Life in the fast lane

 

Christian giving skinny Sophie her insulin.
She's so good about it.

Many days I go from morning to night with only Sophie for company (I’m not complaining!), but it sure was a busy place around here today. I began the day with—gulp!—an 8:00 a.m. appointment with my favorite dermatologist, a man I’ve known for more years than either of us want to count. He presented me with a choice of treatments for a small lesion on my scalp and therefore gave me another dilemma. I told him I do not need another dilemma in my life right now.

Got home just in time to meet the dog groomer who came to give Sophie a much-needed haircut. She’d had a bath at the clinic, so I didn’t realize how badly she needed the trim until I saw my new, lean dog. With her coat trimmed back partly for summer and partly to smooth out the bare patches where the vet had shaved her, she suddenly looked half the size she had. Christian has been joking that she was getting broad in the beam, but tonight she has skinny hips and hind quarters. Today she is much more interested in food, and I am almost free feeding, giving her a bit whenever she wants. She is one of the dilemmas in my life: I want to feed her enough to restore her health, but I don’t want her to get used to eating six or seven times a day. And of course, her ongoing health is another dilemma: if she has another crisis I will be forced to make some hard decisions. Meantime, we’re taking it day by day, and today was a good day.

Yesterday was not such a good day. She refused her breakfast and was clearly confused. You know how you go into the kitchen for something and then have to stop and ask yourself, “Why did I come in here?” That’s the look she had. She’d walk a few steps and then stop and stand still, looking puzzled. And she stumbled occasionally. I called the vet, who said she needed to be in the clinic. He called back in an hour or so to say her blood sugar was extraordinarily high; they were giving her IV fluids and insulin, but he was quite adamant he did want to keep her overnight. She was, he said, clearly unhappy at being there again. We brought her home mid-afternoon, and she ate her dinner. So now I’m again figuring out medication schedules and cajoling her into letting me spray the bedsore on her leg, etc. She’s worth it, and as I said, today is a good day.

Back to the rest of the day: the young man (really, he is) who owns the lawn service we use came by so we could discuss bushes that need trimming, the dying grass in the front yard (he says it doesn’t get enough sun), and the bare spaces in my native plant bed which has, miraculously, survived the winter and a plumbing crisis (piles of rock among the plants). I have cut back on plans for taking out the vines on the back fence (really old honeysuckle which is not flourishing) and replacing it. We had great dreams of crossvine, but the fence does not get enough sun.

Then the new handyman we’ve discovered (he really is handy) called and said he could come replace the flexible screen door in the cottage. By that time, I was ready for a nap, and we agreed on tomorrow morning. But we need a new screen—after Sophie got her foot caught in a hole near the bottom of the current screen, Jordan took scissors to it and cut off about four inches. As a result, I have had a convention of mayflies in the cottage—a fatal convention apparently because I find their delicate dead bodies all over. The wonderful Zenaida will also be here tomorrow to clean the cottage—another busy day. And then we are expecting company for supper. I am reminded of the May Sarton poem:

“I always forget how important the empty days are, how important it may be sometimes not to expect to produce anything, even a few lines in a journal. A day when one has not pushed oneself to the limit seems a damaged, damaging day, a sinful day. Not so! The most valuable thing one can do for the psyche, occasionally, is to let it rest, wander, live in the changing light of a room.”
~ May Sarton, Journal of Solitude. Thanks to Marilea Rabasa for posting that this morning on our small writer’s group listserv.

 

 

Sophie Update

Sophie listening to a lecture.

Tonight I really am going to post yesterday’s food blog, so look for it in a bit. But first I wanted to post an update on Sophie: she is better. Her kidney numbers, while not perfect, are much improved over yesterday, and her blood sugar levels are better. Tonight, I’m told she ate part of a can of dog food. And when we visited this morning, I thought she was more alert—head up, looking around with interest to see what and who was around her. She definitely is on the mend.

I want to praise the techs at the VSNT clinic. I get a real sense of caring from everyone I talk to, and I’ve noticed, before this episode, that if I say I’m calling about Sophie, they are right away on top of it. The whole clinic knows Sophie and considers her sort of a miracle dog—that’s certainly what Dr. Burney says about her. Yesterday, Rachel was so helpful; today we had a lovely lady whose name I unfortunately did not get, but she told us she had cared for Sophie every time she’s been in the clinic, and she was “invested” (the word she used) in her well-being. She told us the common sense advice she was giving Sophie, what she thought she’d try about food, how she was cheering for her. And the most encouraging thing she said to me was, “I think she’s trying. She’s really trying.” As long as Sophie is trying, we will too. Not at all ready to give it up, though I really would like to have her at home. She did look a little hangdog when the tech led her back to the clinic, and that made me sad. I think she’d like to be home too.

Now if I can only convince myself that today is Friday, not Saturday … we will visit in the morning and see where things are.

As always, I’m grateful for your support. I told Sophie today that she had a whole world of people cheering and praying for her.

Sushi, Sophie, Agatha, and bureaucracy

 

Spicy tuna tower, with sushi rolls
Pretty food

Been a busy couple of days. Jean and Jeannie picked me up last night for sushi supper at Tokyo Café, one of my favorite places. We went early but still waited almost an hour for our dinner—as the server explained, sushi slows everything down, and the kitchen was behind. I had salmon crudo which was good but not enough to eat; Jeannie had some kind of roll—and tried Kirin, a Japanese beer, which she said was terrific; Jean had the prettiest dish of all—a spicy tuna tower. She said it was both spicy and good. Fun to get out for dinner.

Sophie is coughing again. Poor dear started with a few coughs a couple of days go, but I am alert to that sound now and vowed not to let the problem develop. Jordan took her for an allergy shot yesterday, but she’s still had some coughing spells. I think though the steroid did to her what steroids often do to people—hyped her up. She woke me at 4:15, dancing in a manner that says she’s desperate to go out. You always hate to refuse in case she really does need to go, so I got up—and watched her disappear into a far and dark corner of the yard where I cannot see a black dog. She finally came back and lay on the patio, as if ready to begin the day—I enticed her in with treats which she then refused. Five-thirty came too quickly, and she had to go out again. This time I dished up her breakfast, and she reluctantly came in but was not interested in eating. At 6:45 we made one more trip; after that I refused, loved on her, and gently told her to go take a nap. It was nine o’clock before I woke up. Tonight she ate her breakfast, asked for more, doesn’t seem to be coughing. It will be a watchful weekend.

Yesterday was National Cozy Mystery Day, in case you missed it—a day in honor of Agatha Christie’s birthday. Confession: I am not especially a Christie fan; in fact, I’m not a fan of British mysteries, as are so many of my friends. I have enjoyed the two books about Christie’s mysterious temporary disappearance, but I’m not much schooled in her actual mysteries. It makes me feel a bit guilty, as though I am masquerading by calling myself a mystery writer when I don’t have the right credentials. Like those people who fake their academic degrees. Oh, I’ve read some of the books, but a long time ago. I need to buckle down and re-read. Jean particularly recommended the one in which Poirot dies—wonder which book that is?

I rarely diss on businesses or companies, but I’d like to issue a warning here: do not deal with Cigna insurance. Six months ago, when TCU cancelled their dental insurance for retirees, I took out a policy with Cigna. I paid each month, and each month they returned the check to my bank. SO each month I called to find out what was wrong and was given a variety of fixes, like a code on my check, none of which worked. And each month I would get an overdue email statement. This week my bank called and was told I need to put P.O. before Box on the envelope—is not the lamest thing ever? But this week, when both the bank and I talked to Cigna, the representative acted as though I had an active account. A note on my account on the website made me nervous, and I asked my dental office to call. Cigna had cancelled the insurance as of July 1 without notifying me either through a website message or email. Upshot: I have cancelled my dental appointment for next week and applied for new insurance. In retrospect, I think the problem was that I didn’t let Cigna automatically debit my bank account, but I am leery of having many automatic debits. I want to be in control of what happens with my banking.

Now waiting for Jordan to arrive with supper—for me, veal caprese from Macaluso’s just down the street. It was a hectic day, with Jacob playing 36 holes in a golf tournament, and nobody thought about dinner until too late to defrost anything. And Jacob will be in a hurry to get to the Paschal homecoming game. Meantime, I’m hungry!

Happy weekend everyone.