Jan 8

 GP on Monday didn't end up doing a lot. They apologised for me taking the better part of 2 months to see someone. They apologised for not running a blood test as they should have done. They apologised for leaving me in the lurch with meds.

Apologies end up being empty after a while. You have to actively change or do something about stuff, not just trot out apologies after the fact. When I used to commute to work the railways were the poster child for such apologies. Every single day. An apology. Automated. Robot. Apology for delay. Cancellation. It wasn't even a human. Just a queued response. The apology is meaningless. Not an apology. At that point it's just a piece of communication handshake. Like saying hello at the start and goodbye at the end. And somewhere in the middle of a rail announcement you get an apology. The apology has no meaning, it's just part of a sentence structure. There is no sentiment. It's just mechanical. And beautifully ironically - delivered by a mechanical voice in the case of the rail announcements. No human involved. Zero emotion. No sentiment. Get lost. This is reality.

So. The docs felt somewhat the same. Apologies after the fact of failing on your arse multiple times, predictable, repeated, always the same. Day late. Dollar short. Although the doc was trying with me in the appointment. He will personally get onto the blood test results. Uh huh. Ok. Thank you.

They ended up turning the blood test around in a single day - shockingly fast for the NHS, and business as normal for everyone else - which revealed I could do with being on more meds. If I can tolerate them. Which doesn't sound good. I have an appointment scheduled with the pharmacist and I may try talking him into keeping me at the same level and then getting another blood test. Because I think the fucking about with meds probably impacted the levels. But who knows.

Work this week was slow, but not glacial. My sleep has been shot because Hazel and Poppy are here. Poppy can often times be a fidget ass and likes to sleep with me. So. Inevitably I get disturbed sleep, which whilst once upon a time was a very low level issue, these days quickly becomes a killer issue. And then Hazel often goes to bed just before dawn, so, you end up waking up for that as she trots off to her room. End result. Shit sleep. Which makes work twice as hard. Even without any distractions my sleep and work in the last several months has been diabolical. I had managed to wrestle it around into something almost normal over Christmas, but that seems to have gone out the window again.

Work has been frustrating. Full of admin tasks that are reliant on others doing their job, and third party services you just have to wait for. It's very frustrating. And more so because this is a self inflicted wound. We didn't have to do this. We have done so... for no good reason other than our team lead wanted nicer things on his cv. And here we are. Clunkier. Slower. More costly. As I more than once predicted. Still. Eventually it gets better streamlined. Although it will still always be slower. And prone to breaking. Not good. It is what it is, and to a greater extent I am out of the loop of those kind of decisions now. This is part of being far less reliant on me and much more reliant on everyone else. You get what you get.

Today Hazel took Poppy off for her scan. Just a shade under £2k. It wasn't good news. They can't find a smoking gun. They ruled a whole bunch of things out. It's looking more and more likely it is indeed a tumour on the nerve, something that is not unheard of in dogs, and can be caused by an accident of some sort. Because of the location of it, so high up, it means it is very difficult to get rid of with any certainty. The prognosis, even after amputation, is a years worth of life - which I found a shocking statistic. Because as often as not they don't get it all, the cancer advances and kills the dog. But you maybe lucky, and get more than a year if the cancer is nailed or benign and yada.

So after £2700 of vet bills, we get to a place of possibly staring down the barrel of a gun anyway. Dogs are short lived. Horribly short lived. And. The sad thing is. Most likely, this is where you end up. How much effort you make on their behalf is a testament to the character of a person in my humble opinion. Some would see it as being stupid with money. I am not sure you can put a price on a best friends life. But that's me. And there is a small crumb of comfort in knowing that you did your best for your friend. Whatever could be done. Was done. To me, it's not even open for debate. That's what you do. This is part of giving a shit. Doing your best for someone, something, else. It can be hard. Brutal. Harrowing. You pay a cost in all kinds of ways. But it's still the thing you do. Step up to the breach. Hold the line. As long as you can.

But I guess that's just me.

The martyred "hero".

Or to be less of a self cynical dickhead, it's because I care. I do care. It matters. So you do your best.

I had a kick ass migraine today, the worst I've had in a long time. I nearly lost it and went into a full on migraine spiral of vomiting, super pain, and rinse and repeat. I knew how bad that gets. I did my absolute best to nail it down, calm, slow my breathing, work through the pain and for the love of god sleep. Take me out of it. Tricky. Knife edge. It was bad enough that I couldn't sleep. Pain sweats. The feverish emergency spikes of blood flow, down to stomach, high vomit response, shivery sweats. I got up a couple of times to rush to the loo to vomit. But. I just about overcame it. Avoided the circle. But it was bad nevertheless. And hours afterwards, the familiar bad bruise and head of a nasty migraine. The thundercloud that remains for sometimes days afterwards. Wound trauma, actual bruising. Yikers.

The migraine ended up stopping me from asking Hazel how it went. She only told me about the prognosis late in the evening after I had emerged. I told her I was sorry. It was a blow. She seemed to be doing pretty good with the news. Better than me I think. I said nothing of my internal thoughts as she went through it all, but I could hear that beat of inevitability. The thing I have feared in that abstract way all summer and autumn and winter. The signs of age in a dog and how I know where that ends up. And here we are. Quicker than I had imagined.

The radiologist is yet to weigh in on the results. And there's a chance that it ends up not being that - at this point a slim one. Or that with an amputation you get a good result, all the cancer is removed. But. The odds are not great.

Perhaps it's just my experience. But 3 dogs in a row. Once they go on painkillers permanently. The end is not super far away. Then again. As I have said so many times to Hazel in the past when she is blase about time, a year is a very long time to a dog. A mini lifetime. You can't be complacent with it. If you're on holiday and away or whatever for six months. That's a super long time to a dog. Don't do it. In my humble opinion.

Anyway.

The brutal bottom line. Is that Poppy might not be around for much longer. There are many variables. Pain. And diagnosis. And luck. Pure luck. I'm not even going to say how long that ends up being. I kinda know in my head what those probabilities and lengths are. But I'm not going to voice them and give them life.

Poppy is not my dog. But she has been around a lot. Sleeps with me. Trusts me. Her loss will be a very sad day. She is not Athena or Ares. But she's still a lovely little soul that I have spent long hours with.

Dogs man.

They are the most beautiful things to live with. They wear their hearts on a sleeve. And because they are so lovely, their loss is terrible. Very hard. It is the essence of life there. To live and lose versus to never have loved at all. The more intense the love, the more intense the loss.

This morning, before work, before the migraine I dreamed of Athena. She was exploring. Crossing rivers. I was helping her get unstuck at river banks. Watching her dash about. Sigh. I will never experience that again. Beautiful. And so sad.

Anywho.

Long term. It's all inevitable - all of what has transpired. The brutal wheel of time crushing onwards. I think in the end this will be what catalyses Hazel to move to the US. I think Poppy goes. And she will move to be with her boyfriend. She might instead end up getting another cat, or dog, or something. Poppy is very much her companion, and without her, and without a lot of other support, I can see that draw to the US becoming overwhelming. She has history of this. Fear of being abandoned. But. Variable. If she does move to the US I don't think she will find things easy. And keeping a lid on her borderline. Well. So far that has been impossible. Her boyfriend is really to experience that side of her. That won't be easy either. And that's the understatement of the century when you consider her fractured relationship with all her family and how difficult it is to be in her life. Her boyfriend is maturing however now he has his own place. His career is beginning to kick in money wise. So. That at least is a good sign. Hazel is a hell of a wildcard however. Unless some minor miracle happens in the US - and it might - I don't see that changing.

So it goes.

Life unwinds along its path.

I can see those future patterns. Some set in stone. Others a roll of the dice that branch one way or another. Background tiny probabilities of major upset of illness, or catastrophe or loss or luck.

I find it all.

Depressing. And inevitable.

On balance I do not see peoples paths winding along happy places and lovely experiences. I see struggle and frustration and pain. Riddled with very human mistakes that makes us all a tragic farce.

It is part of the recipe that makes me wonder without answer as to what the point of the whole fucking thing is. Bonkers. We should not be conscious to it. We should remain in the moment. Like dogs. Otherwise. What else is there ? People looking forward to their week off of work and trip to Spain ? Looking forward to getting a new washing machine ? Jesus. Bleak.

I did wonder at a very meta level the other day what the point of any of us was. Even those who are motivated and have a plan. What are you doing ? Do you think any of it matters ? Even the most committed careerist. What are you doing ? Spinning wheels probably doing something intensely human and pointless. Selling patio furniture. Building conservatories. Painting walls. The bulk of us locked in this absolute pointless round and round fidgeting with nonsensicals. Very few of us engaged in things that make a difference. And even those. It starts to pale. Our position on this planet. The evolution of this world. We are a brief second of time in the expanse of time just on this planet. And so serious. So committed about this business of doing nothing. Stop. Breathe. What are you doing ? Why are you burning the planet ? Why are you working yourself into the grave ? Are there not bigger things ?

Anywho.

Who knows. Humanity as a whole is dumb as bricks.

2024 was an epically shit year for me personally. Which now bleeds into 2025. As it was always going to do. No magical new year new fortune bullshit. My days of hope and promise and excitement and change are long long in my past. I do not see that ever changing, only it getting worse as my health begins to fail in multiple more places. Age. Time. The realities of dealing with chronic illness that excerbates both those things.

Cheery.

I am again in awe of how strong my mom was. I am not as strong as she was.