Sunday, November 21, 2010

So, today I was up bright and early because...

Last night I was talking to my mother-in-law and she was suddenly all flashing light haloed and starry. I blinked a few times and wondered if I had recently stared into a very bright, tracer inducing light, which, no, I didn't think I had. And a few minutes later, driving home I started to notice peripheral zig-zags in my vision field -- and I knew it was all over for me. I could feel the aneurysm pulsing in my brain.

OMG I'M TOTALLY DYING, THEA PLEASE... LAUGH FOR MOMMY, JUST ONE... MORE... TIME...

It was a tough evening. I kept trying to sneak off to the couch to lay down, to fend off a physical discomfort what was crawling over me but Thea took the rejection hard and decided firmly that I was the only person allowed to handle her. So I drug myself again and again from the couch from a worsening state to ask her to sit in the tub, back to the couch... to convince her to submit to the washing of hair, back to the couch... to the zipping of jammies, back to the couch... and finally I just stayed and did it myself: the holding, the reading of books, the rocking of the chair, singing of songs and tucking of blankets.

When she at last went to sleep I crept upstairs with my laptop to Google the symptoms -- phantom lights, headache, nausea and willingness to go to sleep before midnight -- and holy fuck! Peripheral zig-zags, word-for-word? A migraine! What? That's so commonplace... no way! Then I ran downstairs to puke.

Anyhoo, the exciting part of my story is that I had a real life Migraine (ouch!) and went to bed with an icepack at 830pm which I have never, ever, ever done before under my own volition. Ever. Even when Thea was a brand-new baby and I hadn't slept for years. Ever.

I got up today earrrrly and it felt so right! Can I call myself a morning person now?

Saturday, November 20, 2010

Killed

I'm out last night after dark, running up a busy street that borders my neighborhood. There's this raccoon running too, across my path. Turning to look over my shoulder, yes damnit there is a car coming and I'm yelling NONONONONOOOONOOOOO but the raccoon doesn't understand me and the car doesn't hear me and yeah.

There now, is the raccoon in the middle of the street. The street is wet, and not particularly well lit, on a hill, on a curve, cars still coming. God, at least the driver pulled over and I'm not alone with this. The raccoon actually rolls over now, she's still alive. Whew! ...wait, Agh! This is worse, isn't it? Fuck.

She's just laying there on her stomach, her head up, composed. Cars are swerving around her. I can't tell if there is blood or guts on the wet black. She's got her front paws stretched daintily out in front, just looking around. This is the exact same pose Willie strikes on the back of the couch at her most content, falling asleep with her head high.

This is really sucking because I don't know what to do and this guy is pacing around going WHAT DO I DO? SHOULD I DRIVE OVER IT AGAIN? I CAN'T DO THAT! WHAT DO I DO? And she's out there in the street nonchalantly not dead, cars swerving around her. She's a wild animal, I can't go out there and pick her up. Besides, I'm wearing all black fullpantslongsleevesblack... I'm gonna be killed with her if I walk out into the street.

Calling Clark, no answer. Calling non-emergency punching through their prohibitive phone tree. And dude, I'm shaking and trying not to cry. Does anybody think, it's just a fucking raccoon? Because I'm feeling like I should think that. I don't know why. At the same time, if you said "it's just a raccoon, geez" I'd hate you.

Cars are swerving around her and this guy is running up and down knocking on doors that nobody is answering. I'm wringing my hands. Police non-emergency has office hours. They're closed. Can't type on this stupid iphone keyboard with hands shaking. Dove Lewis? Animal Control? Cuddle hotline?

After 10 forever minutes of this the raccoon, oh horror she tries to get up. Then, umm... she walks right off past me up into the dark street of houses. No blood dripping, guts dragging -- she's wholly intact.

She doesn't seem to even be limping but this still can't be good right? I saw her, heard her get hit, hard. Maybe she just got brushed by the bumper and rolled under the car? She's probably going to find a place to die? I'm totally confused though. Can I cry yet? I don't have any reason now. She's not dead! She looks fine! Except that my chest is pent the fuck up with anxiety. I'm a riot in a dispersing crowd.

Life is going on. Someone blares their horn at the car parked there with hazard lights. Clark is still not answering his phone. I'm cold now, and wet with sweat. The raccoon is gone. She doesn't want our help. It's just me and this kid and he's like, UM, BETTER GET GOING. SORRY YOU HAD TO SEE THAT.

Now it's just me, staring into traffic. I'm two miles from home, looking and feeling like a shadow. I've lost the heart of my run but it's cold out here so I jog stiffly home.

Thursday, November 18, 2010

Uphill bothways

It's probably doesn't need to be said that running is a lot more of a challenge these days. This week already there have been a couple of down days, days where I just had to keep bumping my run down the to-do list until oops, it was too late...

Take yesterday, when getting out to the street required a force of mysterious strength and origin. Thea, with four more teeth coming in, is in complete revolt from meaningful sleep... tired, pained, sweaty, willful... prodding her up and down the stairs, changing clothes tying shoes with one hand, the other retrieving her from the precipice of the stairwell.

Stuffing her into a sweater, jacket, two pairs of socks, boots, gloves and packing her tight into the stroller with a warm fluffy blanket over howling protestation. The draping of the stroller rain-bonnet brought on physical arched-body bucking...

This is absurd, this is totally absurd

...wrestling the stroller out the door, scraping past the awful, resistant glass screendoor into heavy, twilit downpouring rain and screaming outrage. See? There are a plenitude of reasons to say FUCKTHISFOREVER... but I know that we, she even more than me, need a change of scenery and some fresh gotdamned air.

There is nobody out here now, in this downpour, on this deeply puddled path. I only see one other person running and his clothes are plastered by rain to his body. It is almost full dark when I slow running to a walk, back where we started. I'll get home just before the wolves and the gusts I bring with me mean the inside won't be so stale anymore.

Friday, November 12, 2010

Fresher air

The impossible 8 weeks is up and we got the approval from the veterinary orthopedic surgeon to begin taking Oweeeee for short 15 minute walks, twice daily.

The assessment at this point is that the healing progress is "less than ideal, but within the range of normal." Being less than ideal means you can still see the cut lines in the bone on the X-ray and a slight occasional hesitation to use the leg, all which should have no effect on his long term prognosis = %100 full recovery.


why do you torture me so? just let me die!

I wanted to tell the doctor that, you see, Oweeee is a thinking man and a extra-sensitive submissive dog who is probably depressed in his current state of inactivity. THAT is why his healing has been a little slow, THAT is why he sometimes still rests that leg on its toe when standing instead of putting his full weight down. I know my Oweeeee, he is a leg-cocker if even looked at with disconcertion. I have no doubts that now being allowed outdoors, he will rebound much more quickly.

So, anyway, less than ideal means another round of X-ray$ in six weeks. Blerg.


in my clutches! -- aaagh

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