I Will Survive

Today marks the 4 year anniversary of Indiana's rebirth. Four years ago, Indiana was diagnosed with cancer and nearly died. A year ago today, I shared Indiana's story for the first time. It was really the first time I had let myself even think or process the story, because it caused me so much pain. Writing it out was so cathartic to me, and this year, finally, I can look back on that day and not feel such an ache in my heart.

Today, Indiana is a happy, relatively healthy, 12 year old cancer survivor. While she has some long-term effects from both the cancer and the chemo, her greatest complaints are the ailments of an old dog. Considering we were told she would die at 8, we feel fortunate every day to even have an old dog. Though Indiana is hugely spoiled (and it doesn't go to her head, thank you very much), we think she deserves every bit of it. Through surgery, chemo, physical therapy, chiropractic, acupuncture, and numerous vet visits, Indiana has issued nary a complaint (unless you try to trim her toenails; that's a whole 'nother matter). Everyone who meets her agrees that she's special. She touches everyone she meets, and she inspires me every day. Every day, I strive to live up to her standards and be the kind of parent she deserves.

So today, for the first time, I truly celebrate her accomplishment and her triumph. I banish all thoughts of the pain we suffered that day, and the past four years, and I am grateful to have a dog who is free of cancer. Congratulations, my brave, sweet girl. You make me proud every day, and you inspire me in so many ways. Thank you for making my world brighter. Our world is a better place with you in it!

Best. Daddy. Ever.

My furry babies are lucky to have the best Dad in the world. In fact, they have a whole slew of wonderful father figures. Both Grandpas are good to them too. (And both Grandmas, to be perfectly equitable.)

Jim would do anything for our pets, and I know this is sort of a rare trait for a male to have. I'm really fortunate, because I've never, ever had to fight him on anything when it comes to our kids. We've always seen eye-to-eye on every big decision, and there have been plenty of those. Expensive, risky, potentially life-saving cancer surgery? Of course. Camping out in a hotel out of town while Indiana has an overnight stay (or four overnight stays) in the hospital? Why wouldn't we? Flying in a search and rescue dog on the off chance he might provide a clue as to where our missing cat went? Absolutely.

Then there are the little things. (And they're really not so little, in my mind) He's thrilled to feed the babies a raw diet, and he usually puts the meals together so I, a vegetarian, don't have to touch the meat. (Actually, he's feeding the babies breakfast right now so I can spend time blogging.)

Jim goes out of his way to talk to the kids, usually in cute voices. He's currently "talking" for Gus in a baby voice, giving me a play-by-play of Gus' activities. And he just walked in to re-enact a physical showdown by the boys. Nothing warms your heart more than a man getting mushy over a kitten.

He has spent numerous days building special projects for the kids, like the playhouse and the indoor basement therapy pool, and he's perfectly happy with the loads of toys and play structures scattered around the inside of the house. The project he's currently mulling around in his head is a play structure for the cats...that rests on the wall of the Great Room...and allows them to climb up the wall...

I am so fortunate to have a husband who has the same values as I, and I know my kids benefit from that as well. I'm also lucky that he understands and is experiencing the same emotional turmoil as I am over the loss of Mr. Squiggles. I have a literal shoulder to cry on, and that shoulder cries right back. Really, our family couldn't ask for a better Daddy. Happy Father's Day to the best darn Papa in the whole world.

It's The Little Things

Every day, each of my four furry babies does something that I love, something that makes me smile. I live for these things.

Indiana always greets us first thing in the morning with a smile and a wag of her tail. If we're lucky, and if she's feeling particularly spry, she'll jump up on the bed with us when she hears the alarm go off.

She has a way of looking at you, when you're goofing around with her, that we call the "sideways glance." It's a look out of the corner of her eye that says, "You're nuts," but really she's saying, "I love that you're trying to make me laugh."

She loves getting in the car for a trip, even though it's usually to the vet's. She usually flies down the car stairs when we get to our destination, because she just loves going places.

She smiles and walks as fast as her arthritic legs can take her when she sees another dog. She LOVES dogs.

She always falls asleep between us every night, and if I'm really lucky, she'll lay her head on my leg, the best feeling in the world.

Isis is our "special" dog, which automatically makes me love her.

She can't hear well, but when she sees that you've woken up for the day, or that you've come home from being away, she'll get the biggest grin on her face, wag her tail, and generally go nuts with happiness.

She has her own way of getting into bed (no people in it, thank you very much): jump up, flop down on your side, and let out a huge groan.

She gives us "crazy kisses:" the biggest, fastest, most manic kisses you've ever seen. But she also can be discriminating. Sometime we'll just get a sniff and a dismissal.

Gus is the baby and therefore our special little man. With his disability, it's hard not to get a chuckle just watching him walk.

He has a special meow that he uses to look for us. Or his dog. Or birds. Or something, we don't always know what. But this meow slays me every time. I think it's a drug to me.

He chatters at birds and squirrels, while twitching his tail.

He lives to snuggle with his dog, Indiana. He does this dutifully every night and falls asleep for a while on her feet until eventually curling up on my ankles.

His mouth is so darn cute when he's gnawing on his raw food, and darn it, I think his little man-bits are the cutest things ever.

Sam came to us during a difficult time in our lives, so we're really grateful for him.

He is the whiniest cat I've ever met. It's like he has the worst life ever, even though we know for a fact that he does not.

He attacks bread in plastic bags. While this is also really annoying, I secretly love it because it's quirky.

He is huge and gorgeous with the best paws on the planet. Though he often uses them for evil, he never uses them to hurt us, even though he easily could.

He is slowly starting to sleep with us at night, which pleases us beyond belief.

I couldn't live with myself without mentioning our other family member, Mr. Squiggles. The thing I miss about him the most is when he would lay on my chest and gently place his paw (also huge and awesome, like Sammy's) on my lips or cheek, like he just wanted to be as close to me as possible. I dream about this quirk of his day or night, and even though I miss him fiercely, thinking of him touching my face makes me smile too.

These little things are the things that make my day worth living.

Day By Day

As many of you know, my family has experienced a number of heartbreaks over the past nine months. Life started going downhill in September with the disappearance of our cat (my son), Mr. Squiggles. A few short weeks later, Jim's great aunt Betty passed away, and Indiana became grievously ill and was diagnosed with kidney disease. While still reeling from these experiences, my beloved aunt, a mother figure in my life, passed away a few days after Christmas. Add in a few other problems I won't mention here, and most days I feel in over my head.

Not a day goes by that I don't think about Mr. Squiggles or my Aunt Carole, both of whom were taken from me far too soon. Mr. Squiggles remains an open book--is he still alive? is he lost?--but Carole's loss has so much finality. Both are difficult to deal with, just in different ways.

When I think of Mr. Squiggles, which is any time I look around my home, drive by sights we've searched for him, or, really, any moment I am awake, I am filled not only with grief, but also with guilt. Charged with protecting him, I obviously let him down. Nearly nine months have passed, and we've still not been able to bring him home. What have I missed? What did I do wrong?

I think about Carole all the time too. Though I spent most of my life separated from her by most of a country, the past three years she lived 20 minutes away, something I had dreamed of my whole life. She spent all of the special days with us--birthdays, parties, holidays, or we would just get together as a family, just because. It seems like half the things I own were given to me by her, so everywhere I look, I am surrounded by her. This is a comfort and a curse. I feel her loss the most deeply when our family of 6 is gathered, and we number only 5.

Though these losses haunt me daily, I know I have much to be thankful for. Scarred by Indiana's cancer four years ago, she has survived, and I have too. I thought I would never heal, and though I still worry about her (more than I should most of the time--but that's another post), she is still stable, happy, and for a dog who has been through so much, healthy.

Every day I struggle to get out of bed, to complete all my tasks, and do all my jobs. I mess up a lot and ignore my friends more than I should. Many things seem trivial when you've faced so much death, but really, isn't life all about those trivial things? I have many things to figure out in my life, but I'm young, and I have an amazing family to support me. I try not to push myself to figure too many things out at once. There will be time for these things. Instead, as much as I am able, I take things one day at a time. Though there are always going to be good days and bad, I know that, overall, every day will be a little bit easier. My losses will never go away, but time truly does heal all wounds. At least well enough to let us live our lives, and be happy.

I Think "Spoiled" Is Such An Unfair Word

One might say that the pets in the Schneider household are spoiled. I personally think that's a bit harsh though. What's spoiled?

I mean, ok, besides the furniture, our cats have about three beds in every room to choose from. One of them is my former laundry basket. I say former because Samson fell in love with it, and I bought a new one so he could have the old one. And it has a towel inside so he has a soft place to sleep.

Then there's the kitty apartment, Casa de Amy, birthday palace, The Great Wall of China, the two window perches, and loads and loads of blankets on various flat surfaces (including one on each dining table in the house). Don't get me started on the three cardboard scratching toys or the piles of cat toys strewn about the house.

Then we have the dogs. While Indy and Isis generally choose to sleep either on the bed or on the floor, Indiana does in fact have two "dog" beds. (Isis will never touch one--she's weird that way). One is a super-duper-expensive memory foam affair that we bought her for Christmas. She eschews that one for the super-duper-old one that is actually one dog bed stuffed inside another to fill up the dog-shaped hole in it.

The dogs too have their insane pile of toys. One toy box used to be enough, but Boommaw and Boompaw bought a new basket for them, which is of course now full, so Boommaw and Boompaw bought them a cute duck-shaped laundry basket for overflow toys, which was promptly taken over instead by Gus for a rasslin' ring. Sam uses it to murder rodents. Great fun.

The animal insanity isn't just contained indoors, oh no. Within the 550 feet of escape-proof cat fencing you'll find a custom built playhouse, complete with stairs, ramps, and a sleeping loft for the cats. Of course. Who doesn't have one of those?

While chewing this blog topic around in my head, I consulted Jim for the crazier things we have around the house. He very astutely reminded me that spoiling isn't just about things, but it's also about the way we treat our animals. Bah. Don't spoil my fun! I'm doing a light-hearted blog post for once, for heaven's sake. Don't expect me to get all deep.

The thing I love about spoiling our pets vs. spoiling our children is that we can spoil the critters 'til the cows come home and it won't make a bit of difference to their behavior. They either appreciate it or they don't, but they don't demand more from us. Our pets have all of these crazy houses and loads of toys, but essentially because they make us as parents happy. It makes me happy to give my cats a 4 foot long Great Wall of China and affix pictures of "Chairman Meow" to it. It makes me feel like a good Mom to buy Indiana the best possible bed, even if she never uses it.

Life isn't about stuff, I know. We're fortunate to be able to afford it, but our pets don't need it. It makes me happy to be surrounded by cat and dog paraphernalia though, and nothing brings a smile to my face like a cat ACTUALLY USING SOMETHING YOU BUY THEM. And life is all about happiness, for our pets AND for us.

'A Traveling We Will Go

A few weeks ago, Jim and I went out of town for 5 days, the first time we've traveled since Mr. Squiggles went missing while on vacation in Paris. After Indiana was diagnosed with kidney disease back in October, we thought our days of vacationing were over. Daily kidney fluids and shots multiple times a week were too much to foist on my parents, our usual dog-sitters. Plus, a fiasco with our (now-ex) cat sitter a few months ago left us without someone to watch our cats. Getting away for more than a night seemed impossible.

But, alas, Jim and I were both born with a ferocious desire to experience the world, and going too long without traveling makes us cranky and unsettled. Back B.C. (Before Cancer, as we refer to life now), we went on 4-5 trips a year. After Cancer, we thought we'd never travel again, but the travel bug bit us, and we eventually settled into a routine of 2 big trips and a couple of weekend getaways a year. So when disease struck again, it was natural to vow to stop traveling, but also completely unrealistic.

Jim had the opportunity to represent the United States at the World Sudoku Championship in Philadelphia, the third time he's earned this honor. The competition is really important to him, so of course we'd find a way for him to go. But selfishly, I wanted to go along too. I knew I'd be a nervous wreck staying at home, wondering how it was going, whether he was doing well, whether he was frustrated. We knew we had to find a way to make it work. We'd see.

Everything needed to fall into place simultaneously. We needed sitters for the animals, we needed someone to do Indiana's kidney fluids, and I needed to make sure I could get the weekend off from work (but still make it back in time for a Sunday afternoon concert--yes, I am crazy.) A flash of genius made us ask Jim's parents, who are very busy but retired, to come stay with all four pets at our house. Being the wonderful people they are, they agreed. Yay! One big hurdle overcome. Next up was fluids. Our only option, really, was the vet tech at our vet's office, Amanda. She's amazing and kind, and we were hoping she'd be willing to help us out. Allelujia! She was! Last on the list was work, and since my choir director is one of the nicest, most understanding people on the planet, he was fine with my plan to fit both travel and work into one weekend. Gosh! I have the best people in my life!

Jim and I were astonished that everything fit together so easily for us. Perhaps it was meant to be? Were our fates changing? Meticulous planning let us leave for the trip knowing our kids were in good hands, and we had finished our escape-proof cat fencing about a month prior, so we knew our feline babies were safe from harm. We left for the trip confident that all would be well, and though we checked on our clan every day, I was amazingly able to relax and not worry every moment. We returned home from a fantastic weekend with great memories, new friends, and proof that good things actually do happen sometimes. We can leave for a vacation, and our world won't always fall apart.

Our 10th wedding anniversary is approaching in August, and we had always planned on returning to Hawaii to celebrate. (Our wedding was Hawaiian-themed and we spent our honeymoon in Oahu). While our successful trip to Philadelphia taught us that it's probably safe to go away, we still aren't comfortable being an 8+ hour flight away from home. Should (God forbid) something happening with Indiana, we're more comfortable sticking to the continental United States, where we could fly home lickity-split. So the plan is Disney World, but we'll stay at the Polynesian Resort to satisfy our Hawaiian craving.

We still have things to figure out--cat sitter and fluid-giver, but we're confident we can make it work. And when we go, we'll know that the babies are in good hands. I'll still call home every day though--let's not get ridiculous.

Happy Anniversary?

It seems like this time of year is filled with painful anniversaries. Many of the friends I have made through a pet cancer support group lost pets in the spring, and of course anniversaries, or more precisely, holidays, have been on my mind this year.

Yesterday was Mother's Day, and I was really dreading it in many ways. While my own Mom is still alive, young, and healthy, as is my Mother-in-Law, my aunt Carole passed away just 4 months ago. She was a huge figure in my life, like a mother to me. To have her missing on a day when we honor the mother figures in our lives was going to be difficult. I know this because several important days, including Carole's birthday, have already passed this year. I approach each one with a sense of dread, and of loss. I still carry a lot of pain and anger from the loss of Carole. Even the smallest things can hit me and remind me of my loss--something as simple as a Psalm at church, or an item at the store I know she'd like.

Mother's Day was doubly difficult because Mr. Squiggles is still missing. I'm a mother missing a child. My family is incomplete. I think of Mr. Squiggles every single day, but slap a label on a Sunday, and it makes it all that much harder.

I had something of an epiphany this weekend. I was so dreading Mother's Day (even though I wanted to make it special for my own Mom), but it's not the first holiday or event this year that I approached with the same dread. Carole's Birthday, Easter, Mr. Squiggles' Birthday. I feared all of these. But you know what? Those days came and went. I made the best of them, maybe even had some fun with my family. I woke up the next day, and life went on.

Life went on. I realized that I too would survive Mother's Day. I might even have fun. And I did. When watching all of the families at church yesterday morning threatened to remind me of Carole, I remembered this new epiphany and strengthened myself with the knowledge that I would survive today. It doesn't take away the pain, but it makes it more bearable.

So to all of my friends and readers out there facing a tough anniversary of holiday, remember this: you too will survive. The day may be tough, but you'll wake up the following day and carry on. I know there are more rough days ahead for me as I face many more firsts without Carole and Mr. Squiggles. And I will dread them. But I'll get myself through by remembering that I've already survived so much, and I don't intend to stop.


Happy Mother's Day to all of my readers out there who are Moms to both humans and pets alike. Happy Mother's Day as well to my own wonderful mothers, both the one I was born to and the one I married in to! I love you both.