The Sophie saga continues

 

I’m sure if she knew Sophie would be thrilled to have so many of you wishing her well. I am gratified by your thoughts, but I am also a bit teary tonight. Soph is spending the night at the vet’s, hooked to IVs. Jordan took her in this morning and left her for them to do blood work, etc. I suspect our vet, whom I adore and have complete confidence in, didn’t realize how sick she was until he saw her. When I called mid-afternoon, he gave me the news that he would keep her overnight, said he was waiting for blood work, mentioned some possible life-threatening conditions, and wouldn’t guarantee an outcome. I was floored—and teary. I called Jordan, Jordan called her siblings, and everyone rallied around by email and phone.

The blood work results came back tonight while Jordan, Christian, Mary and I were having happy hour—as Mary said, it was a melancholy happy hour without Sophie demanding attention, going in and out, asking for love. We all felt the absence. The blood work was apparently better than it could have been—her pancreatic enzymes are elevated, which means pancreatitis; her bladder is palpably painful; she has bad nasal congestion but her lungs, a sensitive area with Soph, are clear. The doctor thinks fluids will help her blood levels, and he’ll run tests again in the morning.

Jordan will be at the vet’s the minute they open in the morning to love on Sophie, and I will probably go later in the day. It’s a pain to get me in and out, but if I can reassure Sophie, I’ll be there. Part of my angst now is that I don’t want her to feel abandoned. There’s a lot more to the story, some of it guilt, some of it bad memories from another dog, but I won’t dwell on that. As Christian said tonight, having a sick dog is like having a sick child. We hope to bring her home tomorrow, and I will carry her on a silk pillow from now on.

At the moment, I’m hopeful. It sounds like she’s quite sick but not in a life-threatening situation. And I have to realize that she is eleven, medium old for a thirty-pound dog. She slept in the house with Jordan last night, and when Jordan brought her out this morning, she summoned enough energy to let a squirrel know exactly what she thought of him being in her yard. So the Soph we know and love is still in there.

Our happy hour was also melancholy because Mary is exhausted. They are packing to move out of the house she has lived in for twenty-five years and her husband, Sweet Joe, has lived in for fifty-one years. Talk about a wrench! The packers were there today, the movers come Thursday and Friday, and Friday Joe and Mary spend their first night in their new apartment. I cannot imagine the sorting and choosing, the cleaning out, the decisions involved in packing up a large, two-story, three-bedroom house after all those years. Mary is doing it in good humor, though she clearly wanted a place to sit and rest and relax, and we offered her that tonight, albeit shadowed by Sophie’s story.

Mary and Joe’s move makes me think how hard change is for all of us. It’s scary, the unknown, leaving behind the familiar and comfortable. Some people handle it better than others. Mary and Joe are doing well with it. I never did. I think that’s the reason I don’t like to travel. I’m too attached to the security of the world I live in day by day.

And I don’t think that’s a bad thing. I think I’m fortunate to be so content with my world. I have friends who travel all the time, can’t quiet their itchy foot, and I often wonder if they are seeking something I don’t see. Of course, part of my world that makes me happy is Sophie. So, please, cross your finger, say a prayer, whatever works. Help me will Sophie back to good health, so I can have her spoiled, stubborn, adorable self back in the cottage.