Wednesday, August 16, 2006

I'm having a bad day

I’m having a bad day, the title says it all. Yes, I woke up on the right side of the bed. I didn’t sleep through my alarm. I was ready in time.

The cervical infection I have I fear is getting worse – not better – even though I had a round of strong antibiotics. I have a compressed disk or something in my lower back that just has me in pain every day when I wake up…and lately throughout the day as well. Leaning over to pick up Drew just hurts. That’s no fun. Do I want to go in to the spinal doctor and be given more bad news? Sure… just pile more crap onto my happy-fun-sun shiny day. I have an appointment tomorrow with the ob-gyn and I am not expecting anything short of “it looks very bad”. I just physically feel that not well right now. I don’t feel “okay”.


My oldest Boston Terrier – not that I have more than one anymore as he’s the only Boston I have – but when I DID have two, he was the eldest of the two. He’s been getting progressively worse with his respiration problems. First, it was coughing up phlegm. I’m glad that phase went away… then it seemed that it was only when it was really cold or only when it was really hot. Lately, he’s just been having troubles all the time. He pants a lot and really seems like he has to push to be able to empty air from his lungs. He’s wheezing and sounding like my grandfather did when he was dying from emphysema. So, I did what any caring pet owner would do –I called the vet. I got him an appointment for 9 am today.

We arrived on time, got checked into the room. Drew tries to hold his little leash and we talked to the vet. She checked him out and thought it’d be best to get a chest x-ray of him to see what we’re looking at/for. So I left Boom there and took the little man and went home to wait for her call.

In the meantime, Drew and I had a snack of some pretzel sticks. It was time. Thor walked over to me and normally I wouldn’t hand feed this dog to save my life – he’s quite the ferocious eater but he very calmly and gently took each little pretzel stick that I gave to him without eating any of my fingers. He knew I was in a fragile place.

The vet called about 10 am and said she was glad we did the x-ray as there is something showing on his left lung. It’s either a massive build up of fluid or a tumor but since it was an x-ray and you can’t differentiate liquid from tissue that there is no way to be 100% certain but that there definitely was something there. She was going to send the film off to an internist to view them and give a probable diagnosis but in the meantime suggested he be put on a diuretic to help dry up some of the liquid. After he views the films we can work out a plan from there but the only definitive way to determine what it is would be with a sonogram which is $300-$500. They were going to get his Rx ready and I could pick him up by 10:30.

So, at 10:30 I packed the kiddo in the car and we headed up to pick up our fat boy. I paid and they also brought me a bag. I tried to remain in denial and did a good job until I got I the car and looked over knowing what the box contained.

I turned on the Wiggles to change my train of thought to anything other than where it was going.

We got home, I got the little man settled in and then brought the white bag in from the car and set it on the counter. I didn’t want to fully admit what it was but I knew… it was Gidget’s ashes. I removed the simple cedar box from the bag and placed it on the counter. I opened the lavender envelope containing the sympathy card signed by the staff at the vet’s office. I ran my finger over the brass plate engraved with her name and then just melted onto the kitchen counter. After a moment, I carried the small box to my room and placed upon my shelf by a photo of her. I think I know too soon that little box will turn into two. I went into the bathroom for a tissue and literally felt ill. Was I going to throw up because of my nerves, my stomach or something I ate? Is my stomach that badly messed up?

Isn't it crazy to think that all the importance we place on status and numbers and things and superfluous shit that doesn't matter, in the end, we all have the potential to wind up just like Gidget... ashes in a box. What's truly important is what you leave behind... your legacy. She may have just been a little dog but she still touched people. Drew still calls for her at cookie time... he still looks for her in the back yard. Josh is still in a fragile place realizing the finality of death and knowing that some sicknesses can't be healed. He has even dreamt that we put him to sleep because he was ill. I have my moments but I've been doing much better with the loss of my fur friend. But knowing that someone is missed just makes their star shine even brighter in heaven...because they've touched someone.

In the end, I want my body back to normal ... clean and "disease" free.. healthy with no damage to my reproductive organs... I want health -- it's something you take for granted until it's gone…I want my dog to live… I want my son to be joyful… I want my other son to eat… I want to not worry or be stressed and just be happy. Happiness… that’s not too much to ask for! But, I guess right now isn' tmy time. Right now, I'm being punished for something...

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