The River Re-match

Last year, some buddies of mine and I had the idea that we could make it from my house to the ocean with nothing but a few kayaks and our wits. We also had a few bottles of bourbon. And some beef jerky.  We only had a single roll of toilet paper between us, and I think only three of us were carrying some form of shelter for the night, but we were carrying enough steak to give a 17 year old All tate wrestling champion a heart attack.  

And - thankfully, as it turns out - we also had at least one cell phone so that we could call our wives when it got dark, and cold, and we were still in downtown Lowell, with no place to camp in sight. 

Below is a map of the route we took - we completed the bit in red.  

With the move to Maine on the horizon, one of the co-adventurers stopped by my house a couple of weeks ago 

"Ken," he said. "We've got to have another go. At least we've got to make it all the way down the Concord, and onto the Merrimack." 

You mean the hard, exhausting, white-watery bit that put a hole in one boat last year, and ultimately defeated a half dozen middle-aged men who had set off on a poorly planned two-day trip down the river? 

I'm in. 

This was our route. 

We put in just a bit above the start of the rapids on the Concord. We had gotten through some of those last year, and knew more or less what we'd be facing for the first part. 

John, my buddy, had put a bit of thought into this. I could tell he had been stewing on where we went wrong the last time. A lot of it had to do with our boats.

See? It wasn't our fault. It was the boats. 

I swiftly got behind this line of thought.

This time, we went for a couple of short, sit-on-top kayaks. Something easy to jump out of it you got stuck, or if the rapids became a little much. Also: something you wouldn't have to bail. 

These kayaks had no bulkheads to carry anything, or even straps or tie-downs to slip a water bottle on. It was just us, and a paddle.  It was just the two of us, and John had a couple of boats for us to use that should fit the bill perfectly.

These boats are also about 8 feet shorter than the kayaks we used last year - almost 10 feet shorter than the lovely Necky I bought for Christmas. They're not nearly as fast or easy to paddle on the open stretches as a bigger, trekking kayak, but that wasn't the point. 

We figured we'd be able to paddle this stretch in a few hours. We weren't trying to recreate the whole thing. Just take on the part that defeated us. 

The Concord river is lovely. You run between wide open stretches of forested bank, and rocky shores, in through old mill towns. In a short stretch, we saw herons and cranes and egrets, and other wildlife. At one point I called over to John, "Is that a loon?" 

"You're a loon. That's a cormorant." 

OK. What the hell do I know. They're all birds to me. 

Pretty soon, we were down into the mill areas.  Lowell used to be a mill town - textile plants line the banks still - some of the largest down on the Merrimack have been converted into lofts, offices and other lovely sites. But many of the mills are still empty. 

The rivers were the reasons for the mills, of course. All that water gave a great supply of potential power for the looms. Where they went rushing by, the mills could tap into the free power of nature to drive the mechanics to support an industry. 

We soon got to the parts where the power was on display. 

This actually wasn't the stretch that made me the most nervous. That was a bit further up river, and I was a bit too preoccupied with, oh, I don't know, NOT DROWNING, to stop and take pictures.

The little sit on tops were perfect, though. I got tipped out a couple of times, and still had to stop to drain the shallow area where my feet and butt sat of water occasionally. But it was easy enough.

For the really big stretches (like the one above), we'd stop quickly and have a look before we went back to our boats to give it a try.

I stood by this one while John went down first.  I figured if he survived, I'd have a go.

Pretty much the whole time, I was shouting encouragement to John. Helpful bits of advice like "Ooh! That was close!" and "If you don't get out, you still win!" or "Don't hit your head - I don't have your wife's number in my contacts!"

John, of course, came through it beautifully.  Then it was my turn. Just below where John is in the picture above, I tipped out, slammed into a rock, and was pretty sure I had broken my leg for a while.  It was kind of hard to tell for sure through the swelling and the bleeding. And I'm not at my best judgement when I'm crying like a 9 year old girl. 

John asked if I was ok. I said "Of course I am," and we got back in the kayaks laughing. I think he was laughing. By then, my sobbing had quieted down a bit, and I was able to paddle on. 

Lowell has a whole series of canals that span the inside angle between the Merrimack and the Concord rivers. They weren't transportation canals - just designed to channel water between the mills to be tapped for turbines and power. 

John and I decided we deserved a little less white water, and portaged up above the locks to paddle down the canyons between the mills. (the dotted lines on the map above are the directions we explored). 

The whole area of these canals is a National Park. It's one of the only parks of its kind, located in and throughout the downtown, covering all the canals. 

I didn't know these interesting facts until this off-duty Park Ranger (see the Smokey the Bear hat in his hand?) stopped us and asked if we were lost and needed help.  And that you know, we really weren't supposed to be on the canals that were closed to the public. 

Oops. 

Honestly, if he had been an ass, he could've made us get our kayaks out of the water and carry them back to the river a half mile away. Instead, he just nicely asked us if we could go back the way we came. 

Stay awesome, Ranger Rick. 

We put ourselves back on the river, and paddled out onto the Merrimack. I crooked my neck back over my shoulder and took this picture as we got out onto the Mighty Mo', looking back at the junction of the rivers, and the mills on the bank. 

We paddled a mile or so further down to where we had dropped off my car. While there were a few shallow cataracts along the way, the white water had all been left behind. The Merrimack flows strong all the way to the ocean. We had achieved our purpose. We proved we could do it.

Also, there was less bourbon on this trip.

Huh. I wonder if there's a connection? 

Either way. Victory!

Now imagine if we introduced her to Excel...

When the Critter came downstairs a few months ago and told us she wanted a new iPhone, my response was "Let me know how that works out for you." 

Last week, she did. 

Several people have told us what good parents we are. That we helped her set goals and achieve them. That we created a sense of independence and pride. That we've fostered her sense of focus. 

Maybe. Mostly, we just said "no" a lot. 

No, we won't help you pay for that. 

No, you can't have an allowance. 

No, you can't skip the 1/3 that has to go to your savings account. 

No, Daddy has not had enough Diet Coke this morning. So go get me another one. 

(That last one may or may not have anything to do with this story. But seriously. I was still thirsty.) 

Last week, she took a wad of cash out of her desk and shoved it into a ziploc bag. Her mom took her to the Apple store, and she told the Genius she wanted to buy a new phone. 

He looked at my Bride, who just shook her head, and gestured him back to the Critter. She was standing there at the counter looking determined. 

"I want the 32gb 5s, please."

"That's a $299 upgrade. If you get the 16gb, that's twice as much storage as your current old phone." 

"I want the 32gb 5s." She said it very carefully, and very deliberately. 

The Critter pulled out her ziploc bag and started counting. 

My Bride just smiled. and shrugged at the Genius.  "She earned the money. She can get what she wants."

The Genius was delighted. He announced it to the store. "This little girl earned the money herself to pay for her new Thirty Two Gigabyte iPhone 5s!"

Then she picked out a case. (Not the blue one she had originally planned on, you'll notice). She texted me a few minutes later to announce she had gotten her phone. And that she had enough money left over to buy a Minecraft themed case for her old phone. Which she plans on giving to her little brother as an apps-only 'iTouch' for his birthday. 

Good job, Critter. We're proud of you. 

I think I'm going to tell her that "no, we won't pay for college" next, and see what kind of spreadsheet she comes up with. 

Osteo sarcoma is Latin for "This sucks"

A few weeks ago, I was traveling out west. I got a call from home. 

That part isn't really all that surprising. My Bride and I usually speak two or three times a day, even when I'm not traveling. Some of our friends are surprised. I'm not sure why. This lady is my best friend. We check in. Sometimes just for a few minutes. And sometimes just to shoot the breeze in some down time. Or to laugh about something one of the kids just did. Or just to laugh at the kids. Because that's one of the perks of being a parent. 

This wasn't one of those calls. 

Our sweet, slobbery, six year old giant of a dog, Maggie, had come up lame. 

For a 140 pounds dog on permanent medication for a variety of ailments, Maggie's always been surprisingly healthy. Oh, sure. She's incontinent. ("Just a little bit," said the vet. She's 140 pounds. nothing this dog does is little). So she takes a twice-a-day dose of a minor amphetamine that was banned for human consumption as it occasionally caused strokes in young women. But - if taken every day at morning and evening meals with their kibble - it also cures incontinence in dogs! So, woo hoo for the drugs! 

She also has a rotten nose. Or proliferative arteritis. Which is a genetic condition that apparently only affects a minority of St. Bernards, Newfoundlands and Giant Schnauzers.  Her nose has a deep crack that splits, bleeds, scabs, and then repeats. Even though her nose has been rotting from the center out for years now,  it doesn't seem to cause her much discomfort, and only occasionally is the bleeding more than a little seepage. But when it is, she looks like she just turned our neighbor's cockapoo into a light, bloody snack. 

She was on medication for this for a couple of years - some combination of fish-oil and steroids. It didn't actually do anything to heal the issue, it being genetic and all. So eventually, we more or less gave up the steroids part, and just settled on the cheaper fish oil pills. If nothing else, it kept her coat shiny. 

When my Bride called to tell me the dog was limping, I wasn't too worried. She hurts herself occasionally. A couple of years ago, she struggled to stand, and when she did, she couldn't turn to the left without whining. She had pinched a nerve or pulled a muscle in her neck, playing with the Boy. The vet gave her muscle relaxers, and for a couple of days, she was one very mellow dog.  Then she was fine. 

So my Bride helped her limp into the car, and took her in for an x-ray. 

There's a spot on the leg, right above the joint there that's swollen and a little brighter. That spot is a very bad sign. 

One biopsy later, and the vet told us: It's osteo sarcoma. A bone cancer that advances rapidly, and metastasizes readily into the lungs and other parts of the body. Left untreated, that swelling will increase, and soon weaken the bone to the point where a very painful fracture is likely. And that's if the cancer doesn't spread to other areas faster than the bone weakens. 

Options?

"You're going to want to amputate and put her on chemotherapy." 

And that cures things?

"Well. No. But it takes away the most painful spot, and will give her a few more months."

Hmm. I love this dog. But a treatment of ten thousand dollars or more, a long recovery, and we're only buying a few months of slow decline? What else do you have on that list? 

The vet clearly had some pause that we weren't ready to sign on for the most aggressive treatment.  

Look. I love this dog. This is, by far and away, the best dog I have ever had in my life. This dog is easier to train, more loyal, and more integrated into our family and daily lives than any animal we've ever owned.

But she's a dog. If we were talking a treatment option that would give us a couple more years with her, I might consider it. Maybe. But I can't get behind radical surgery & treatment that will cause her more misery, cost 5x the cost of the dog, and give us a handful more months of sad, sickly companionship. 

Besides which, it's because I like this dog so much that I don't want to put her through that.

The alternative options are either: B) targeted, palliative radiation to ease the discomfort and some accompanying drugs to slow the breakdown of the bone, or C) just pain killers to help mitigate the discomfort. 

With the first, we get 3-6 months. With the second, maybe a couple of months. 

These choices all pretty much suck. 

We weren't ready to take her leg and do the full on chemo, but we did opt for the palliative radiation. It's a course of three doses, and we're two treatments in. 

Some days are better than others for her, and there's hardly a limp. Her appetite is down, but she's still eating and drinking. And she still wags her tell and comes trotting over to see me when I get home. The kids are extra gentle with her, and give her all the attention she can stand.  We're teaching her terrible habits at this point - to make sure she takes the medicine at each meal, we're slipping it into a little peanut butter sandwich, or drenching her food with the gravy from dinner. That goes against what we've done most of her life, but at this point, what the hell. 

Sometimes, I can tell that she's feeling it - she follows me around the house so closely that her cheek rests on my thigh at every step, just wanting to be near. She's lost 10 pounds since the treatment began, despite the extra peanut butter medicine time. And sometimes, I catch her with her leg up in the air, or in a limp down the stairs. But she's still game, and still enjoying life. 

At some point in the very near future, we're going to have to make a decision about when her pain outweighs her enjoyment. She can't speak to tell us when that point comes. But I'm pretty sure she'll be able to tell me in her own way.