The Difference A Day Makes

Yesterday I was riding high. I was beyond excited about my post-op appointment and how good I looked and felt given that it had been less than a week after I got lipo.

I wore a dress that I barely fit into pre-op, I had coffee and scream with MPT, life was feeling back to normal.

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Tiny dog, check. Feet up, check. Coffee, check. Rage machine sitting across from me, check.

My doctor told me to take it easy but I’m not gonna lie, I’m back to full-speed mode. There’s so much to do.

Nope. Not a moment’s rest for me. I went to bed completely exhausted. I was dreaming that suddenly I couldn’t breathe because of a terrible pain in my chest and I woke up still in pain.

I was having a panic attack in my sleep. If I hadn’t already been down this road I definitely would have gone to the ER. Panic attacks – at least mine – hurt like hell.

My BFF Sonya was against me getting lipo because she knew someone who died in her sleep of a pulmonary embolism. Late at night, with my chest in a vice, I thought of her and wondered if that was happening to me.

Commence Googling.

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I wasn’t coughing up blood and the symptoms went away after I took an anti-anxiety pill. It was maybe a five minute episode.

I have a lot on my plate. I have guests arriving on my third floor tomorrow and the floors have just been finished. I had to cancel a guest on my second floor because it’s not going to be done on time and I had to find him a place to stay, my folks are coming to visit, and most importantly, Yvonne.

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Sonya’s sister

I’ve known Yvonne since I was four years-old; we were never close but she was a part of my life. She was a year older than me and couldn’t be bothered with her little sister’s bratty friend, but she too was a sister I never had. Albeit a distant and remote one as family members often are. I always put her on a pedestal.

She died the day I had surgery and I can’t attend her funeral because I haven’t been cleared by my doctor to fly. That embolism thing.

I wanted to be there for Sonya. She’s been through so much from the day she discovered that Yvonne was a closeted alcoholic and was in the advanced stages of liver failure. Her obituary thoughtfully addresses how she died and the tragic nature of this still very poorly understood affliction.

Sonya has been there for me so many times and yet again I have failed to be there for her.

Hey Sonya, I love you. Your family was my second family growing up, my “normal” family. Ironic, no? I promise not to die of an embolism, I’m really sorry I’m not there and holding your hand right now.

I fell back to sleep pondering this and woke up with the boys. I was hit by the smell of vomit and shit when I went downstairs, poor Blue is sick again.

I let him out and he shit blood, around the house were piles of vomit and bile, including a nice big one left by Bates that was a delightful mixture of cat food and a mouse, et whole. Aren’t cats great?

It was going to be one of those days. And snow is coming.

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For real

I spent the day going back and forth between the house and the vet (three times), calmed the nerves of a frustrated Itchy who is struggling with his contacts (to be expected), met with the roofer, floor guy and my contractor, found a place for a client to stay and managed the deal myself as he was getting on a plane in Dubai, shampooed ALL THE RUGS and washed ALL THE BLANKETS AND DOG LINENS, cleaned out the Rug Doctor so I could return it to my neighbor in tip-top shape (I’ll be needing it again I’m sure), fed the kids as they came and went, got all the crap sorted and off the porch, and kept a close eye on Blue.

He was throwing up so often that I kept him on the porch where I could hose down the vomit. By then he was throwing up water but after I got some meds in him he seems to be doing okay. He’s very shaky and weak, doesn’t want to eat, but can still get up to drink water and walk around the block. He’s very thirsty.

I made chicken and rice to tempt him but he doesn’t want to eat. My vet recommended at 24 hour clinic but Loony and I decided to keep him at home and wait and see. Besides, the stress of staying in a vet kennel would be enough to kill him on a good day.

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So let’s add in a conversation with my kids about how Blue is an old dog and we have to come to terms with the fact that one day he will die. We don’t know when and all we can do is love him as much as we can.

My kids are like me, they are aware that any decline in health could be the final harbinger of his demise. We don’t say anything but it’s emotionally exhausting. It’s the elephant in the room.

On the bright side – because one should always try to find it – my house is sparkling clean. I love it when my floors are freshly shampooed and I’m ahead of the game for having my dad and step-mom in town. My heart about burst when I caught Scratchy talking to Scheissehund. He said, “I’m going to teach you your first word. It will be panini.”

Chiweenie panini?! I die.

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Itchy, for the second day in a row, brought flowers he picked on his way home from school.

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Just like his daddy

Life is still okay. I get through each day and think of all the things I are lucky to have and remind myself of the great bounty, privilege, and support the surrounds me.

Now I’m going to lie in bed and massage my fat and giggle over this picture.

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