Ever have one of those weeks when you’re literally afraid to ask what else could go wrong? Mainly because you might find out? This has been one of those weeks.
For those not on my Facebook page (Please! Friend me! I love company!), it’s been one problem after another. Hubby’s pacemaker incision became infected, and we’re waiting on the culture. (Please don’t be staph.) And if that wasn’t stressful enough, a few days later, in a matter of 12-15 hours his physical condition deteriorated to the point I took him back to the hospital. Seems there was an “oops” moment during his procedure no one told us about. The result is interior jugular damage going unattended for a week that built into a huge blood clot. Say it with me, please. “Anxiety provoking.” At the minimum.
He’s taking blood thinners to dissolve it, monitored daily, but he’s miserable. I planned to write quietly beside him as he rested. I even had a contest picked out to enter.
But . . . both our computers decided to quit on us as the same time. All I can say is thank heavens for Gothicdweller’s husband, Magic Mike! He’s resuscitating one while I finish polishing my entry, and loaned me a net book to get online with while he does so. I’m so relieved to make the deadline for the contest. I’ll be dropping the second computer off to him later today.
I’m still not sleeping, so I spend a lot of time writing. That means my dogs spend time in my office with me. I went in about 2:30 this morning and wrote until nearly 5 AM, going in and out occasionally to check on Steve. Shut the computer down and whistled the dogs out after me. Smokey headed for his bed. I looked around but didn’t see Cochise. I assumed he was in the room with Hubby. It was so close to her regular feeding time, that I zipped out and fed the horse by flashlight. Didn’t turn on any lights to keep from disturbing Hubby’s first real sleep. Dozed off beside him.
Woke up to shredded carpet padding filling the end of the hall. Would someone please tell me where a sixty pound dog can hide on an open floor? He can’t fit under any of the chairs. But somehow I closed him up inside.
Did he bark or whine to be let out? No. He took matters into his own jaws. He managed to peel back the carpet from beneath the door, and proceeded to mangle both layers of padding. How he got more than three times the amount of padding under the crack of the door than was inside the office I’ll never figure out. All I can say for sure is he was dedicated. The front of his mouth was cherry red and raw from ripping. All it took was glancing at him and echoes of Palin’s ‘pit bulls and lipstick’ comment popped into my head. He had a raw spot over his left eye, complete with reddened mouse over it! Guess it was swollen from shoving it against the wood to peer beneath the bottom of the door as he checked to see if sufficient padding was in the hallway. Once he’d cleared away that pesky obstruction I refer to as carpet, of course.
He was glad to get out. I thought his head was velcro’d to my knee most of the day. And he hasn’t ventured far enough into the office to shut the door. A part of him –butt, tail, nose or leg– remains conspicuously in the way. I look at him and can’t help but shake my head. Dang, dog. Why didn’t you just bark?
Yep, one day I’m gonna write all about it.
Y’all remember Hubby in your prayers, please? He’s far from recovered. We’ll keep y’all in ours.