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affectionately refer to as "doggie-time". A euphemism for "living in the moment", I guess. My little dog doesn't worry about the past or the future. She embraces everything life has to offer in the NOW. New spring smells . . . the raucous chorus of newly arrived and nesting birds . . . the belly rubs from neighbors . . . learning to catch a new toy . . . the warmth of a sunbeam . . .

And I watched her and let her teach me of life's simplicity.

It's important, in order to put things into their proper perspective, that I explain something essential here, though. My partner is in complete and utter denial about the seriousness of his illness and the gravity of his prognosis. He's quite content to merrily bumble along in a little "happy bubble", paying absolutely no attention to medical information or the ramifications of new medical decisions. Friends and colleagues have encouraged me to allow him to stay in this state of blissful oblivion, since this seems to be his way of coping.

About six months or so ago, he was prescribed a medication called dexamethasone . . . to be taken as an adjunct to chemotherapy . . . a powerful steroid designed to alleviate the possible side effect of severe fluid retention. What the medical experts didn't tell us, though, was that this chemical can cause a phenomenon known as steroid-induced delirium.

Good grief . . . he developed a full-blown case of temporary dementia. This manifested primarily as him becoming utterly delusional. ( with a touch of manic behavior, as well ) He became frenzied and began to make all sorts of unrealistic plans, such as organizing four ( count 'em ) cruises for us between now and September, ( which, fortunately, didn't have to be paid for ) purchasing a new car on a four-year lease, ( he told me that if he has a four-year lease, he HAS to stay alive for at least this much longer . . . ) scanning about three thousand old photographs and slides . . . all with a sense of urgency that just about sucked all of the oxygen out of our home.

I found myself counting the days until he left for his two-week cruise.

And once that frantic, controlling energy was gone, I think I found myself again.

I seemed to evolve into an awareness that unless I make the time to pamper myself, at my own pace, I stand a very good chance of "popping off" before he does. ( ! ! !)

When he returned home and asked me what I'd done for the past two weeks, I wasn't really able to say. Actually, I resisted his assumption that I was prepared to

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