I’m tired of putting this horrible pressure on the flip of a calendar page, resting the rescue of my psyche on a manufactured date and a time. None of that cajoling, pleading and planning worked. Each of those years brought mind-numbing stress and grief and fear. Those ugly days were also mixed with love, learning, laughter and the acceptance that life hands out trials and it’s what you do with them that shows the mettle of the person inside of yourself. I’ve masterfully triumphed over some of those trials and miserably failed at others. That’s okay, as I know a little more of who I truly am and know that I’m that much stronger for what came before.
I decided that I would not put too much stake in expectation for ’10 and let the last day of ‘09 year pass quietly with family watching one of the dumbest movies ever made, yes G-Force I am looking right at you, eating chocolate and drinking good bourbon.
Instead, ’09 ended with a bang. Literally. Our dog got thunked by a car; she must have chased a critter from the yard. When we realized she was not safely monitoring her own backyard, we all ventured out into the frigid air to holler for her. Minutes later she dashed into the front yard looking a little out of sorts. Once we got her inside we saw that one eye was completely dilated while the other pupil was barely a pinprick and there was slight swelling along that side of her face. She was bleeding from a puncture under her tongue and from a few small scrapes along her left side and paws. We got her settled, cleaned her up, took closer stock using my rusty EMT skills, recognized that nothing was broken or dislocated, and then we had a family meeting. It was New Year's Eve, the vet offices were closed and the only emergency animal hospital was 45 minutes away. And the family budget was not flexible enough to accommodate what was, as sure as there were student veterinary school loans, going to easily cost more than a grand to examine. The decision we made was to watch and see if her condition changed through the night that might warrant a vet’s care.
SuperHubby and I took shifts, napping on the sofa with Thunder sleeping on her dogbed next to us. After a night of whining and comfort seeking, by both the dog and adults, spent keeping a close eye on her, she seemed stable. Her eyes responded to light by mid-morning, she was up, albeit moving gingerly, scarfed down breakfast, she took care of her outdoor needs and went back to sleep. Thunder had to be escorted outside for her personal business, to reassure ourselves that she was indeed okay walking, and to observe that there was no blood in her urine or other bodily waste and that task is exactly as disgusting as it reads. I don’t know that I have ever been this concerned about the condition of my dog’s ass. When SuperHubby came in from one such supervised outside excursion, he lamented that it was so damn cold his balls were chattering. I asked him if they sounded like Kerbangers when he walked. Poor Kerbanger Boy.
We decided to forgo a vet visit completely. I’m sure there are many opinions on our decision, such as what horrible pet owners we are, how we don’t deserve to have a dog, that we don’t love our dog, would we not take our kids to the ER because of the cost, blah, blah, blah. I’ve heard all of those criticisms because I am my own worst troll and they ran around in my brain like pinballs on speed even as we made this decision, except the kids and the ER one, because OF COURSE! we would take out kids to the ER if they got hit by a car, I’m not completely unfeeling.
The short of it is the dog probably had a concussion, definitely some bruising and scraping. I’m grateful that she is built like a tank and is no worse off than she is, truly, because when my daughter came over and burrowed into my arms, tears tracking down her cheeks, whispering she didn’t want to loose another dog, I just about caved in and hauled that damn dog off to the emergency hospital just so I didn’t feel like such a shit for being concerned about money. If I'm lucky, the brain rattle she took might realign some of her gray matter and she'll stop eating her own feces for appetizers and start bringing me slippers when she inevitable wakes me up in the morning with shitbreath because she has to pee.
SuperHubby has been out of work, on disability since April ’09, and had back surgery in July after three years of unceasing debilitating back pain. He’s still recovering and not able to go back to work until the doctors release him. He wants to get back as soon as possible, because frankly, he is bored, BORED, BORED beyond belief and just about going bonkers from being cooped up and forced to remain relatively low key. SuperHubby is not the couch potato type.
The whole out of work thing has had a not so positive effect on our income and frankly, if I have to choose between making certain there is money in the bank to cover possible personal family kid type emergencies over taking the dog to the vet, I must confess the dog gets the shaft. It is what it is. I remain grateful that I am employed and we remain financially secure while all of this is going on, but a line must be drawn to stay that way. I'm not apologizing for that stance.
As a matter of fact, I think I’ll expend my energies this year on reclaiming my life from the overhanging clouds of the past few years. I can’t change them, nor ignore their significance. I can continue to grow from those experiences and be a better person. More loving, more tolerant, rebuild my self-confidence, remember who I am inside, because when I do that, myself and the ones I love benefit from those positive feelings and vibes. I will still snarl at you if you try so speak with me before caffeine, some things remain immutable.
So, the dog is fine. She’s been a bit low key, resting, moving slower than usual and demanding attention for the past couple of days. This morning, she woke me up bitching to get out to pee and raced over to the fence line to bark ferociously at the neighbors annoying shepherd, who never stops barking. When we trudged back inside, she demanded her breakfast and then proceeded to take up residence on the sofa as if she owned it, watching me move about getting ready for the day. We made the right decision, we gave her care and love, nursed her wounds and received love and comfort in return.
One Dog, sucking up the sickbed attention.
I guess that’s the heart of what I hope for in ‘10, living with love and care and making the right decisions.
1 comment:
You won't get any arguments from me re: not taking the dog to the vet. I love my pets, of course, but they are, in fact, just pets (I am prepared to be crucified for THAT comment! ha ha). They aren't children that need food and clothing and real emergency care if necessary. We did take one dog in when she was hit by a car and her leg was shattered, only becuase Steve's mom paid for it and we are paying her back, and ONLY because this dog is an investment. Otherwise, nope. So, you know, if you are a terrible pet owen than so am I-and I htink it has a lot more to do with economics that cold-heartedness.
That said, I loved this post; it is so easy to pin all these hopes on a new year, but really, all a year is, is a series of days, and we just haveto do what we can each day, in my opinion. and there will be sucky things that happen, and like you said, there will also be love and laughter and good times.
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