Knackered has Sadness and Grief with Benzos

   Hey there, Knackered here.  I’ve had a lot of things to despair in the recent past.  The passing of parents, cancer and recovery, a forced Benzo taper and the pain and struggle that’s all brought about.

  My ordeals pale in comparison to those of friends we’ve known through the years.  Losses of wives and husbands, much too early in life, and aging coworkers who were happily retired, but now gone or in care homes have been hard to handle.  Everyone’s had these types of things in their lives and their responses, I’m sure have been better or just as as tough as mine.

   I don’t handle despair or trials very well anymore.  The whole Benzo thing happened just after my retirement and during the pandemic.  It (Benzo WD) was unwanted and unexpected.  It’s left my emotions on edge and little things seem to hit me harder than they used to.

   Going out of the house, planning for the future, running errands, and even just putting on shoes and socks is too physically difficult.  And the emotions attached to all of that leave me frustrated, sad and very angry sometimes.

   Anxiety is a flight or fight response.  If I can’t get away from it, I’ll often become angry and in need of some kind of physical outlet to make it through. In the past jogging, riding my bike through miles of country roads, and even yard work would do the trick.  With the the Benzo situation as it is, functionality, both physically and emotionally has left me stranded for an outlet to bitter feelings.

   We’ve always had pets; dogs almost always and for the last twenty years, Labradors.  Our first, a black one, found us in a nearby park.  She  stuck around and pretty much adopted our kids and family on her  own.  She was a faithful and gentle companion until cancer took her after a quick ten years.

   With our grown kids long gone and living far away on opposite coastlines we obtained the next one, a Yellow, as a pup.  He’s shy, extremely gentle and is upset by load voices or noises.  Garbage trucks in the alley or any type of household dispute sends him running.

   Last week, after being fine for ten years, he started limping almost overnight.  We examined his paw, but he really didn’t want us messing with it at all.  We let things go for a day or so, but he didn’t heal up on his own.

   A visit to the vet revealed that he had a growth of some kind inside the pads on his paw.  A surgery appointment was set and he came home wearing a neck doughnut and a wrapped paw.  At the vet’s insistence, we agreed to pay for a lab analysis of the excised growth.  The results were not what what we expected.

   Initially told that it was surely benign, the results came back as cancerous.  As we loaded him in the car, the vet shared with us that survival time was limited and recovery wasn’t likely.  Needless to say, we are in despair beyond our limits.

  As I write this we’re exploring a last chance treatment that could prolong life, but wasn’t a guarantee of anything.  Sadly, the life of the guy is now all about dollars and cents as we wait to find out if he’s a candidate for the oncology services in a town about an hour away.  If pets are a part of your life, you know what we’re going through.  Thanks for listening.  I can’t deal with a lot on top of the Benzos.