Down For The Count
Bronchitis has had me in its grip for a couple of months. My cough got to the point where my entire office was stopping by, individually, to try to convince me to go to the doctor. The ladies were all convinced I had walking pneumonia.
I was reasonable – I looked it up. Then I looked up bronchitis. One produces yellow gunk from your chest and other doesn’t, so I self-diagnosed that I still had bronchitis.
Finally, my boss came by and nicely pretty much demanded that I go to the Urgent Care, so I spent half the day there and walked away with five prescriptions, only two of which Walgreens filled after an hour’s await, despite me asking upon arrival how busy they were and being assured it would be 15 minutes.
What is it lately? Every time I ask in advance about a wait, I am reassured and then proceed to wait…for hours and hours, unnecessarily every single time, if only they hadn’t flat out lied. I am really straightforward with,”I’ll be happy to come back later,” or,”How busy is the doctor?” or in this case,”Should I drop this by the Walgreens near my house tonight or do you have time to do this now?” I am sure there’s a lesson in here somewhere. If you know what it is, please tell me.
With the Blood Moon, the Cardinal Grand Cross, and all blogs astrological fairly shouting about what a time of change April would be, I thought I was ready, but I was wrong.
There was a pleasant awards ceremony to christen the month.
It morphed into a chaotic, last-minute request to gather a ton of financial data for our taxes.
Then the dog got hit by a car. On a Sunday.
This is the middle dog, a 63 pound mix of a hound and a Chow – we think – who I call Mr. Lick (not his real name) and who runs like the wind and who I didn’t even realize I loved until now.
I called the regular vet, who has Sunday hours, and I explained the dog’s leg was injured, he was bleeding, and we think he got hit by a car. I asked if we should go to the Emergency Vet for trauma but was told to bring him in. I said to my husband,”I hope we don’t get The Woman,” but sure enough, that’s who was on duty that day.
Was it because I was just getting sick? Where was my intuition that day? I didn’t know he’d been hit, I didn’t intuit the best place to take him, and what unfolded next was just a series of unfortunate events.
As we stand today, two weeks later, I can say that The Woman was about as competent as the time the Big Dog had a chicken bone stuck in her throat for days and she couldn’t find it, insisting that could not be what was wrong, in spite of the fact that I told her the chicken carcass had moved from the kitchen to the couch and now the dog couldn’t drink or eat.
She took a thousand x-rays, cost me a fortune, and eventually a few days later I had the dog back and the guy vet did surgery and produced a giant bone.
This time she cost me a fortune, did every conceivable x-ray, and called by lunch to say his right leg was out of the hip socket and she wasn’t strong enough to put it back in. She said she needed a “big, strong man” to do it.
She really did.
When she called to tell me this, we were half an hour away, standing in the Home Depot parking lot, the exact same parking lot shared by the emergency vet.
Back and forth we went, transporting the traumatized dog.
What really irked me the most was that she had me wait for 20 minutes after I arrived to talk to her, all while the dog is suffering and the emergency vet is waiting for him. She told me the exact same thing she told me on the phone – nothing new – and all of it was a ploy to get me to tell her,”There, there, you are a wonderful vet and didn’t do anything wrong.” This was a grown woman, a professional (in theory) and I could see through her plain as day. Why would she put her need ahead of an injured dog, I ask you?
By the time the second vet called late in the afternoon to say,”I am very sorry but I could not get the bone back in, I tried three times and it kept popping out,” we were into it for $1,800.
The only other choice was surgery, requiring us to keep him – the runner – “quiet” for 8 weeks or the surgery might fail. I won’t tell you how much the surgery cost. In for a penny, in for a pound?
For almost two weeks, it all looked good. Then we called him from the kids’ room and he didn’t come right away. When I found him he had “the look.” The I screwed up and we’re in big trouble now look.
Tomorrow we go back and try another surgery – this one will permanently reduce his ability to run, will require intensive therapy, and of course will cost more money.
I’m not worried. I saw his ability to run on three legs when his fourth was tied up in a sling. I saw some money come in from out of the blue to help with the costs.
The main thing is that now he has pain in his eyes and I wish that did not have to happen. I wish I hadn’t contributed to it. I wish I could have stopped it. This is two failed attempts to straighten him out and I’ll tell you, I am pretty concerned about the third.
The only thing both vets agreed on was that at the time of the accident he came a millimeter away from severing an artery, but somehow he didn’t. Whatever did happen to him, he ran all the way home after it happened. To me, that’s a dog who’s meant to make it, no matter what it looks like now.
I’ve had many pets but it’s only been eight years since I’ve known dogs. I noticed discussion this week on the topic of whether or not animals have souls. From where I sit I cannot imagine anyone even needing to ask that question, if they have ever known a dog.
We may joke that Goatie is my spiritual goat because of the lessons he’s taught me, but nothing compares to the complete love of a dog. When they love you, they love you – and that’s it.
Don’t think that your pets aren’t here in disguise – they are. They might look like a cat or a dog or a horse but baby, if you have one that’s special to you, you know they are higher up the spiral than we are right now.
The Ghost of Boyfriends Past
Just as I was sure that between the bronchitis, the medicines, and the upset over the dog, my intuition was out to lunch, one of my old boyfriends came to visit me.
He didn’t knock on the door, though.
He came in the form of a thought. His name. I hadn’t thought of him in decades, so this was a surprise visit.
So I looked him up on Facebook, didn’t find him, and went on with my night.
OK. I’ll Google him.
There he was. He died last week, funeral was yesterday.
We had a good, long visit that night. I’m not sure why he stopped by. I was expecting that he’d ask me to deliver a message to his family, but he didn’t. The article said he “died suddenly at age 47” but he didn’t share any of that with me. In fact, he didn’t tell me anything. He was just there, smiling at me, and I told him everything that was going on lately and he just listened.
I don’t usually find that people come see you straight away when they die. I’ve had people who I considered much closer to me take years to come around. That makes me wonder, besides knowing him as a kid in this lifetime, how else do I know him?