Blue 2 the rescue

In that main photo of me and Claren a few days ago, you may have noticed stuffed animal Blue 2 adorning the back of the couch. Blue 2 was a gift from my nephew years ago. And he is again taking center stage.

Mom and I removed Claren's medicines from the shelf under the TV, but it left an empty spot. Blue 2, now wearing my CCI hat from the Inauguration, fits well.

Claren

Claren, my service dog and partner, died today -- it still hurts to breathe.

Let's be real, though, we were only partners like Batman and Robin are partners, Not the cool, kick-butt Robin either, but the one from the TV show who was a goofball at best.

I was definitely the dorky sidekick.

Claren is the one who danced with my friend at her wedding. She is the one strangers would stop and marvel at. Even today, one of the receptionists came out to the car crying and said how special Claren was and how everyone loved her.

But even much-loved dogs get old. Their bodies work less well. The allergy that they once ignored becomes overwhelming.

And such it was with Claren.

She was drinking a ton, her legs were weakening, and her skin allergies had become unbearable. She was one big sore.

So we made an appointment at the vet to end things. My vet was off today, but she came in anyway. Claren got a huge breakfast, topped off by a plate of whipped cream from my nephew and niece. Then my sister and I headed in.

The vet had a room set up with a table that raised and lowered all ready, so I didn't need to get out of my chair. Claren got right on, and they raised it to my level. The vet explained what would happen, and we all patted Claren. Some techs came in and put a catheter in. Then the vet came back, and when I was ready, gave her a sedative and then the final shot.

Claren hardly moved throughout.

It was the sedative that did me in, just seeing her eyes close and knowing they wouldn't again open.

And she died.

We sat for a while longer.

When life was hard for me, I'd go outside, get Claren to put her front feet on my lap, and press my head against hers. I imagined her taking the crap on herself and it made me feel better. I did that once more, then we left.

I can't overestimate how much Claren has meant to me. She helped me become more like the person I want to be, and I will always be indebted to Canine Companions for Independence for giving me this wonderful being.

But it doesn't stop with CCI. Someone took care of her Mom; Claren's puppy-raisers, Mary-Ann and Charlie, molded her into the loving dog I knew; the hundreds of people I met through CCI taught me so much about dogs and life; the cadre of walkers, water-getters, poop-picker-uppers and friends at USA TODAY gave their hearts freely; vets in Falls Church (Falls Church Animal Hospital), Herndon (Herndon-Reston Animal Hospital) and elsewhere treated her ailments; Dominion Pet Center (my first job!) kept me well-supplied; the folks at my new job welcomed her for the two years she was there; of course, my family helped so much; and it goes on and on.

Thank you.

I won't get into the theology of whether dogs go to heaven, but I know Claren is running, itchless finally, somewhere with her many friends, including Jack, Cleo, Sajen and Tanner, rolling in poop, diving into lakes and eating 73 meals a day.

I will get a successor dog, no doubt about that. But for now, I will be sad and miss my girl. 

GI Matty

I blame Dad.

As my kidney-stone issues keep improving, I turned my attention to a gastroenterology appointment. I have wanted to see a GI doc for a while to make sure stuff was OK. I had a note from my FA doctor and found  someone who sounded good.

I went in, hoping to weasel out of a colonoscopy.  I'm not 50 yet and the prep is so miserable for a wheelchair user, I thought my chances were good. Plus, stress.

Until she found out Dad had been diagnosed with colon cancer in June. It didn't matter that he is 78 or that surgery on him was successful.

"You definitely need a colonoscopy," she said. Not only that, but I need to start now, not 50, and have one ever five years because of my medical history, not every 10 as is normal.

On Oct. 7 I don't just have a colonoscopy either. I have an upper endoscopy. As Mom said, "They start at each end and meet in the middle." She is so funny.

Fair warning: If anything turns up in these tests, the bitterness in this blog so far will seem sweet as sugar.

And Dad probably isn't to blame.

Sing out loud

My doctor thinks my voice has gotten more slurry over the past year. I was actually thinking the same thing recently.

We discussed whether speech therapy might be in order but decided the thing to do was exercise my vocal cords.

I am not sure how to get away with reading out loud here. But my doctor suggested singing in the shower, which might be weirder.

This is your life, Matty

I looked into the mirror this morning and thought, "This is my life."

I had taken a shower the night before, but through no fault of my own, my sheet and boxers had urine on them in the morning. A urinal leaked a bit, meaning I had to call my sister to help me before I got up.

So, the "This is my life" look was not a positive one.

But then I got to work.

The friendly maintenance man smiled broadly to see me. I got to my cubicle to find it festooned with Avengers streamers. A friend left a lovely card, too. Then I got another card from my department. Then the friend who gussied up my cubicle brought me brownies.

I decided "That is my life," too.