! Then the respiratory condition wasn't separate, it was probably cancer in his lungs. And then the biggest lie of all - Duke died in his sleep. He tortured me. He broke my heart and he knew he was doing it.

I'm lost right now. I'm destroyed. I've never been so betrayed, so lied to, so taken advantage of, so devastated, so underestimated. He even said he'd send me Duke's ashes. What was he going to do - put some dirt in a jar from the dollar store and tell me that it was my dog's body? I told him he should get help because there's obviously something in him that's broken and needs repair. Something in there is rotten. Something in there made him do this to me. I don't understand it. He says he doesn't understand it.

The only solace that remains for me is that my Dukester is safe with a family in Ft. Lauderdale. My mom asked me how I know that's the truth and not just another deception. I told her that I have to believe something, and this needs to be it.

Thank you for the support and the caring, everyone. Even if the whole situation was a tangle of lies, the support was real and I can't tell you how much that means to me.

I've been cheated. I've been cheated out of my dog and I've been cheated out of my trust. I'm a skeptic now.

Gratitude

I wanted to take a moment to thank you, my blog friends, for the support and the sympathy, the good vibes and the general goodwill sent my way this past week. Aw hell, the past year & 1/2, whenever I've had a tough time. There are times when kind words can make all the difference and all of you have proven that to me many times. I'm packing and getting ready to go to Miami tomorrow to probably say my goodbyes to Duke. This is very hard. Words don't really cut it right now, but thank you embodies what I need to tell you. Thank you so very much.

I love you, pupster.

The man sent me this video over the weekend. I'm so thankful he did. He recorded it about a year ago.

I'm going to see him & Duke this weekend. The news so far is not good about my pupster's health and I have a feeling this weekend will be a memorial. I feel like my heart is breaking into tiny pieces and there's nothing to fix it. I have to put on a brave face this Friday, look into Duke's big, droopy face and tell him I love him. Thank him for being such a good dog. Thank him for being my boy. Tell him he's been nothing but joy for me. Let him know he's made a difference in my life. All I can manage to do right now is keep the tears from shorting out my laptop. I'm not even doing a good job at that.

Some happy stuff

After the past few days I need a little dose of happy, so here are some of the highlights from last weekend in Providence. My 2 cousins taught me so much about life while I was growing up. They introduced me to important music and great art, showed me how to play truth or dare, opened my eyes to boys, gave me an example of being a teenager and living to tell the tale, made sure I knew how not to kill my parents or die of embarrassment from them, what it really means to be cool, to work on your insides first, all sorts of things that were crucial to my forming as a person. My cousins are amazing women and their families are really wonderful. They both have great husbands who love them dearly and fantastic kids who are not only adorable, but smart to boot. I'm proud to call these people my family. They're the kind of people I'd be friends with even if blood didn't bind us together. That's a very good feeling.



This is Max. He's the fiercest 6 year old dragon around. Raaawwwr! He can fly, too. Check out the next pic for proof.



See? He can fly. When I was little my Uncle Bill would do this with me and I would squeal with delight as I "flew" around in circles. It was so much fun. I'd beg him to fly me around every time I saw him. Now he does it with his grandkids and it's a joy for me to see them love it as much as I did.



One of the best things about being an adult is getting to torture little kids the way you were tortured. Now, when I say torture I mean the kind kids beg for. The "spin me around 'til I'm dizzy, PLEASE!" and "turn me upside down and shake me 'til I feel like I'm gonna puke!" kind of torture. Max & Ivan had a ball and so did I.



Princess Sydney sitting pretty with her parasol. This kid could melt the polar ice caps (not that we need any help in that department... we adults seem to be doing a bang-up job of it). She is devastatingly cute and she knows it. This one's going to be trouble in a few years.

this hurts

My boy is sick. He's really sick. My crazy mutt's got cancer. I wanted him to come live with me and the man told me today that my Duke has cancer. My 3 year old unconditional love machine could leave us at any time. I asked the man if Duke could come live with me in New York sometime soon and he avoided my question for about a week. Today I asked him if he was avoiding the Duke question on purpose. Turns out he couldn't figure out a good way to tell me that our dog is sick. He feels awful and I feel heartbroken and a little lost right now. Miami was pretty much a dark blotch on the record of my life and Duke was the only thing that was shining and pure and bright the whole time. Not one ounce of malice, not one minute of doubt or negativity in him. It's very widespread, the cancer. I can't help him. I can't fix him. All I want to do is make him healthy and I can't do it. My pet, my friend, my furry baby is really sick, you guys. I can't stop the tears.

dude

I just woke up. I didn't know I was sleeping. I passed out on my bed with my laptop open, TV on, lights blazing, clothes on. I only woke up because my phone rang, which is funny since I slept through 3 other calls. It's past midnight, I have no idea what time I fell asleep, but I certainly didn't see Project Runway at 10:00. Thank goodness for Bravo's endless series of reruns. I'm watching it now in my state of sleep drunkenness. So far Michael is blowing me away. He nailed it last week with his hot pink Pam Grier hotpants number, and now he's going strong with this week's recycled materials challenge. Oh, Kayne. Kayne, I love you and you're making a monstrosity. Jeffrey is beating you right now in this challenge and that's gross.

On another note, I've got some behind the scenes stuff going on that's really exciting and promising. I'm not blogging about it yet, but life is good. I mean, life is crazy and there are many days when I want to whack the rest of New York across the jaw and say "Back off!", but all in all my life is a charmed one.

(This is me if I ever get my shizzle together and gain enlightenment. Mel as the Buddha. I've got so far to go it seems like enlightenment is 15 lifetimes away, but it's a great goal anyway.)

Oh, sweet Providence! I'm headed to Rhode Island this weekend. I've never been. You can cross the whole state in 45 minutes and now I get to do more than drive though. My fabulous cousin and her darling brain surgeon husband (seriously) and their ridiculously adorable kids live there. My other fabulous cousin and her awesome kids are coming in from St. Louis, and my favorite aunt & uncle are driving up from Pittsburgh. It's going to be a little family reunion of sorts. We're going to BBQ and go to the beach and I'm sure I'll get a good, healthy dose of birth control (read: lots of time with the kids).

P.S. Project Runway is better than mediocre sex. It's not better than good sex, because, well... what is? The Runway is hot this season. Anyone else listening to Tim Gunn's podcasts? I'm addicted. I listened to 3 this morning and another on the train ride home.

Ducks

This is the best example of the ducks. What are the ducks, you ask? The ducks are graffiti that pops up around Miami's Design District on various buildings. They are usually loners, this is the first example I've seen of a duck trio. When I lived there I often wondered who the duck artist was but I could never find any info on the artist or the ducks. I even posted on craigslist trying to find out the identity of the duck creator and what his/her motivation was.

This is a new duck creation. I can't believe I'm saying this, but I actually wish I were there to see it. I miss the ducks. I spent a lot of time pondering them when I lived there. In a strange way they kept me company. Every time I saw a new one it renewed some sort of hope in me. I can't really describe it. I'm sure I sound like a nut for developing such an attachment to graffiti I know nothing about, but they provided me with some solace in times of despair and that's worth a lot in my book.

Ducks. Hmm.

Tag Team back again...

L. Britt got me. She reached out her little bloggy hand and tagged me. I'm pretty sure she got me on the butt, but I can't be certain. Point is, I'm about to embark on a meme and it's all L. Britt's fault. (truth be told I think these things are fun)

When did I start blogging and why?
Kristie and I started a blog a couple years back and had it for a short time. It was a tandem thing and it was hilarious and fun, but it fizzled out and eventually I started up again shortly after I moved to New York. I needed an outlet and I wanted to chronicle my life. My first entry came 3 weeks after an event that changed my life and I'm so thankful I had this blog in the healing process. I've been one of those people who starts journals and keeps them for 3 weeks but then falls off the wagon and leaves 2 year gaps in my personal history. I started this blog at a critical time in my life and I'm very glad that I've got it to look back on.

What don't I write about?
Wow, that's a loaded question, eh? What don't you write about... and tell the truth so we can all know what you hide. OK, let's see. I don't write about work now. Since I landed a full-time corporate gig again I've stopped bashing people who could potentially affect my employment status - even though I have SO MUCH material it's sick. What else? I don't write about my love life anymore. The man and I broke up quite awhile back now and when that happened I stopped mentioning it. I don't think he reads this anymore, but he did for some time and I felt uncomfortable airing dirty laundry of a personal nature that wasn't mine and mine alone. He gave me his unsolicited permission to write about it because he realizes this is a support network of sorts for me, but I still don't feel comfortable. I'm angry and hurt and don't want to say anything that I'd regret later. I will say that I've got a date on Sunday. *grin*

Am I and my blogging persona the same person?
For the most part, yes. Sometimes there's a rift, of course. But, for the most part the incessant rambling and incoherent gibberish you see here would actually come out of my mouth at some point if we were having dinner or hanging out in the park or whatever.

How do I use blogging to build friendships?
I've met people I wouldn't normally have met through blogging first and then in real life. One lives in the UK and we met once. One lives here in Brooklyn and I adore her - it's quite something when you really like someone's blog persona and then you meet them and realize you like the in-person persona even more. Blogging has also been a little bridge between me and the rest of humanity. What I mean by that is I get frustrated and angry with people (whether it be people in NYC or society in general or politicians or entire nations) and I find that when I blog about those things I get feedback from people who have become blog friends of mine and their input somehow puts me back in touch with humanity, with the softer side of people. That's remarkable.

How do I describe my blogging style?
Bitchy with a side if humor and a dash of poignancy. Basically I complain and vent often, sometimes it's funny and sometimes it makes me cry. It's a mix that represents me pretty well.


TOTALLY UNRELATED: Have you guys seen that commercial for Head On? It's that stuff that's supposed to make your headaches go away by rubbing it on your forehead. The commercial shows a woman swiping what looks like an oversized glue stick across her head and the announcer says over and over, "Head On - Apply directly to the forehead. Head On - Apply directly...". It's freaking weird. I get creeped out every time I see it.

TOTALLY UNRELATED #2:Does it strike anyone else as funny that the spell check on this thing doesn't recognize the word "blog"?

Well, if I get hit by a bus...

at least I won't have to avoid the emergency room (a la the time I sliced into my thumb w/a serrated knife while cutting a bagel and should have gotten stitches but didn't, resulting in much blood and a yucky scar) or be forced into bankruptcy (read: what would have happened if I'd have gone to get stitched). I've got health insurance again (and it's not an HMO - yay!). My ID card came in the mail today. I feel like an adult. Before I moved to Miami last year I had never been without it. It's been a year since I've had insurance (almost to the day) and I must say I don't plan on going without ever again. I was nervous all the time. Not in a pervasive every-minute-of-the-day kind of way, but if I felt myself coming down with something I would worry until it went away that it would be something that would land me in the hospital. If for some reason I actually do come down with something I can go to the doctor now and not break my bank account.

On another note - it's freaking hot, dudes. 100 degrees is too hot. I have no energy and I'm a sweatball. Gross. The subway is indescribable. Trust me, you don't want to know. I wish I didn't.

Yours truly,
Princess Parenthetical