In celebration of my decision to just say no to poop pills, I made myself a giant latte this morning, my usual—split quad grande with whole milk—after days and days of being careful about the caffeine/lactose ratio (the combo can be quite the roto rooter). I had been having a mere 1 shot americano or some such thing, just enough to stave off withdrawal headaches on top of everything else.
Um, yeah. Guts not ready for the big time.
I maybe made that choice incorrectly (okay, there’s no “maybe” about it), but at least I made another choice correctly: I moved my paper med hemp “cards” from the bentwood box where I normally set my coffee, and put them on the floor behind the big comfy chair in our living room. I haven’t been able to train myself to not leave my coffee unattended on that box, and Hoover, contrary to somehow learning on his own that I’d rather he didn’t sample beverages that I leave around at dog level, has become quite the sneaky fiend when it comes to helping himself to drinkables.
Anyway, I had realized that I needed to abandon my drink but had not yet dumped it out, and was down at the other end of the house availing myself of the facilities, when I heard a terrific CRASH. “HOOVER!” I yelled and, as soon as possible, raced into the living room.
Oops. Little Dog (as we sometimes call him, since he was little when he came into the house) had made an error in judgment, and shattered glass (from one of our Bodum vacuum insulated double-walled mugs) and latte were splattered lavishly over the papers on the bentwood box, the computer power cord on the floor, and one or both shoes of several pairs that seem to migrate here to recline under the ottoman.
Hoover was nowhere to be seen.
My pot cards were dry as a bone.
I did a quick search for Hoover, found him cowering guiltily on the dim landing of the basement stairs, and tossed him outside. I didn’t even toss him particularly meanly—after all, I had placed temptation, yet again, well within his reach—but still, some recognition of his badness was necessary . . . but also, I didn’t want him to get glass in his paws until I had cleaned up.
I had to call Taya and postpone an appointment I’d been very much looking forward to, because the drive to Lake Stevens seemed like a bad idea, and so I’m disappointed about that. On the other hand, Hoover, who is a big chickenshit about loud, unexpected crashing noises that he has caused, may think twice before helping himself to my morning latte again.
N.B. While composing this post, I received a call from Eliza at the SCCA, saying, with great joy in her voice, that my three-drug mash-up of Herceptin, Lapatinib, and Navelbine had been, at long last, APPROVED! And so now I will, in fact, still have to tell Dr Specht, tomorrow in clinic, that I am NOT, NO WAY, NO HOW, going to take Lapatinib in ANY dose, for ANY amount of time, EVER AGAIN. Sigh.