Existing in Twilight

This morning and most of these last couple of days, I have been in a twilight zone.  Out of step and out of sorts, even now that I have my George back with me.

I live alone.  I am not frightened for myself, but for my charges.  I asked for help and my network was there.  I am so very grateful.  But before that, before the help, I was helpless,

On Thursday, last week, George had an episode where he couldn't stand up fully on his own.  He was on his slumber ball - similar to a human bean bag chair, but with stuffing instead of beads.  He was trying to get up but couldn't.  I put my foot next to his so he would have traction, it happens from time to time he can't get his foot under him on the smooth floor, but that didn't work.
So I rolled up the bag and helped him stand.  Suddenly he was stuck in a half crouch and shaking and panting.  I finally got him to lie down again and sat with him.

When he got up again he was very unsteady and walked as if he were drunk - ping ponging from side to side.  I suspected vertigo, which Izzi had experienced.  He was walking better with each walk and getting steadier.  We got into the vet the next day.

He had weakness in his hind legs, but everything else appeared normal.  He was to have a dental, and while under was going to have x-rays to get more information.  Blood drawn etc.  but okay.  Vertigo was ruled out because his eyes were steady and ears looked good.

Sunday morning it happened again only this time it didn't stop and he was flailing about.  I couldn't calm him and he was distressed.  Two hours later with the help and support of my cousin and a close friend he went to the emergency vet.  It was tears for me for hours.

The staff was confident and upbeat and helpful.  The vet was also positive, but in my minds eye all I could think was the worst.  My frailty, my vulnerability, my incompetence, my loneness, my inability to help my dog at that moment, was completely exposed.  I wasn't enough by myself.  I was terribly frightened and obsessed with the 'what if it happens again'.

They wanted to send him home, he had settled down.  Could get himself, up but not walk without assistance.  I explained I lived alone.  I asked if he could stay overnight.  I knew I didn't have what it would take to get him into the car again and back if it happened again.  I was scared, frightened and felt like a ragged piece of torn lace, hanging on by threads and I felt useless.  I spent the rest of our time apart crying for the creature who showed up for me always, and when it was my turn I fell apart.

I lost it again the next day when he was released.  He didn't want to leave, he didn't want to get into my van.  I sat and cried, then said we'd do this.  I would do this, we could do this together.  I cried all the way home.  I helped him out of the van - now that he was in he didn't want to leave there either.

I watched him like a hawk, he watched me back.  I took him for very shaky walks where he almost fell onto bushes.  I used a pillowcase to support him and the thin lead running under his chest and over his shoulder.  It was successful because he relieved himself.  I was still scared.  I felt incompetent.

I covered the floor with towels for traction, a giant comforter for his bed.  He kept avoiding the dog bed and looked for his slumber ball, but that was removed.

I kept trying to calm myself, he panted.  Six o'clock rolled around and I gave him a pill - gabapentin.  I was four hours early.  A call to the medvet informed me it was okay - he'd just be sleepy.  But don't give him one at ten, wait until two.

It was probably a good mistake, because he slept very deeply, and I was able to relax a little bit.  I stayed up until one am, then set my alarm.  Crawled onto the couch and pulled up a blanket.  I had my own pillow but not my own bed; neither did George, and the cat camped in the living room too.

My alarm went off at two am.  I pulled out his pill, a slice of cheese and added a little peanut butter to make it hold together.  I only had crunchy, so I was trying to avoid the nuts.  He took his pill, I hadn't eaten  all day so I had a spoonful of peanut butter.  It felt like I bit down on a rock, but no - I broke a tooth.

I am grateful it's not painful, but now I don't want to eat because I can't leave George alone...what if...

My moments are full of useless what ifs, fearful what ifs, impotent if onlys, floating around, filling my apartment like dusty dander, puffs of down that fill you nostrils; a suffocating fluff.

We walked at three, again at four, my alarm went off at six for the next set of pills.  I dozed in between.  I left the shades closed so I could nap but didn't.  Perpetual twilight.  Stay awake and watch, doze and dream, wake and walk and stumble and hope he sleeps again so I don't have to worry.

The first real mental break was when a greyhound friend brought a harness for George to wear until his arrives.  We walked and talked and I was able to laugh and for an hour I had a witness to help keep vigil.

The break was good.  I was able to shake some of the feeling of incompetence - to untangle the rats nest of thoughts that had made a home in my head.

I feel unsettled, and I can only imagine that George is far more unsettled.  Things are not the same.  I see his love and his fear.  I can only hope that I grab myself and snap out of it for his sake, and mine.

Today he is a bit stronger with each walk.  I removed the 70 pound seat from my van by myself so I can get George in the side door.  I will be sore for a few days,  and grateful for that because I did something to change my situation, and the ache will be a reminder that I can.

He means the world to me.  I know I need to look beyond my fear, beyond the what ifs, beyond just existing in this twilight, to a place where he is okay.  To relax and enjoy his recovery.  Because he is getting better, in spite of me.

I love you George.