Fuck You, 2020

I just can't even with 2020 anymore.

I thought I was coping pretty well, to be honest. I mean, I'm an extrovert, but I'm not an idiot so staying away from people--while difficult--has been a no-brainer. My hair has grown to ridiculous lengths, I haven't had a pedicure in 6 months, and I've even started making my own sourdough bread, FFS. 

But I was handling it. 

D and I had found our routine; I sacrificed my hobby room so he could have a dedicated work-from-home space with a door. We watched a bunch of stuff in our Netflix queue, we had game nights over Zoom with friends, we started meditating. We can do this. We ARE doing this! 

Or so I thought.

Jacques had his first seizure on August 2 at about 8 in the morning. A second one followed 4 days later. We got him in to see his vet who ran a full blood panel but found nothing. We started him on anti-seizure medication and made an appointment to see a neurologist. Monday the neurologist told us our beloved Frenchie, only 2 weeks away from his 10th birthday, has an inoperable brain tumor and that he only has weeks or months to live.

This is the thing that has broken me. I can't do it. I can't 2020 anymore. All I want to do is lie on the floor and watch my dog as he sleeps to make sure he's still breathing. I'm already imaging life without him and it's awful. 

But I know life has to go on--D has to work, I have to housewife. But we would rather be snuggling our little baby and memorizing his sweet little face so that we know we'll always remember how he snores when he's sleeping, or how he sneezes all over you when you least expect it.

We don't know how long we'll have--he's on a steroid that will hopefully alleviate some of the pressure in his brain that is causing most of his symptoms, but eventually the tumor will grow to a point where his quality of life will be such that it would be cruel to keep him from a peaceful passing. Until then, I hope he's happy and comfortable. 

I just don't know what I'm going to do without him.