Before anyone thinks in future about asking me how I am

Please read the following very carefully. Failure to do so, could result in a major temper explosion from me!!!!!!

I know everybody means well, by asking, but I am so sick and tired of trying to sound cheerful, like I'm just getting over a case of bronchitis or pneumonia. I am fighting cancer people. How the blazes would you expect me to feel. I just found out I am facing a major operation because despite my surgeon's best attempts to save my bladder, tests reveal he can't. And this surgery entails, removing my bladder entirely, along with my uterus, ovaries, and anterior wall of my vagina. Not only that there are major risks involved. 1) I could have a heart attack and croak on the table; 2) I could develop blood clots in my legs. It also means I will be walking around with a stoma bag (to collect urine) the rest of my life. And frankly the thought of what I'm about to face is scaring the crap out of me!!!!!

This is a serious disease people, and quite frankly if you don't get that by now, heaven help you if you should develop cancer.

And the other thing bothering me right now. The two people who mean more to me than anything/anyone on this planet and who always kept me from having a nervous breakdown if I had a health crisis aren't available when I need them the most. Of course, I am speaking of my Grandparents (or in my books, my true Parents). One has been gone (deceased) almost 8 years (my Grandfather) and because of what I'm going through I had to place Gram into a facility, where I can't even see her, because I am also fighting anemia!!!! And even when I do see her, I'm not allowed to say anything about this, under orders from the rest of the family!!!!

So people please, read this and know that I am going through probably the worst time of my life and as to how I am doing,...."LOUSY, THANKS"

As along as everybody reads this, we should be able to avoid a virtual or any other type of temper fit/explosion from me. And believe me, right now, in the mood I'm in, you best be prepared to lose some skin.

I'm tired of it all and just want out

As most of you know, I have been battling bladder cancer for the last while. Well, after two surgeries in an attempt to save my bladder, I've decided no more. I can't take the pain. As I type this, I have pain just below both my kidneys, not to mention it stings when I manage to void (pee). BM's are another story entirely.

I'm tired of it all. I'm tired of the constant pain (yes I have strong painkillers--anything stronger and I could become an addict). I'm tired of the spasms that hit me so hard, I just pour sweat, like I had been running a marathon and totally zap my energy. I'm tired of crying myself to sleep at night, because the pain is so bad.

And most of all, I'm tired of having to be stoic, strong and reassuring for the family, who don't understand the agony this involves. Only those who have had surgery anywhere near their nether regions could understand.

And the thing that upsets me most of all, is in the past when I have had a health scare/crisis, I could go lean on Gram and just have a good crying jag (just the thought of that has tears running down my face). But because of this and the fact she needs more care than I give her, she's in a facility and I can only muster enough energy to see her for an hour.

I have a meeting at 3:15 my time tomorrow (Tues) with Dr. Nazif (my surgeon) and if he's not prepared to listen to me or take my concerns seriously, I am hereby stopping all treatment.

I'm tired and if the universe decided to take me in my sleep, I'd be happy.

Just so you know, suicide is not in my vocabulary, but I'm tired of all of this and just want out

Why is it that some people....

who reach the age of 65 or more and seem to be in reasonable health, lose what little brain matter they have left.

Diane (my Mother) is a perfect example. Lately we have been letting our cats (with the exception of O'Malley) outside. Figaro Jr, however takes 3 days to come back in and because of that we had made the decision to leave him in with O'Malley, both for his safety and our piece of mind.

Well, this morning, while I was taking a shower, Diane decides to let the cats who were outside, back in without watching for Fig. Naturally he seized the opportunity and got out. GRRRRRRRRR!!!!

Her excuse to me was she mistook him for Tiger. I find that hard to believe because Tiger is striped and Fig looks exactly like his brother Vic but Fig is ginger in color, while Vic is black and white.

Now, after just getting rid of my latest insomnia battle, I get to start a new one, because guaranteed Fig will not come in for three days.

Thankfully Diane leaves for the summer in two weeks. Mind you, I don't think I'm going to be able to last that long.

This is absolutely idiotic

The Canadian Health care system is stretched to the max and yet Doctors say, oh let's just put our elderly into care facilities.

Yes, I happened to have to see mine today (for me--updated him on Gram) and we got to talking about Gram slipping into the dementia phase of the Parkinson's and he said at some point she may have to go into long term care. For me that is the worst possible news I could have heard.

I don't like care facilities for seniors. I never have and I never will. They remind me too much of the barracks used by the Nazi's in their concentration camps during the war.

What bugs me most about the situation is, why would you take a senior out of their comfort zone/familiar environment and transplant them into a situation, where nothing is familiar. It's stupid.

Especially in Gram's case. This is a woman who because of the Parkinson's is physically unable to get to sharp objects, with which she could harm herself or others. I dispense her meds (so she can't get to them and possibly overdose). She physically unable to move around so there is no danger of her leaving the house unless I know about it. So why wouldn't it be best for her to stay in her own home.

Have we as a society gotten so jaded, that when it comes time to place a loved one in a facility, we go along happily. To me, if an elderly person, with assistance can remain in their own home/familiar surroundings then why not explore that option first.

What happened to respect for your elders? Am I the only one who still practices that? *shakes head in disgust*

Just remember people, karma can be a pain to handle, and believe me what goes around comes around.

Decision Time

This is an entry I never thought I would be typing. But I'm beginning to find more and more as time goes on, that I have a tough decision to face.

As many of you know, I have been looking after my Grandmother for the past 7+ years, with little or no family support. While I do have respite care (twice a week for four hours), I'm really finding it difficult to continue.

Before some of you get your knickers in a knot, let me say I continue to love what I do for Gram. Truthfully though, the strain is beginning to get to me, especially when the rest of the family only thinks of me as a maid. And Gram doesn't say anything to discourage them or give me support when I try to voice my displeasure.

And lately, even she is beginning to fight me when I administer (give) her meds. It takes a good 20 minutes to get the meds down, and in some cases, I practically have to shove them down her throat, or she'll spit them out at me.

So my decision is this, do I ask for one more 1/2 day of respite care or do I make the choice I always swore I'd never do, ask Gram's physician to make arrangements for her to go to a care facility.

Sometimes I absolutely hate my life.

Will wonders never cease or

has Hell frozen over and nobody bothered to tell me.

Earlier today, Diane actually apologized for her actions of the other night when Gram was sick at the stomach.

To say I am in shock is a mild understatement.

I HAVE HAD IT

with the useless human being known as my Mother (hereafter referred to as Diane---she doesn't deserve to be called Mother or any of its derivatives).

Last night was the straw that broke the camel's back. A little back story needs to be inserted here. There is a nasty bug making the rounds (it gives you the runs so bad, it's like water). I had it on Tuesday and unfortunately, Gram caught it on Wednesday. And because of the damn Parkinson's when Gram caught it and I got her to the bathroom talk about shit hitting the fan the hard way. We had it all over everywhere. Could Diane help at all. Not on your Nellie. She had to hide in the garage until it was all over and I had the worst of it cleaned up.
In all honesty, Diane reminds me of the southern belles of yesteryear, who were so dainty, anyone brought anything up (subjects or actual wounds), the delicate ones would automatically faint.

Now come forward to yesterday. Gram and I made a trip to the Doctor's (routine prescription renewal and flu shots). Of course, I asked if there was a bug going around and was relieved that yes there was. Of course, I mentioned that both Gram and I had suffered from it, and Dr. Kalsi checked Gram out to be sure it was nothing more serious.

Well, as many of you know, I have 2 half-days off per week for respite care. Yesterday afternoon was one of those two half-days. And as always the lady who comes likes to feed Gram a snack. Because we had to be up early for going to the Doctor's, Gram had an earlier than usual breakfast, which meant that she would be hungry. And in fact, she was hungrier than usual, so it took quite a while to get her filled up. I also realized that she would be pretty empty after what had happened the night before.

So, fast forward to later in the evening. I had just received and was in the middle of a long-distance phone call with a friend, who had phoned to get my Christmas wish list. Unfortunately, before we could get to the gist of the phone call, we were interrupted by my Mother, who informed me Gram was sick at the stomach (vomiting) and instead of dealing with it herself, insisted I deal with it, which meant of course I had to cut short my long-distance phone call.

Needless to say, I was not at all thrilled by this. Nor was I surprised by it. Diane has to be the most useless piece of goods this planet has ever produced.

I have been known to say that if anything happens to me, because I am Gram's primary caregiver, Gram and I are screwed. Diane's response has been when she has heard me "Oh no, we'll (meaning her and the rest of the family) take good care of Gram." Yeah right, and if you believe that I've got some swampland in the middle of Antarctica to sell you. She can talk the talk but can't walk the walk when it comes right down to it.

And as my cousin asked me, "what would Diane have done had I not been here?" The answer to that is very simple, based on past experience. She would have called the ambulance/paramedics.

The bug that Gram and I had is one I normally would not wish on anyone. But in this case I am prepared to make an exception. I hope to hell Diane gets it, and gets it bad. Would I care for her the way I do Gram. Not on your Nellie. If she had the difficulty Gram had last night, I just intend to phone the ambulance/paramedics.

As to the phone call from the friend in question. She understood, and I'll be e-mailing her today to let her know my Christmas wish list and that Gram is okay and recovering nicely, no thanks to Diane

You know it's time for your Mother to be put out to pasture

because when she placed an ad to find homes for our newest brood, she took the local paper's special which she assumed meant it would be in three different papers and didn't bother to ask for clarification, when the special actually was three times in one local paper.

So for the past week, I have been answering calls and having to tell people that the cats are already gone.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG

And people wonder why I can't get anything done around here.

Well, it's the morning after

my cats went to the vet for their snip and clip job (or in plain English, spay and neuter procedure).

And after 28 hours with no food or water (no food or water prior to the procedure and on the vet's orders nothing after until 4 am today), boy were they hungry and thirsty. Thankfully, so far at least they don't seem to be showing any ill effects from the procedure.

And of far more importance, they are not mad at me, although it will be interesting to see what sort of reaction my biological Mother receives from them.

It's quite the job to round them up and get them into cages. I was quite bruised and battered after they left (my biological Mother and Uncle took them in), but at the same time relieved they were on their way, because this means if we want we can let them outside (we had them tattooed in their ears, so we don't need to worry if they lose their collars), after 10 days of enforced enclosure, to allow things to heal and not have to worry about possible paternity suits. After what happened with Belle (see previous entries), I wasn't about to make the same mistake twice (or in my case 5 times)

And when they returned last night from the vets, boy were they glad not only to be home, but to see Gram and I as well. When I got up to feed them, everybody was curled up on the bed, between Gram and I, snoozing happily (you could hear some of them softly purring).

See my trick is, I'll help catch them, but I don't want my guys to associate me with going to the vets. Instead I want them to associate me with love, gentle scratches (pets), fresh food and water, clean bathrooms (litter boxes). In other words, all the good things humans have to offer.

Will keep you posted

You know it's time to retire your Mother from the kitchen

and cooking in general, when she can't tell the difference between frozen chili and frozen spaghetti sauce, prior to thawing them out.


AAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Update on newest brood part three

Well we did it. We found homes for all of the newest brood. The last two went this morning to a man (picked up by other family members) who is an amputee and has a live-in nurse.

The real beauty of that is, for those who know me, with Gram wheel chair bound (due to the Parkinson's), the cats are not afraid of a wheelchair (they know how to move to avoid being run over), and are used to all the medical equipment (bath chairs, commodes, etc.) that are needed by disabled people (Don't get me started on much I hate the word disabled---talk about derogatory). So this is a perfect fit, and what they were raised for. In that sense I'm extremely proud, I have been able to help the amputee.

Yes, I'm sad to see the newer brood go, but at the same time, they've all gone to homes where the owners are absolutely crazy about cats (and in some cases have been previous cat owners), so they can get all the love and attention they need to thrive on as primary cats, instead of sharing it with the older brothers from the first brood and that makes me happy. As a responsible pet owner and animal lover, that's all I want for any animal selected as a pet, is a forever home filled with love.


So to Pacina, Callie, Squirt, Bert, Peanut and Tuffy (our nicknames for them), I say thank you for letting me be apart of your lives for the first 10 weeks and I wish you long, happy, healthy lives filled with love.

Update on new brood part deux

Another one of the newest brood has gone to his new home. Funny thing is, I always thought that this one would be the easiest one to place. He's a friendly cat, who when called (we nicknamed him Bert) would come to me, crawl into my lap and onto my chest, settle down and go to sleep. He would also lick/wash my face and especially loved to do that, if I had coffee stains (don't ask).

Well, he met his new owner today and the two of them took to each other as though it was meant to be and I would say it was. The new owner had a proper traveling case for him and Bert went in and never made a sound.

As I have to come to realize, what we are doing is better for the cats. They are going to homes where they will be the center of attention, instead of staying here where they have to fight for every bit of attention they get.

And as a bonus, Bert's new owner has promised to call in a couple of weeks to let us know how he is settling in and doing in general. That says to me that Bert will be King of the Castle, and for me as an animal lover, it makes the goodbyes a lot easier.

Funny how with a good night's sleep these things always look better in the morning.

Update on the newest brood

As many of you know, 10 weeks ago tomorrow, we welcomed an additional six kittens. Well today is a day of mixed emotions for me.

3 of the 6 kittens have gone to their new homes. One ginger to a friend of my cousins, the black one to my cousin and the calico to my aunt.

My heart is torn, and I am fighting my emotions at seeing them go, but my head, being ever the realist, reminds me that this was a decision that had to be made. The city where Gram and I live has a bylaw that you can only have 6 of any animal (cats, dogs, etc.), so the younger ones have to go, because Gram and I are more attached to the older ones and they are to us.

Mom Cat (Belle) has been acting strange all day. She's hardly touched her food and usually when I head out to feed the brood, she's the first one squawking that she's hungry.

I've told her (not sure she understands) that this had to be done and if she is upset, she is to be upset with me. After all, against my better judgment I let her out and because of that we face this type of problem.

Yes, I blame myself. Had I not gone against my better judgment, this day would never have come.

I just hope Belle and the other cats can somehow forgive me and that somehow I find the strength to forgive myself.

You know you have a happy and contented cat

when you rub its belly and he enjoys it so much, his little wee-wee pops out in appreciation.

You know it's Monday when...

You are mixing up a jug of iced-tea, and you realize you need more iced-tea crystals for the amount of water you are using (not strong enough). So you grab what you think is the iced-tea container, only to discover upon opening it that instead you have grabbed the container of dry cat food.

Luckily, you noticed before you actually added anything but still.

Walking a mile in my shoes

Some time ago, a friend of mine in her blog, wrote the following entry;
http://thehollytree.bravejournal.com/entry/21587

I am reminded of that entry now, as I struggle with some decisions that other people say "I have to make." Decisions that are some of the toughest I have ever done.

A brief history lesson is needed to explain why I am having such a tough time. Picture it---the spring/fall of 1998. My Grandfather was diagnosed with Prostate Cancer. (Actually I didn't find out until late in that year and then the news was delivered to me by Gram---Pal knew it would rock my world). It did, it rocked my world, but I want us all to stop and think for a moment of what it did to Gram. This was a man she knew since she was 6 and he was 7. They grew up together, they went to school together, they fell in love, got married and at the time of his diagnosis had been married for just over 6 decades (60 years).

So while the rest of us leaned on Gram for the strength we need to be there for Grandpa, who did she lean on? Who did she turn too for comfort and support? No one (and I include myself in this) because we were all too wrapped up in making sure Pal had our love and support. Was that fair? No, Gram could have used some too. And she should have had just as much as Pal did.

And unfortunately, things just continued to turn upside down for the two of them. Before Pal could start treatment for his cancer, his ticker (heart) began acting up, to the point where he was hospitalized in the CICU (Cardiac Intensive Care Unit) with an angina attack, just after Christmas of 1998. Again, the family looked towards Gram for strength and courage, instead of allowing her to look to us for her strength and courage.

During that time, not only did the family fail Gram, but the medical system did as well. You see Grandpa's angina attack was caused by a leaky valve. The only way to repair that valve was for him to undergo angioplasty. And the only hospital that does that type of procedure is VGH (Vancouver General). And this was where the system failed both of them. Instead of being able to come home and rest and then check himself into VGH for the procedure, Pal had to remain in the Cardiac Step down unit at Surrey Memorial. Had he come home, then he would have been placed on a waiting list and not had the procedure until approximately August of 1999. As long as he remained in Surrey Memorial, then he was further up the wait list and in fact, would be considered almost an emergency type of case.

Again the family (myself included) leaned on Gram instead of the other way, especially when we were told by Pal's cardiologist that even if he had the procedure, it was no guarantee that the problem would be corrected. And worse, if we chose to wait until August, no guarantee he (Pal) would live that long. So early January 1999, Pal was transferred to VGH, had the procedure and was home a few days later.

But at this time, things went from bad to worse. For one of the medications he had to take from then on was IMHO the absolute worst he could have been placed on. It was called Prednisone and the following link explains in detail all the information;

http://www.nlm.nih.gov/medlineplus/druginfo/medmaster/a601102.html

IMHO this drug needs to be banned from use. Surely with all the technology/research at scientist's disposal, someone somewhere could come up with a drug that works the same as Prednisone but without the deadly side effects. Perhaps later, I'll open up the blog for discussion about the dangers of Prednisone, but now back to the history lesson.

We settled into somewhat of a "normal" routine, and things seemed to be going along quite smoothly. There was even talk of Gram and Pal resuming their ballroom dancing outings for seniors (outings that had been interrupted by knee replacement surgery for Gram). But it was not to be, for on June 3, 1999 our world was once again rocked by an unexpected medical diagnosis. It was nothing to do with Pal, this time it dealt with Gram. She had been diagnosed with Parkinson's (see the following link for information);

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Parkinson's_disease

Again with Pal's health continuing to deteriorate, Gram couldn't look to him for support or to help her deal with this devastating news. She couldn't even look to the family (most of us were still so wrapped up with dealing with Pal---who was trying to decide the best course of treatment to deal with his cancer---as for me, I was dealing with my own personal crisis of trying to find a job). So Gram just soldiered on alone, which as I found out later is the absolute worst thing a Parkinson's sufferer can do.

So fast forward to May of 2000. Once again Grandpa had to be hospitalized with heart problems. IMHO, they were probably caused by the damn Prednisone. About this time, although as a family we were never officially told, (Gram possibly had been---to this day I haven't had the heart to ask her), Pal began showing signs of CHF (Congestive Heart Failure). In fact, Gram and Grandpa's 61st Wedding Anniversary was spent in Surrey Memorial. If Gram had been told about the CHF, this time she chose not to tell the family, because she knew she wouldn't be able to depend on us for support.

Now come forward even further to September 2000, September 14, 2000 to be exact. That day I met with Dr. Kalsi (Gram, Pal and I shared the same family physician) on what I thought was a routine personal matter. Well it turned out to be anything but routine. To this day I don't know what possessed me, but I found myself asking Dr. Kalsi how much longer Pal had. Dr. Kalsi told me that Pal had at most 6 months, which meant if we were lucky, he would live to see his 84th Birthday. I chose not to say anything because I knew that Pal was scheduled for his own appointment the next day, and felt it best that he and Gram hear the devastating news from a medical professional. In a way, you could say that I was protecting both of them. You see, although Pal had the angioplasty and was advised to cut down on red meat, he wouldn't, instead choosing to live by his favorite saying "I'm living on borrowed time anyway."

So knowing that we had a limited amount of time left, I spent it worrying and trying to help Pal (again forgetting Gram and her needs). In fact, by this time Pal, had become wheelchair bound, the Prednisone having weakened his body so much. And in a way, it had weakened his immune system too. He, Gram and my Mother had been out somewhere earlier in July and he had unfortunately taken a tumble and had some scrapes on his arm. Well, we treated those ourselves and thought they had healed on their own. Unfortunately, because of IMHO the Prednisone, and unbeknownst to us, Pal had become susceptible to infections and didn't have the immune system to fight them with. So, on Sunday Sept 17th, 1999, we had to take him to emergency after his arm became swollen and infected in the general area of the scrapes from the fall.

Again, the health-care system failed him and Gram. He was diagnosed with septicemia (following link for more information; http://www.nlm.nih.gov/medlineplus/ency/article/001355.htm) and instead of being admitted to the hospital for aggressive treatment, he was treated as an outpatient. And on Monday September 18, 2000 during his treatment, Pal died. Mind you, as Gram told Gary and I later, she speculated that the medical team treating Pal, were talking about taking his arm off surgically to save his life. Well for anyone who knew my Grandfather, to live without an arm, would have been to him a fate worse than death.

And again, the family (me included) instead of reaching out to Gram and letting her grieve the loss of the man she loved and had known for close to 8 decades (76 years---married for 61), expected her to support us and our grief.

Come forward to today, almost 7 years after Pal died. As I said earlier, the worst thing a Parkinson's sufferer can do is deal with stressful issues by themselves. The result is that the tremors become so bad, they can hardly hold onto anything much less help the caregiver help them. So having realized that through researching the disease as well as trial and error, I not only encourage Gram to talk about what is bothering her, I try not to make any decisions that could cause the tremors to flare up.

As you know from my previous post, we found a stray Mother Cat and family in April, with the additional brood born one week ago today. Now well meaning family and friends have told me we need to get rid of some and I have to play the heavy and do it. I won't. The decision as to which cats will stay and which will go, has to be done by my Mother upon her return. The biggest reason why I can't/won't is the effect the cats are having on Gram. She's more cheerful, she talks more, wants to do more things. Where before we had the cats, I feel she was just marking time until she rejoined my Grandfather. Even Dr. Kalsi has noticed a marked improvement and this from a man who was ready to write Gram's obituary for about this time next year.

So to my well meaning friends and family and ultimately the point of this entire post, is do not under any circumstances expect me to make decisions for Gram or about Gram that will have a negative affect on her Parkinson's. And for those of you who insist on telling me "you know what I am going through." You don't!!! Not unless you have lived with a Parkinson's sufferer 24/7/365. Until you have walked a mile in my shoes dealing with this problem, please don't claim otherwise.

More Later I'm sure

PS. As I finally type the last few sentences, Vic, and Figaro Jr. are on top of Gram while Tiger tucked himself beside her left shoulder and arm after I put her to bed. Very comforting for a woman who hasn't had a true reason to enjoy what life has to offer since the spring of 1996

What a feeling...

An incredible feeling.

As you may or may not know, earlier this year Gram and I were blessed with a stray cat and 5 kittens. (Belle-Mama Cat had given birth to them in the crawl space of our house). Well after several weeks, we coaxed her in to bringing the kittens in to our house and adopting us as their human servants.

Unfortunately and against my better judgment, I continued to let Belle go outside without getting her "fixed". Well, I paid for it the hard way, because she became pregnant again. Luckily for female cats, they only have to carry their young 65 days (or 9 weeks) whereas female humans must carry their young for 252 days (or 9 months).

Well, yesterday was Belle's 65th day and right on schedule she began delivering her newest litter (if anybody asks me what sex they are---prepare to be shot---long story for another post). The first three to pop out were ginger colored (orange for those who wish to be technical). The fourth one to make an appearance was ginger and white (which means that the Tom Cat who was Daddy to the first bunch is also Daddy to this bunch---the markings are identical), the fifth one is absolutely as black as coal.

So I figured since she delivered five last time, that's what she was presenting us with this time. See I was privileged enough to be by Belle's side (she trusted me) not only in case of a problem developing, but for morale support as well. And with Belle's blessing I even held a couple of them, beginning their education of human handling.

The joke is on me again. As I was telling her what a great job she did and how proud Gram and I were of her, Belle went into contractions again. And to my astonishment out popped number 6, a perfect little calico-colored cat.

So now we have 12 (including Mom Cat). A decision as to what we are doing with them will not be made until the newest ones are safely weaned, a mistake I made with a cat that I had as a youngster (took him from his mother too soon).

As for Belle and her days of going outside. No way, not until she is fixed this time!!!! I don't care what anybody says, I'm not that irresponsible when it comes to increasing the pet population.

Pictures soon.
Enjoy the rest of your weekend. I know I will.

You know your tired when

of all things, changing a cat litter box makes you hungry.

Earlier tonight, I was as I like to tell my cat family, cleaning their bathrooms (aka litter boxes). I entirely dumped out the old cat litter into a garbage bag and then took the tray to the the sink and prepared it to be scrubbed out. (I'm super cautious, I don't scoop litter out, I empty and replace after cleaning).

While I was scrubbing out the second one, I noticed a strange feeling coming over me. Stopping for a minute, I began analyzing what that feeling was and to my astonishment/embarrassment realized it was hunger pangs. I had to laugh as I realized the significance of what I was doing. Cleaning out a litter box that our cats do their business in was making me hungry for food. Strange very strange.

Not sure what to make of it. Maybe after a goodnight sleep it will become clear but right now, who knows.

Pleasant dreams everyone

You never know who you'll meet when...

you are taking out the garbage. You see with Monday being a holiday (in lieu of Sunday being the actual day), our garbage day is one day later this week.

Well, while organizing the recycling bins, I met up with our mail-person (it is actually a man, but in these days of political correctness) who had just started delivering today's mail on our block.

Of course, being polite, we spoke to each other and as he noticed my Edmonton Eskimos shirt, he asked if I was an Edmonton fan. I said I was and was startled by his response.

He said "Me too, I can't stand the Lions." and before I could respond he was on his way down our street delivering the mail to our neighbors.

And I realized as I came into the house that yes this was Friday and anything unusual that happens to me can and does happen either on a Friday or a Monday

My take on the Chris Benoit tragedy

While a lot of people continue to speculate that the horrific acts committed against Nancy and Daniel Benoit by Chris Benoit were the result of steroid usage, I disagree.

Something in this whole thing is fishy to me. For example when Chris's co-workers received the now famous text messages, why weren't the police notified immediately. Why did the WWE wait so long especially when one of the co-workers stated that Chris's "I love you" comment was out of character.

Based on the following timeline; http://www.impactwrestling.com/Content.aspx?ID=12011

I have a strong feeling that Vince McMahon and the WWE organization are covering up their involvement (?) in this tragedy.

For one thing, Chris's Wikipedia entry was changed at 12:01am on Monday June 25th, way before anyone knew what had happened to him and his family.

Now all of sudden, there is an anonymous poster admitting he was the one who changed the entry, during a chat with other online buddies. Still to even speculate that Nancy was dead as the reason behind Chris' no show at the PPV event in Texas on Sunday June 24th, is odd to me. You see the posting was made from an IP address in Stanford, Connecticut, where WWE's head office is located. And why is this anonymous poster refusing to identify himself, (I know if I did something like that, I would own up to it and identify myself). Could it be that he was an employee of the WWE and is now being set up as the fall guy.

Although the toxicology reports are not in as yet, my feelings about the tragedy are that Chris Benoit is being set-up to be the fall guy/scapegoat for this.

My take on this is, yes Daniel was developmentally challenged (he was seven years old and just finishing kindergarten? Most kids his age, would be ready to enter grade 2). I have a feeling that Chris had promised Nancy that when Daniel did start school he (Chris) would be home more to help (any pictures I've seen of Chris and Daniel together show a father who doted on his little boy), and I don't think Vince or the WWE board were too happy about that, especially since they wanted Chris to help train younger wrestlers on ECW (where he had just been transferred to).

So I have a feeling that Vince or someone on the board perhaps, took matters into their own hands and decided to send someone (goons, perhaps) down to reason with Chris (may even have included Chavo Guerrero, who knows) and convince him his career was more important than his family. This would explain the presence of the empty wine bottle and beer cans.


Something else that bothers me. Daniel was choked by a wrestling hold and yet Nancy was strangled with a wire around her neck (hands and feet were bound). If Chris was as strong as everybody claimed why not do the same thing to both of them.

My gut instinct says this is actually what happened. Chris gets a phone call from Nancy to return home because of "an emergency". He does and finds the goons sitting with his wife and son. The goons deliver the message from the WWE. Chris tells them to tell whoever sent the message, to take a long walk off a short pier, his family comes first. At some point Daniel is taken out of the room (was he drugged, who knows) and Chris is forced to watch as the goons kill Nancy. They then give Chris another chance to fulfill his obligations to the WWE. He again tells them to go to Hades and later that day is either forced to (perhaps at gun point) kill Daniel himself or watch as it is done. Then Chris is ganged upon again, the goons telling him, he has now has no reason not to continue with the WWE. Chris tells them, not only is he leaving the WWE, he will go public with what's happened. So, the goons (may have received further instructions) that if Chris still refuses to co-operate, off him and make it look like a suicide.

Chris was found hanging from one of his weight machines. Most weight machines I know about work on pulleys and the person using them is in front of the weights pulling on them. How would Chris be able to hold the weights in place while he fixed the rope around himself, and then let go. Something strange about that whole scenario.

And the steroids found in the house. I'll bet they were ordered over the Net by someone using Chris Benoit's name (don't forget about ID theft).

No, unfortunately the true answers about this tragedy will never come out, and quite possibly a man who was innocent of doing this, will take the blame for something he had nothing to do with, other than putting them as priority number 1 in his life.