It’s only Wednesday and already this week is kicking this gal’s derrière. (For the record, I’d asked Word’s thesaurus to display alternatives for the word “ass” and according to it, there are none. Really, Word? I beg to differ.)
Anyway, it’s always going to be something…and I suppose the most we can hope for is that we can somehow handle whatever crap is thrown our way. (Huh. I’m noticing that a lot of the expressions associated with trying times are related to the buttock area. Interesting…)
I don’t know that I believe that we’re only given as much as we can handle…’cause somehow we need to handle whatever it is that we’re given….you know what I mean?? Of course you do…that’s because you and I are simpatico.
I’ve spent the last two days helping out my dad, who had cataract surgery. He’s recovering nicely…thank you for asking. You guys are the best! One eye down, one to go. Highlight of the two-day ordeal: Dad’s asking the doctor at the post-operative appointment what his limitations are.
Dad: “Can I drive?”
Doctor: “Sure. Tomorrow.”
Dad: “Can I fly?”
Doctor: (Deadpan)“In a plane?”
At this point, I started to laugh…and I had a mouthful of coffee at the time. I felt bad that I got coffee on his drab-brown examination-room carpet, so I got up to look for a paper towel to blot it up. The doctor told me not to worry about it and then added, “I’ll just have to move to a new office. This one’s soiled forever.”
Everybody’s a comedian…
After a long second day, I dragged my sorry butt to the supermarket and then arrived home. Immediately upon entering, Metro (the wonderdog) did his usual prance-under-my-feet. This is his way of telling me that I owe him a treat. Upon receiving said treat, he finished it and promptly collapsed.
Taylor (18) was standing next to me and we both watched him go down…and I don’t think either of us believed our eyes. We simultaneously called his name…he eyes were open but he was just lying there…all splayed out…dead weight. I’m yelling, “What do we do? WTF?!” and Taylor’s saying, “I don’t know!” and I’m yelling, “I have to call the vet!” as I’m turning in circles. I then walked back into the kitchen and started unpacking the frozen foods and putting them away. It was surreal…all I kept thinking was that when it’s a human-emergency, you call 9-1-1….the vet’s a good 30 minutes away…and I just got home…and I’ve got to put these groceries away...
Fortunately, my temporary insanity only lasted about ten seconds and then I said to Taylor, “The hell with that. We’ve got to take him over there NOW” and I scooped him up and called whilst en route to the vet’s office. As we pulled out of the driveway, Metro stood up on the back seat and seemed to have recovered.
We’re still not sure what happened. They took blood and said they’d have the results in the morning. (As of this writing…1:49pm…they still do not have the results. I’ve called twice.) I do believe the vet would’ve thought I’d made the whole thing up…but I had Taylor to back up my story. Metro seemed so normal at the vet’s that at one point Taylor said to me, “We did see that happen, right?” Freaky.
Metro has many health issues. I’m addressing them one at a time…and to the best of my ability. I’m grateful that he didn’t collapse when I wasn’t home…and Taylor says to expect some ribbing for the foreseeable future about me turning in circles and returning to put away the food.
Not one of my finer moments…but it had been a long day and sometimes the brain just can’t process another single thing. That’s my story…and I’m sticking to it.
I’ll keep you posted.