Losing a Pet

I had to put my dog to sleep last week. He was very old, deaf, blind, and incontinent, but fairly healthy and happy. I knew he wasn’t likely to last much longer. One day I realized I was thinking about it day and night, every day, and that meant it was probably time.

I thought about it for a few days. I have owned 17 Irish Wolfhounds, one Labrador Retriever, and three mixed breed dogs. Out of those 21 dogs, 17 had to be put to sleep, but it was always pretty clear-cut, a disease process that had reached an untenable state. Never before had it been simply because the dog was old. That made it pretty hard. But I remembered a day in his youth when I had promised him that I would never abandon him and I would never let anything bad happen to him. I wanted to keep both those promises, and that was going to be harder with each passing day. My biggest fear was that he would fall down the stairs and I would end up rushing him to a strange vet in the middle of the night to relieve his suffering in a final way. I really didn’t want that to happen. I had the option to do it kindly and gently.

So I took him to the park. I gave him French fries and ice cream and a nice car ride. He had a wonderful time, tail wagging nonstop. At the park I could tell he was unaware of the squirrels in trees or the kids playing in the swings, but he still enjoyed sniffing around. Then we went to see the vet. He always liked going to the vet, and this time was no different. He was briefly, gently examined and given quite a few treats. Sadly, the vet agreed that his quality of life was diminishing rapidly and was not going to improve. So my sweet boy went to sleep in my arms.

I hate this part of pet ownership. It is the last kind thing we can do for them, and we owe it to them. I had him for over 13 years, and both of us enjoyed that time very much. I guess that’s enough. Now I have only one dog for the first time in 38 years. She’s a little confused, but we’re both getting used to it. And I didn’t break my promise.

What’s next?

I thought I had retired, but it didn’t really take. After five days, I started working again, roughly the same number of days but half the hours, and four months later I’m still doing it. I like the work and need the money, but I’m hoping and expecting that will slow down as winter approaches and people stop taking vacations.

A bigger decision is in the works. For many years I’ve wanted to move to some place where I don’t hate the weather all the time, as I do here (except for October. I love October!). I have to get serious soon if I’m going to do this. Lately I’ve realized I’m not anybody’s priority. I can continue to make myself available at the convenience of others, or I can try to find a place to live the life I’ve always wanted. I think it’s time for me! I’m old enough that this won’t always be possible, so I’d better take steps now.

I set out my criteria. I like elevation. I want milder winters, milder summers, some trees, less snow, and lots of rain. There are half a dozen places I’d like to try: Ireland, New Zealand, Costa Rica, Washington state, and Tennessee have long been at the top of the list. In real life, though, most of those are too expensive or too far away, or both. I’d like to be able to return to Iowa for visits at least yearly. But – Tennessee! It’s an easy two-day drive. It’s not expensive. It’s beautiful. I’ve been there and I liked it. There is old family history there and I’d be closer to one set of relatives.

So in a month or so I’m going to go there and spend a few days in the area I’m looking at. I will just walk around a couple of towns, visit stores, talk to people, and get a feel for the place. If I decide I do really want to live there, the serious work will start.

I have to figure out how to get out of this house. It’s going to be complicated. And I’ll be moving by car, with maybe a small U-Haul trailer, and looking for a smaller house, so I need to get rid of most of my stuff. I want to do that anyway! My winter now is laid out for me. Saving as much money as possible and downsizing as hard as I can. It is both scary and exciting. Mostly exciting.

Retirement

Well, I’ve done it. I’ve retired! I was just exhausted all the time, stressed out, my hair was falling out. Then I took 10 days off to go to an event but in the end I wasn’t able to go, so I had a lot of free time. After three days I stopped dreaming about my job, and there were a couple of days when I didn’t even think about work! It made me realize it was truly time to give myself a break. So I gave my notice. My boss was very nice about it, not too surprised, and the general manager asked if I’d be willing to stay on payroll and work as a substitute occasionally, and I said I would. So I’ve been retired now for almost a month.

I love this! I’m so relaxed and I’m getting a lot done at home, and my pets are happy. I’ve been able to socialize some, now that most of my friends and siblings are vaccinated. I even went to a dog show in another state and had a great time catching up with my friends in the fancy. I’m trying hard to keep my fitness level up. I walked a great deal on my job and I don’t want to lose that, so I walk the dogs and do yoga and a few other things.

I am fairly worried about money. Luckily, it’s summer, so I’m getting called in to work for other people. I can say yes or no entirely as I choose, and so far I have only been asked to do Reception or Life Enrichment and not kitchen work. So no uniform, no hairnet, and the work is physically pretty easy. I’m getting almost half the hours I was previously working, and the paychecks sure do help. And I miss the residents, so it’s lovely to be able to see and talk to them.

Money is still a concern. I’m spending less on gas and restaurant food, and trying to cut back here and there, but it’s tight. I’m going to apply for part-time work transcribing reading lessons for teachers, which I think I would like very much. But I need a desktop computer for that, and I don’t have one, so I’m trying to save up for one. And there’s not much work in that field during June and July. If that works out I’ll be fine, and happy. Actually, I’m already happy. And fine.

Dilemma

I’m almost at the end of my rope and I don’t know what to do. I work every other day. The days I work I’m gone from home for 10 hours and get home totally drained and exhausted. The days I don’t work I spend recuperating, doing laundry and dishes and sleeping. Every two or three weeks I get two or three days off. I rush around madly running errands and try to spend some time with my pets. I get nothing else done at all. My house is a mess. It’s falling apart and a number of things aren’t working properly, like the toilets, the kitchen drain, the furnace, the water heater. One of my dogs is very old and can’t always hold it, so the carpet is disgusting. At work we’re constantly told we need to do more work with fewer people in less time. There is great pressure to hurry, and we get criticized in public. I don’t know how much longer I’ll be physically capable of the work, and the stress is having a bad effect on me.

I’m looking for other work but it’s hard to find decently paying part-time work that I’m qualified for and physically capable of. I feel like a mediocre employee, a poor pet owner, and a terrible home owner. I’m lonely. I have no money. I worked out carefully how to get time off for a short trip I’d like to make for an event that is important to me, but I’m not sure I can go, given the cost and the need for animal care. I really don’t know what to do. I’m not happy.

I talked to an online therapist, but mostly what she said was a lot of people have the same problem. That was no help and even made me feel guilty for complaining. I have to figure out what the next step should be.

COVID-19

The pandemic started affecting my state the week I started my job. I was trained to do things one way, then the day I started work we started doing things another way. It was a challenge for everyone. Many seniors have hearing problems, and wearing a mask makes it even harder for them to understand. In the memory unit, wearing masks can make people look frightening to the residents. Sanitation measures got even more strict. We started delivering all meals to the apartments. That lasted for many months. We have just recently gone back to serving in the dining rooms.

I’m proud of the place I work. We were very careful and had no cases for a long time. When it did finally sweep through, it was less destructive than in most such places. Sadly, we lost several residents, but I am grateful it wasn’t much worse. We have been clear for many weeks now and are in the midst of a vaccination program.

For people who live alone, the loneliness can be terrible. I’m lucky I have had a job to go to all this time. It’s not the same as being with family or friends, but it’s marginally better than nothing. For weeks on end, I go nowhere but to work and the grocery store. Occasionally I have a car date with a friend, where we park next to each other and talk through the windows. And that’s the extent of my social life. I’m getting really tired of it.

Three weeks ago, I had the first of two vaccine shots, and tomorrow I’ll get the second one. Shortly after that, I’ll not only have personal immunity but I will be very unlikely to be able to carry the virus unknowingly. That’s going to be a good feeling.

It remains to be seen how much it changes my daily life, though. In my state it’s hard to get the vaccine. Although it’s theoretically available to anyone over 65, supplies are limited and appointments difficult to time. Healthcare workers and people in senior residences are being given priority, which is why I was able to get it. But none of my friends or family have yet been able to arrange to be vaccinated. So it’s still going to be hard for me to socialize. But I think I see a tiny light at the end of the very long tunnel.

It doesn’t help that this is a bad winter. We’ve had a series of blizzard-like snow storms and now we’re in the middle of a week of subzero temperatures. Some days it’s hard to get out of bed. Today is Sunday. It’s 8:30 a.m. and my hair is still damp from the shower. In less than two hours I have to leave for work, but first I’m going to have to dig my car out yet again. Not a fun way to spend Valentine’s Day.

It’s been more than a year since I weaned myself off of my antidepressants, and I’m surprised I’ve made it through the winter as well as I have. When I manage to keep up an exercise program, it really helps, and April is only about six weeks away. So I think I’m going to get there. Somehow I think spring will be better.

Now That’s More Like It

I was asked at my job to sub for a Life Enrichment worker for three weeks, and I have found my niche, the job I want and would be able to do for years. It involves planning, leading, and sometimes inventing activities for the senior residents.

I loved every minute of it. I read to them, played Bingo, led an exercise group, helped with a tree undecorating party, worked a jigsaw puzzle, sang, looked at pictures, and my favorite, one-on-one visits. Sadly, the original worker has returned, and I’ll be back in the kitchen next week. But I’ve been promised first shot at the next job opening there.

This gives me great hope, because it’s something I would love and could do for a long time, and it turns out I’m really good at it. Not only did I enjoy it, but the residents liked having me and said so both to me and to my boss. So I have a plan for the future. I’ve really needed that feeling of security.

Suddenly Old

I have a very physical job. I work in a large senior residence where most or all of the residents are over 80, and quite a few of them are around 100. I serve meals there and do some other work as needed. Most of this year we have delivered all meals to the apartments on carts due to the COVID pandemic. It has to be done at speed, and after the deliveries the dishes must be picked up and returned to the kitchen, the fridges must be restocked, everything must be cleaned and wiped and swept and mopped and huge trash cans taken outside and emptied. During all this, we observe the residents and their behavior, we talk to them, listen to them, and occasionally are asked to do small tasks that they can’t manage. I enjoy it very much. But it is extremely hard work and very fast paced. Most of the other employees are much younger, many of them teenagers. If I work two days in a row, or more than three days in a week, I have trouble walking when I get home. I can’t comfortably lift some of the objects I have to move, and working on or near the floor is very difficult.

I try to avoid using my age as a reason not to do things, but on this job it’s often necessary. I’m obviously in my 70s, with white hair, but it seems hard for the younger people, including my bosses, to grasp that there really is a limit to my physical strength and endurance. My boss expects me to understand if we’re short-handed and she schedules me for extra days or hours. I do understand, but it doesn’t change the fact that I really can’t do it, and if it keeps happening, I won’t be able to keep this job. I’m pretty worried about it.

I can’t get by on only Social Security. Part-time office work is hard to find, and I much prefer to do a job that I love and that seems important to me, and this job fills that need for me. But I really don’t know how long I’m going to be able to do it. It keeps me up at night.

The funny thing is that is I were 99, no one would question it if I said I couldn’t do something. But I’m only 71. I wonder if they think we just wake up one day and we’re 99. I’m not sure they understand that it’s a gradual process. Even five years ago, I could do things that I can’t do now. It’s true that some things do seem to change overnight, like when reading glasses become essential. But generally it goes forward in slow motion, and every new milepost comes as a surprise. It was probably that way in adolescence too, but I don’t remember it. But not boobs. Boobs were definitely overnight.

What if?

I have a hard time letting go of regrets. I read once that forgiveness is giving up all hope of having a different past. That’s where I fall short. I’ve had four eye surgeries now, and it looks like I will end up with really good vision, better than I’ve ever had. And what I keep thinking is, why couldn’t I have had this before? Why did it take until my 70s to be able to see? It’s not that I don’t appreciate it, because I’m thrilled. It’s just that my happiness is mitigated by thoughts of why I had to have crummy eyesight for so long. When I start thinking how I should have done this sooner, then I think I also wish I had better hearing, and didn’t struggle with my weight, and had sufficient money, and pretty soon I’m totally in fantasy land. Nothing will ever be good enough for me because I’m not good enough. Always painfully inferior, no matter how many changes I work to make.

Lately, several people have told me I’m brave. I really wish they wouldn’t say that. Cowardice is one of my biggest faults, and I can’t imagine what people see to call me brave, but it makes me feel like a fraud. Once or twice I’ve done something I’m proud of, because it did take courage, but that’s not what people are referring to, so what do they mean? I once took riding lessons because I was afraid of horses, and I trained myself to do medical transcription because I thought it sounded like a fun job. (It was.) But there’s nothing brave about undergoing a fairly common outpatient procedure, even if it hurt.

What I need to do is find some what-ifs that I can take as challenges. What if I were thinner and more fit? What if I figured out a way to earn more money, or to spend less? I need to think about this.

Working

I’m 71. I want to retire. So far, I haven’t figured out how to afford it. I resent having to work, with no end in sight. At the same time, I love my job. I like the work and the place and the people. I’d be happier if I had a predictable schedule of several days a week, but I work different days, different shifts, and I work most days. So the job takes up more of my life than I want it to. I must admit, I’m a passionate person and I tend to care deeply about the things I do and the people I know, so it’s possible there is no job I would want to do that I could really walk away from most of the time. That’s something I need to think about.

One of the jobs I considered before taking the job I have was custodial. I would have worked several nights a week cleaning an office space. I don’t know whether that would have been a good fit for me or not. What I ended up doing was serving food at a senior residence. I like food service. It’s essential and usually makes people happy. It’s very fast paced and physical, and sometimes I think it may be too much at this time in my life. I very much like the residents and I think about them when I’m not there. I worry about their health and I grieve when they die. This is not a job I can be indifferent about. So is this a good idea or not? I’m really not sure. And if not, is there some way to adjust it so it is? This keeps me awake at night.

Losing It

All my faculties are slowly getting worse. I can’t hear as well, and it’s embarrassing to keep saying, “What?” like a, well, like an old lady. I can’t smell or taste quite as well as before. I’d never win a wine tasting contest, not that I would have before, and I worry whether my perfume is too strong and I just don’t realize it. But what’s really frightening is losing my sight.

Now I’ve never had good eyesight. I got glasses when I was six, after an incident in the classroom made it obvious there was something wrong with my vision. I got contacts at 17 and went back to glasses in my 30s. After 60, doctors started commenting that I was getting cataracts. No surprise, most people get them and they’re easily fixed. So finally last year I decided to have them corrected, and that’s when things started getting scary.

First, I’ve long had astigmatism in one eye. That had gotten much worse over the years, and in recent months my right eye had gotten almost useless. Then, when I went to the big clinic to be assessed, it turned out I had ocular rosacea. That was a surprise, since I didn’t have it anywhere else. The next diagnosis was “ripply corneas,” a condition I can’t find in the medical books but that seems self-explanatory, and finally I was told I had Salzmann’s degeneration, in which small opaque nodules form in the corneas, obscuring vision. As if that weren’t enough, I have a genetic condition in which my tears react chemically with the tissues of my corneas and cause scarring. And so I had A Procedure.

The procedure is called a phototherapeutic keratotomy, or PTK, in which the doctor manually removes the epithelium (i. e., scrapes off the front of the eyeball with a little thing like a potato peeler) and then uses a laser to remove the damaged part of the corneas. It sounds awful, but in practice it’s painless and interesting, and immediately I could see better. The second one was planned for a month later.

My vision kept improving and stabilizing in my right eye, and after a week I had to get new glasses. They’re single-vision lenses and were shockingly cheap compared to the progressive lenses I’d been wearing for many years. Life was good, and I waited eagerly for a month for the second procedure.

That’s when things started going off. The second time was not like the first. The operation took twice as long, and the surgeon commented several times on how thick the scar was down the middle of my cornea. But I wanted those great results.

I didn’t get them. After the surgery, I could barely see out of my left eye. Everything was blurry and cloudy. I blinked a lot but nothing helped. After four days, I went in to have the bandage contact removed, but it was decided to replace it with a second one. The doctor remarked that my eye was not healing as fast as the first one had. No kidding.

It has now been 11 days since The Second Procedure. The contact is out, and the doctor says the subtle healing can now begin, a phrase I rather like. But the healing is proving to be too subtle. The cloudiness has mostly cleared up, but my vision is worse than it was before. With or without my glasses, everything is very blurry, to the point where I’m not using that eye at all. I have neither distance vision nor close vision. And that was my good eye!

I’m due to have cataract surgery in less than three weeks, but I’m afraid to have it done. What if something goes wrong? My right eye is better than it was but still bad, and my left eye is terrible.

So I’m thinking a lot about losing my vision. I live alone in a tiny town half an hour away from most amenities. What if I can’t drive? I don’t see how I could move; I have no money and no equity in my home. I have two dogs and a cat, so I need a house with a yard. I live in an expensive part of the state, relatively speaking, but my family and friends are here, and my job, and my history.

At this point, I’m capable of driving but I no longer enjoy it. During the usual activities of daily life I’m very aware of my poor vision; at work I have to ask someone else to read the schedule posted high on the wall; and reading, the greatest pleasure of my life, is tiring and makes my eyes hurt. It’s frightening and discouraging, and I feel helpless to do anything about it. I don’t know what’s coming next.