Halfway to a Year
The past few weeks have had me losing my mind somewhere between what I’m about to share and a whole sea of craziness. Been a little too weary to write anything, but I guess now’s as good a time as any…
So my dog celebrated her half birthday on the twelfth of this month. As a first-time parent, it’s kind of a milestone. My wittle Waffle has been a wonderful new addition to my life. We’re practically inseparable. She’s my clingy little monster, my primary source of cardio, and my furry pillow at night.
On the day (after), we didn’t have anything big planned — just a bath, a cupcake, and a photo op. Cute enough, yeah? I’m poor as sh*t, so she better not expect more — and she wasn’t if the smile on her face meant anything… or by the way she wolfed down her piece of cake. It was a good day, really… but that was that for celebration.
When the weekend came, my little girl started losing her appetite. While I thought it might be because of some change in her schedule or because she was spoiled by the liver cake, the problem was actually way worse… like virally worse. Cut to the Monday after, and I’m anxiously sipping some coffee when the vet calls. Strict social distancing protocols meant we couldn’t even watch over her while she did an x-ray and a stool test. Funny that we were talking over the phone when we were only separated by a literal wall. Not funny was that Waffle apparently contracted parvo/coronavirus (though not that coronavirus).
I was stunned. My poor little girl! I’ve heard all these horror stories about puppies dying from the virus, and just the image of losing her grabbed me by the throat. I handed my phone over to my dad… I didn’t want to hear any more about vaccine failure or hospitalization costs — which mind you, for a barely working freelancer, was mighty high.
The vet graciously allowed us — protocols and all — a last visit before we had to leave. My heart sank when I saw her. My little girl was crated on the top bunk of a small room — isolated with a cat and a dog who had the same viruses. She was lying there energy zapped, with an IV line running through her left paw. When she saw me, she stood so quickly as if to say, “I’m ready to go home now, Pops.” But my little pupper, you’re staying here tonight. She scratched at the gate, trying to hug my hand as if to keep me beside her. Her little barks were so difficult to hear. My vision started fogging up. I wished I could open her crate and hug her, tell her things would be okay even as the horror stories kept popping up in my head. At a certain point, I just had to leave the room. Her crying got a little too much for me— I didn’t want to break down at the vet. Too melodramatic… or maybe too embarrassing… or just downright depressing.
That first night, I slept at 2am. I binged on Schitt’s Creek and Suntory ‘til I passed out, reminding myself, my little girl is a fighter. Since succeeding at potty training, she’s slept by my side every single night. Always with her fat little bum towards my face, which was at first troubling until it turned adorable. (The moment it turned squishy was the moment I forgot about the wondrous odors that erupt from it.)
It was just too lonely without her.
She came back home two days later, much to my overwhelming relief. When the nurse handed her over to me — lighter than she was a few days ago, smellier too — you could feel just how sad she was in there. The moment I took off my face shield and mask, every inch of my face was affectionately covered with slobber. Her face lit up with joy... and so did mine. Damn. The whole car ride home, she hugged my side as if never to let go — or maybe that was me.
It’s been a week now since she’s come back home. She’s done with her meds — thank God, that was a horror to feed. And she has all her energy back, which means I’m tired all day again. She’s not all better though. We’re still figuring out her diet… we haven’t taken her off the (expensive) vet food since attempts at returning to her regular kibble end up, umm, explosively. (You do not want to see my camera roll.) And God, how many times have I changed the sheets in the last few days? It’s hard to keep sane, especially when it happens at one in the morning. But we’ll figure that out. I’m just glad to see my pupper running about the house again.
I’ve never really imagined myself in this position. My dad told me this was what it was like leaving me at the hospital back then. I never thought much of it, even as I was older. The day I had an appendectomy, I drove myself to the hospital and took the doctor’s news as if I were getting a haircut. Meanwhile, my mom was doing all the worrying. How wonderfully and frighteningly different it is to put all your love onto something and watch as its fate is taken out of your hands. But we love anyway — whether it’s a human or a canine.
