Paperwork, Puppies, and Pulling Down Christmas
🌼 Date: Wednesday, January 07, 2026
⚡ Energy: Depleted, overachieving, stubborn.
💞 Status: Still alive. Slightly dizzy. Very accomplished.
😪 Outlook: The hard work is done — tomorrow is a problem for tomorrow.
Today was one of those days where nothing dramatic happened, but somehow everything was exhausting.
Phone calls.
Emails.
Clarifying paperwork that should not need clarifying.
Union stepping in (thank God).
Another call to my doctor because the date on my updated FMLA paperwork was wrong — because of course it was.
The biggest irony of the day?
I can’t use the sick bank right now because I currently have long-term disability (even though I did NOT sign up for it this year) — even though the sick bank exists for moments exactly like this. Make it make sense. (It doesn’t.)
This is the part of cancer people don’t talk about much. Not the chemo. Not the baldness. Not even the fatigue — but the administrative Olympics that happen behind the scenes while you’re just trying to survive the day without crying or throwing your phone.
And then… there was Momo.
Last night, Momo once again escaped his playpen area. This time, he jumped over the armrest of the couch like a tiny, determined ninja and made his way straight to our bedroom door, scratching and barking as if he had been personally abandoned.
Important context:
Momo is blind.
He is diabetic.
And he is on a very strict schedule.
He eats twice a day, as close to 12 hours apart as possible, and must finish eating within a 30-minute window so we can give him his insulin shot. No treats outside that window. No free roaming — because blind dogs + carpets = chaos.
So we had carefully engineered a setup around the couch: a play yard gate, his puppy ramp, water bowl, and an entire floor lined with washable pee pads. It was comfortable. It was safe. It was apparently not enough.
Which means… the couch had to go.
Sorry, Momo. You’re back to a dog bed like a regular dog.
Whoever said you can’t teach an old dog new tricks has clearly never met a 12-year-old blind boy with diabetes and an agenda.
Once the couch was out of the equation, everything snowballed — because of course it did.
The Christmas tree had to come down to make room for the kennel under the windows.
Once the tree was down, I had to sweep under it.
Once I swept under it, I couldn’t in good conscience sweep only part of the house.
So, the entire house got swept.
Then the pee pads had to be picked up and washed.
Which meant the rug under them had to be vacuumed and washed.
And once one rug was done… well, you already know — the whole house got vacuumed.
Then all the blankets Momo had been sleeping on had to be washed so they were people-safe again.
By the time I finished everything, I was wiped out.
I checked my oxygen — a solid 97%.
But my heart rate? 125 beats per minute.
I’ve always run a little fast (usually in the 90s), and my blood pressure has been low at recent appointments, which probably explains why I felt lightheaded after doing way too much today.
But the work is done.
The house is reset.
Momo is secure.
Tomorrow?
We’ll see if I can get out of bed.
Today I fought bureaucracy, cancer fatigue, and a blind diabetic escape artist — and somehow still swept and vacuumed the house. One badass, slightly unhinged day at a time.
💗 Tina –
One Badass Day at a Time
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