Bunion Shmunion

I am having bunion surgery next week.   I'm not a big doctor person.  You know what I mean....I avoid them.  Doctors weird me out.  Finding a good doctor who doesn't treat you like another warm robot body?  Not so easy.  My current physician is simply a doctor to me in the same way that I am simply a patient to him.  He interrupts me when I'm talking and obviously doesn't give a shit about anything except getting me in and out of there.

But he does his job and I've yet to have a real complaint except that I don't like the way he handles his patients.  If I had balls, which not many people do when they are sick, I think it would go something like this....

I get it.  You're busy writing your next book, right?  Yes, I saw the advertisements plastered all over your office for the current one, and I'm sure you'd rather be doing that than sitting here looking up my nose, telling me for the TWENTIETH time that my septum is deviated.  Look in my file, I'll bet you'll see it there.  You tell me this every time I have a sinus infection, and if you would let me talk, I would've told you that too.  But I swear to everything holy that if you interrupt me again, I would like to stuff one of those stupid book flyers in your mouth and then maybe you'll listen to what I have to say about MY BODY.

Or something like that.

I can't even necessarily blame the guy, it's what he does for a living and he sees many patients in one day, much less in a week, month, or year.  AND he's a dude, I'm a girl.  What takes him 10 words to say probably takes me a whole paragraph.  So there's that.

But somewhere inside of me I wonder if there's a doctor out there that cares about their patients AND is a bad-ass with the medical side of things as well.  I used to have one of those, who I went to from about 13 to 22 YO, and he was AWESOME.  But then he kept bring up church and that was SUCH a turn-off, but I'm thinking about going back.  He's also about 30 minutes away.  Bagh, we'll see.

For now, I'll be dealing with the fast-talking podiatrist from NY, whose bedside manner isn't stellar, but who gets pretty good reviews.  My big toe joint, besides being bigger than it should be, now hurts, and no amount of ice or arnica cream provides much relief.  I'm getting something called the Kalish procedure done.

I'm scared.  I've only ever had my wisdom teeth out, and with this, they cut your bone and insert screws and realign things.  THAT SHIT IS REAL and HEALING IS GOING TO HURT LIKE HELL.  The pain meds will help though.

I'll be cooped up in the house for a week, which is FAHNE BY MEH.  I love staying home, and this just gives me the perfect excuse.  Dr. B has the day off and is carting me around, and my mom is making us some meals in advance, because she's the BEST MOM EVER. 

I'll be working from home since I used pretty much all of my vacation days this year - and WHY WOULDN'T I? I DON'T UNDERSTAND PEOPLE WHO JUST LET THOSE GO TO WASTE. It's year-end though, and right now is when the accountants of the world take a deep collective breath before plunging into the dark, cruel waters of year-end work.  Longer hours, TONS more work, less free time, and usually - for me - working on my birthday. 

BUT I'd like to think that being completely drugged up will make the work less tedious.  Hell, it might make it FUN.  I've gotta be careful when replying to e-mails while on the meds though.  Can't go telling my boss to stop making ridiculous demands, or that I'm not going to do the work because I'm too pretty.  I can't go marking up my financials with crayon.  And I CERTAINLY can't sign off my e-mails like this....

Love,
Gin
xoxoxox
:)

and on that note.....

A Blast From The Past

I am supposed to meet up with a friend from work this weekend, someone that I used to be really close to.  We had a falling out awhile back, and have slowly been sort of getting back to the point that we can be around each other and be normal.  I have had a hard time convincing myself that seeing her this weekend will be a good thing.  I have done a lot of soul searching in the last year, and I know she has asked around about me.  It's hard, working together and being close friends, and then having something like that happen.  And I'm just not sure that we can ever get back the closeness we had, just too much happened that makes it hard to trust.

Anyway.

I was cleaning out my draft folder, and I found a letter to her that I wrote many many months ago.  It wasn't ever intended to be sent, was just for me to vent.  It brings me back to the whole situation and makes me a little bit nervous.  I don't want to trash it, but I don't want to save it in my e-m, so I suppose I'm just transferring it somewhere else as a reminder of what happened.  I have only deleted out stuff that was too personal.

I figured you would like an explanation, so here it is.

 

I am incredibly sensitive when it comes to my friends, and watching you make so many bad decisions was too much for me.  I wanted to tell you this when you invited me to your place, but what you didn't tell me was that A was going to be there.  You asked me over and then when we were right outside your loft, you told me he was there.  I don't like him, you know this, and I felt like you blindsided me with his presence.  I think he's bad for you, has been nothing but a SERIOUS drain on you - is completely irresponsible - and I was really upset that I had to sit there and act all happy when I wanted to have a serious talk with you.  We hadn't spoken in SO long, and I was in no mood to make small chit chat. 

 

So many of the decisions you've made in the past couple of years have really left me scratching my head.  You move into a place that you KNOW you can't afford.  You talk about other people making all these stupid decisions, when you were doing the exact same thing, borrowing money from you family, living off the charity of others.  Using their money to buy things you shouldn't have been spending it on.  I could go on with this point.

 

It BOTHERED ME A LOT.  You seemed incapable of making true adult decisions, and incapable of taking responsibility.

 

I know you want a normal and productive life, but the direction you were going wasn't going to get there, and you only would listen to, and surround yourself, with people that told you how great you were doing, when you weren't.  You wouldn't make decisions to better yourself, you made them rashly with little thought as to their consequence.  It seemed you just hoped that things turned out for the best, instead of actually making plans to make things work. 

 

What really got to me was the way you talked about it...exepcted sympathy when you only put yourself in that situation all on your own.  After SO MUCH OF THAT, I won't sympathize.  I worked pretty fucking hard to get to where I am, and I'm still doing that.  If you did the same, and managed yourself better, you wouldn't have been in the hot mess you were.

 

I also did not feel like I could trust you to keep my life private.  As much as you told me about other people, I realized other people probably knew just as much about me.  Even if you say it isn't so, I wouldn't believe you, because you've already broken my trust more than once.  Yes, I talked about people too, and I have since come to realize what a terrible thing that is, and our relationship is the reason why I realized that.  Other people's lives - NOT MY BUSINESS, and certainly not yours either.  I'm ashamed to think I partook in that with you, and I've grown from it, doing my best to stay out of the gossip at work.  I realize that people are probably talking about me from the things they've heard, and frankly, IDGAF.  It doesn't really bother me, but more makes me feel sorry for those people who don't have better things to do with their time than create negative energy.  WHAT A WASTE, they are only hurting themselves and making themselves unhappy!  I know me, I know who I am, and I am okay with myself.  No, I'm not perfect, I DON'T have the perfect marriage, house, family, friends, etc.  But you know what?  No one does.  But I am not too ashamed to admit when I've messed up and need to reevaluate and work on things in my life that need work, and THEN to take action.  I'm not afraid to ask advice from people who I know will give it to me straight and true.  I'm not afraid of searching for a better answer than the one I've come up with on my own. 

 

I've made several changes in my life since we stopped talking, towards self-improvement, and I feel pretty damn good about it.

 

You should do the same.  YOU'RE ALL YOU HAVE AND YOU'RE WASTING TIME.

The Nightmare before my Christmas Party

Every year my husband, Dr. B, insists on throwing a big Christmas party.  It's so strange because he doesn't really go to parties himself, and he doesn't do a lot of hanging out with his friends during the year.  He might see most of them once or MAYBE twice a year if they're lucky.  Other than that, he is a workaholic, and he plays video games.  Why he gets all pissy when they don't want to come to ours is a mystery to me.

Dr. B's father used to have a big Christmas party every year.  His father was bad at planning them, and so is Dr. B.  His mother has told me numerous times about how much they fought over the stupid Christmas parties.  The lack of planning means that I have to pick up the slack AND subtly steer my husband when I see him getting way off-course, which is hard when it's been dubbed *his* party that *he's* planning.

I suppose I could simply refuse to help - because that was our agreement...I study, he does the party.  BUT I'm also not going to throw a shitty party just to prove a point to him.  If I have friends and family coming, they're going to have a fucking good time...dammit.

But no matter how much he thinks he has planned, it never pans out and I have to rescue him.

Did I mention I'm supposed to be studying for the CPA too?  And that, because I'm an accountant and we're rolling into year-end and breakneck speed, work is crazy right now?  I did?  Oh....

And then also....

I am *not* a social person when it comes to large numbers of people (we're talking 30+), I find it overwhelming.  Attempting to entertain that many people makes me incredibly anxious, to the point that I'm waking in the middle of the night thinking about stupid casseroles and gingerbread houses and dog hair on the couches.  I love my family and friends, and I love spending time with them...and for that reason I love Christmas.  But this huge extravaganza - which, this year, included SINGING AND DANCING KIDS FROM A LOCAL HIGH SCHOOL?  I mean, REALLY?

With my family, we have always had a small gathering on Christmas Eve and then spend Christmas Day together.  And whatever we did, it was low-key, simple.  I liked it that way.  I still do - it fits me.  My family exists in the same way it has for the past 30 years, and that is where I am lucky.  Same people, same place.  I know it won't be that way forever.

Dr. B's family?  As you might have guessed, they were the opposite.  Parties, entertainment, the whole nine yards.  But his family doesn't exist as it used to - his mom lives a state away, his father is dead, his sister lives 10 hours away, and his brother is completely anti-social.  And so, Dr. B insists on throwing a party every year.  We've been through four Christmas's now as a married couple, and have thrown three of these parties.  Last year we had to cancel because he got sick, and I was - DON'T JUDGE ME - relieved. 

I don't know what the answer is here.  I don't want to be the asshole that squashes my husband's attempt to recreate his own childhood, but at the same time, I feel I have the right to have a Christmas that I enjoy.  And I want him to recognize that.

As I listen to him upstairs playing video games instead of cleaning up - it was pre-determined that he would do all that - I just don't think I can do another one.

I have told him this before, and I stand by it - I want to start our own tradition that we can both be happy with.  The holidays are stressful enough.  Between the year-end hell that IS being an accountant, and trying to get all the stupid gifts in on time, I'm good on stress THANKYOUVERY MUCH and MERRYCHRISTMAS.

The Commuters

I wonder if there's a band called that?  I should be in it.  And we could wear suits and cars as our costumes on stage and yell driving insults at eachother whilst playing our instruments. 

I *do* really wish I were in a band.  I have a good voice, but I'm not so sure I have stage presence.  I think the costumes would be integral to this.  Maybe I should hit up Craigslist for bands when I'm done with the CPA.  I wonder if I would even tell them I'm a CPA?  I mean, would *you* want a CPA in your band?  I would, but I'm biased. 

Sometimes I want to tell people I do something *anything* besides accounting.  DO NOT GET ME WRONG, I AM THANKFUL FOR MY PROFESSION, but, it could be cooler.  Like a Park Ranger, or a Vet, or an artist with a wealthy benefactor.  I especially like the last one, but I don't even know if they have those any more, I just remember it from reading Little Women.  Remember?  Amy had her wealthy benefactor Aunt and got to go to France to study?  And then she and Christian Bale Laurie hooked up, and he was really hot and they lived happily ever after?  I would have rathered that be me than that snot, Amy, is all I'm saying.

Anyway.

As it is I *am* an accountant and my commute is kinda far.  First and foremost, my preferred method of transport is bike and train, period.  From start to finish, that method takes about 2 hours round trip, including a nine mile bike ride.  AND on the train I can study, listen to music, knit, dance, fart (one of the advantages to riding on a loud train) or just stare at people to freak them out - the possibilities are endless really.  Point is, energy I would have spent driving is now mine to control!  I am the master of my universe!  For about 40 min anyway.

I shoot to do this 4 days a week, but I usually end up driving at least one day a week.  And oh my GOSH, I hate driving.  Well, I don't hate driving, so much as I do every other driver out there.  I don't care if you're my grandmother, if you cut me off, so help me God, I will ruin you and every person you love (not really, but I talk big, even when it means taking myself out, apparently).

I just....can't even comprehend why some people drive the way they do.

If I drive, I commute anywhere from 1 hour to 1-1/2 hours a day, depending on traffic, when I drag my ass out of bed leave the house, etc.  It's worth it right now.  Maybe not always, but right now, it's worth it.  And that's saying a lot because the shit I've seen on I-35 is real.  I've seen one car PLOW underNEATH another.  I've seen a person *literally* get squashed in between two cars. 

It never ceases to amaze me, the way we have things arranged. 

We drive these cars, and the space in these cars, for the most part, goes entirely unused.  Mine seats 5.  I am married with 5 animals, no kids.  HUH.  And in order to haul around all of this unused space, we burn a finite resource.  We have other methods of transport - better ones than cars, that's for sure - but we ignore them because we are adamant about being independent beings that don't allow *any* inconvenience in their lives, such as having to go without air conditioning for 10 minutes, much less wait for the fucking bus, or throwing ourselves into shifting the way we use capture and use energy.

So yeah, I already hate driving enough from that standpoint, that when I *do* have to drive, I usually find myself underwhelmed at the state of our national intelligence, and general ability to function in an organized and productive fashion.

That is, people suck when I'm battling them on the highways.  Traffic sucks.  You suck.  Everyone sucks.  Road rage is real and I suffer from it.  I'm not violent crazy with it, but there is a certain level of loathing there that I'd rather not have to deal with, and that's why I use our public transit system, and that's why I ride my bike.  I'm loud and proud about it.  I just got them to install a bike rack at my office, I swear I was so proud it was like I birthed the thing right out of my own jayjay.  They actually put my biking commute whatnots in the company newsletter.  AND, don't judge me, but I was so proud.

But enough about that.

Barring my preferred methods, I drive.  Almost everyone - myself included - falls into one of these categories at some point or another.  None of us is perfect.  But the next time you pull one of these little moves, SURELY UNINTENTIONALLY, RIGHT?, how's about you give me a little wave to let me know you realize that what you just did was a wee bit on the side of assholish, and that you're sorry and know that I'm a better person than you in that moment for not ramming my 4000 pound vehicle into yours.  Because I'm a grownup.  So THBTH.

1) The lane changer.  Switches lanes constantly without using a turn signal.  Known for an inability to commit to anything or anyone.  Usually ends up behind everyone because changing lanes - as we all know - does you absolutely no good.  That's the definition of insanity isn't it?  Doing the same thing over and over, and expecting a different result?  So if you do this, just go ahead and walk yourself into a psych ward, because you're off your rocker and probably a little bit stupid.  Try being patient and waiting next time, and you'll save yourself some time and effort.

2) The braker.  Doesn't know how to effectively brake, and vascilates between slamming the gas and brake pedals.  Most of their friends and family coincidentally suffer from whiplash.  These people are the most insensitive ones, who don't give a fuck that the ten people behind them all had to slam on their brakes too, all because *you* just found that jelly donut you dropped last week under the seat and are now trying to eat without other drivers noticing not that I've ever done that.

3) The ass rider.  This driver insists on riding your ass regardless of anything.  Pretty obvious, but this driver likes butt sex.  A lot.  But will take a warm tailpipe if they can get it.

4) The slow rider.  Doesn't care if they're holding up traffic, they will not go the speed limit.  "It's called a limit for a reason, let's not test it, am I right or am I right?"  Pretty obvious, but this person has never had butt sex, and could probably use some.

5)  The diagonal driver.  Cuts across 12 lanes of traffic to catch an exit they knew about 5 miles ago.  Likes to live life in the fast line.  Usually dies early, from stupidity, mostly.

6)  The indecicive driver.  They don't know which way is left, right, north, or south.  They refuse to get GPS while all of their friends talk about how awful their driving is behind their backs.  Because that's the kind of stuff I talk about.  OBVIOUSLY.

7)  The teenager.  Go drive for a few years, and I *might* respect what you're trying to do here.  For now though, you suck at it and I have considered running you over because I would earn more points in my pretend game in my head where I run people over for points.  You're worth like 100.  Partially because you lack driving skills, and partially because of the way you talk, how everything ends like a question?  Even when it's an answer?  Like, my name is Emily?

8) The mom. She's on the phone and has 17 kids in her minivan. She's bobbing and weaving. She needs to get off the fucking phone and also stop reproducing BECAUSE WE'RE NOT UNDERPOPULATED PEOPLE.  God, I would get *so* many points if I took one of these out.

9) The dominator.  I'm going to speed up and pass you, and then get in front of you and slow down.  Why?  Because I'm mentally unstable.

Anyway, the reality is, driving scares the shit out of me, and in all honestly, somewhere back there I worry that I may die doing it.

And NO I don't really "take people out for points."  I just do it for fun  Sigh.

My Goose

The sweetest dog alive

A month ago, my sweet precious white lab mix, Goose, had his eyes.  Now he doesn't.  But he's still the same lovely pup that has been my unwavering companion for 10 years, and I wouldn't change a thing.

So first, a bit of background.

It was 2002, I was in college and living with my boyfriend, J, and we had discussed getting a 2nd dog but had no solid plans.  We were in PetSmart looking for a new collar for our first dog, Nelson, since he had outgrown his puppy one.  It was a Saturday, and the Humane Society adoption crew was out in full-force. 

We hadn't gone in there with the intentions of adopting, we just wanted a $10 collar. 

But as we walked past the cages of sad, yet hopeful, looking cats and dogs, we stopped at the cage of a white lab pup.  Nelson was a black labrador, and we had hoped to get another dog close to his size.  This white pup was the right size, or at least he would be once he was grown.  He was small then, only 4 months old, and the notecard on his cage told us of his story, how he had been very sick and his owners couldn't afford to treat the parvo.  That he was probably a pure bred lab - which his current vet doesn't agree with, but he's mostly lab either way - but it was hard to tell definitively, and I don't care about getting purebred dogs anyway. 

His front legs were shaved where they'd had to put him on an IV, where he'd been given a blood transfusion. 

My heart ached for this baby who had it so hard.  Only 4 months old and already he had tasted death, and come out on the other side.  We asked to see him, so the volunteer got him out of the cage.  We walked him around a bit.  He was so calm for a 4 month dog of any breed, much less of a labrador.  Having a lab at home I knew how incredibly hyper-active they could be, but Goose was calm and observant. 

And that was that.  He was mine.

We sat down to fill out the paperwork.  Goose sat contentedly in my lap, watching people walk by, and I'd like to think, knowing that he was soon going to a place he could call home.  He seemed to belong there, sitting in my lap, being mine.  This is the closest I've ever come to love at first sight.

Then came the waiting.  It takes a couple of days for them to verify that your other animals have their shots, and that you've paid a pet deposit with the landlord.  So after a 48 hour waiting period, we finally got to take him home. 

We brought him into the house and Nelson went NUTS!  He was running circles around Goose, who was tentatively checking the place out, probably wondering where he was.  For the next two years, these two were the best of buddies.

And then, my boyfriend and I broke up.  It was one of the hardest things I've ever had to do.  I couldn't afford both dogs and I knew it.  I was so angry for putting myself in this situation, knowing I would have passed fairly harsh judgment on others who did the same.  Lesson learned.

I was in a fragile state.  Broken hearted over my lost relationship, and even more upset that I would eventually have to find another home for one of my babies. 

Truth be told, though, Nelson was always J's.
 
When I asked him to take one of the dogs, there was no question which he would get.  He showed up 3 hours early to get Nelson, and I was crushed.  Even though he was J's, I loved that dog.  I had planned an afternoon of walking and playing, so that we could say our proper goodbyes, and I wouldn't be so vulnerable around this man that I had been with for 5-1/2 years.  Instead, much sooner than expected, I loaded Nelson into his truck, threw my arms around his neck and bawled my eyes out.  I told him how sorry I was and that I wish it were different, but that he got to go live with his dad now.  I haven't seen him since, and since J never kept in touch, I don't know what happened to Nelson.

I kept Goose.

From then on, it was just Goose and I, and he went everywhere with me.  He missed Nelson, I knew and could tell, but he adapted surprisingly well, a trait that has served him well throughout his life.  I began making new friends (said ex wasn't too keen on me having friends, part of the reason he carries the Ex title), and Goose got to go see them.  He got to go to the bar with me, since they had a pet-friendly patio.  He got to go camping.  Where I went, Goose went.

I graduated in 2006.  Finally.  And moved back to Mesquite.  I was renting a bigger house, and we got settled in.  I began dating Dr. B, and then we got engaged in 2007. 

Then one day, Goose's eye started to get red.  I waited a couple of weeks, thinking he'd just whopped it or something, but it didn't go away.  Expecting a minor eye infection, I took him to the vet.  The vet said that something wasn't right.   She didn't know exactly what it was, but she knew she couldn't deal with it.  She sent us across town to get his eye pressure measured.  We went, and it was 25.  Normal is around 10.  We were referred to an animal ophthalmologist.  The first visit alone was $100.  This all happened in a single day.

And then, this.  My 6 year old dog was going blind, and fast.

I couldn't find my breath.  Blind?  But....how?

He was my buddy, my only pet, and had been through 6 years of struggle and pain and tears and laughter, and now he was going to lose his sight.  He'd done nothing but be the best companion a single girl could ask for.  I kept thinking, he won't be able to play fetch any more - his favorite game - and he won't be able to.

HELL NAW.  I wasn't giving up without a fight, but his disease was progressing fast.

Goose was born with a birth defect that decided to make itself apparent in his 6th year.  In a normal eye, there is a constant flow of fluid going in and out.  Goose's eyes had lost the ability to regulate that flow.  Fluid could flow in, but it couldn't flow out fast enough, and so the pressure in his eyes was building up, and higher than it should have been.  This is, essentially, glaucoma which = blindness if not controlled.  He also had cataract issues, and some other problems that...well...basically, he had shitty eyes, okay?

So we came up with a game plan.  The doctors hadn't seen this before, so dealing with it was tricky. First, we tried eye drops.  There are a lot of great drops out there that control these kind of problems.  They aren't cheap, but they can be effective.  We went that route first, but it simply wasn't good enough and didn't control his eye pressure.

Next, a laser surgery that would lessen the flow of fluid in his eyes.  There was no guarantee that this would work, but if we didn't do it, he would be blind in a matter of 2 to 3 months.

This is where my amazing Dr. B stepped in and shocked me.


All this stuff, it wasn't cheap.  The vet visits were expensive, as were the eye drops - there was one that was 2.5 mL (basically enough to fill the lid on a soda bottle) that cost $90.  One bottle would last us 1 to 2 weeks depending on the dosage.  All of this I had barely been able to afford, but paid for nonetheless. 

The surgery, though, that cost a lot.  I had been saving to take the CPA exam, so I put all of that towards the surgery, but still didn't have enough. I could have borrowed it, but Dr. B - and this makes me tear up just thinking about it - Dr. B told me that, since we were engaged now, Goose was part of his family.  As such, he didn't see why he couldn't help pay for the surgery.  I was floored.  If that wasn't a sign that he was meant to be mine, I don't know what was.

WHAT A GUY.  He should get laid tonight, if only for that.  Four years later, and he's still getting booty off of that one act of chivalry and generosity.  It's not about the money necessarily, it's that he did it without hesitation.  That he didn't balk at the fact that I was considering this surgery to begin with.  That he was ON MY TEAM.

Goose had the surgery.  And it was awful.  Eye surgery is so incredibly traumatic LOOKING.  The eyes heal quickly, but in the interim, they're very hard to look at.  The area around the eyes is shaved, and afterwards, it looks like you've have a "discussion" with Evander Holyfield's fists.  Bruises and seeping.  I cried a lot that day.  I tried to keep it quiet so that it didn't upset Goose, but it was hard.

Post surgery, things were looking good.  We weren't able to take him off of all the eye drops, but most of them.  It was still expensive, but it was do-able.  I got married, bought my first house, and we got another dog named Everett, a French Bulldog.

Hi, I inexplicably dig holes with my face.

For about two years, we had a regimen.  Drops every morning and night, and eye pressure checks every 6 months.  Good times.

Then, things started changing.  His eye pressure in the right eye went up.  That had always been his bad eye anyway, so no surprise there.  The doctor explained that sometimes the body adapts to the medicines.  We added a different drop, and things smoothed out.

Another 6 months.  Then the pressure in his LEFT eye went up.

SHIT.  That was his good eye.

Over the next 6 months, My Goosey Bear went blind.  I'm glad it was slow and not sudden, giving him a chance to adapt.  First, his night vision started to go. Then I noticed him bumping into things during the day.  Thought, this can't be good....

More vet visits.  More $$$.

And then....

"Beyond a very expensive experimental surgery, there is nothing we can do.  There are no other drops we can give him, and his pressures are too high.  We need to take out the left eye."

Goose kept his sight for almost 3 years longer than he should have, I have to remind myself of that often.

At this point, he had completely lost sight in both eyes.  His body had adapted to the medicines, and every time we took the pressure in his left eye it was higher than the last time.  When the doctor mentioned surgery, it was up to 35 -  dogs are in pain past 34, so at that point, if the dog is uncomfortable and completely blind, removal makes sense.

And then the hardest decision of all, should we remove one or both eyes?  He had already lost sight in both, that much we knew.  But his right eye, which was traditionally his bad eye, had a somewhat healthy pressure of around 15.  But there's no telling when that could change, it could be tomorrow, it could be 3 years from now, or possibly even never.  After a lot of deliberation, I decided to remove both.  Keeping them was pointless because he was already blind.  As a friend said succinctly, "Gin, he'll wake up from the surgery, and be like "hey, where's my headache?""  So true.

And then there was this.  We were supposed to leave for Europe in a week.  We had been saving for this trip for ages, pretty much since we got married, and now as we're getting ready to leave, my dog needs surgery.  His pressures had climbed 10 points in the last week, so waiting 3 weeks wasn't an option.

C was supposed to be watching Goose while we were gone.  I called her, and through tears, told her what was going on.  I told her my parents would watch him if she felt it would be too much to handle.

But she didn't.  She didn't hesitate, she WANTED to help.  And I owe her.

We removed both eyes two days before we left for vacation.  For the first time since we began this journey 4 years ago, I cried as I told the doctor it was time to remove them.  I felt ashamed for crying.  This was a new doctor we had only seen a couple of times, but she was wonderful and SO very supportive, and told me I was making the right decision.  I don't know what I thought she would do (tell me I was a cry baby and to suck it up, they were just eyes).  In all of this 4 year battle, I needed to hear that I was making the right decision, and that it's what she would have done.

I dropped him off at 7 AM for the surgery.  I cried in the car.  I went to work.  I picked him up that afternoon.  I  lost it again when they brought him out, stitched up, looking like a macabre version of my Goose.  They took the pressure in his eyes just before they were removed.  His left eye was up to 54.  FIFTY FOUR.  Normal is TEN.  Again, reassuring me that we made the right decision to do this before we left.  If we'd waited another couple of weeks, I can't imagine how awful he would have felt.

I brought him home and babied him with everything I had.  The next day, I took him over to C's, who also cried.  She held it in at first, but I was there for a little while, and she eventually lost it.  She apologized and told me that she'd tried to hold it in until I left, but it was just too much.  I don't blame her, I love her for it.

He just looked....awful.  I didn't take any pictures.  Didn't need/want to.  I will never forget.

Over the next two weeks, the guilt racked me.  We were gallivanting around Europe, and C was back home nursing my baby.  I cannot express how thankful I am to her for what she did.  It gave me such comfort to know that he was in the best of hands.

And now?

Goose, he's fine.  He was already blind when he had the surgery, so the surgery was merely a formality.  He gets around SO WELL, sometimes it freaks me out.  He'll be plodding along, and you'll SWEAR he's going to run into something.  Just as you reach out to stop him, he swerves around it and keeps going.

Also, did you know that in terms of doggy senses, sight is the 3rd most important?  Smell and hearing are first and second, respectively.  That gives me a great comfort. 

I've also noticed that I get a LOT more kisses from him now.  He was never a big kisser, but now, when I nuzzle him, he gives me sweet kisses almost every time. 

Still the same Goosey Bear.  Still my sweet companion, ever true and loyal.

And to you naysayers who think things like dog eye surgery are stupid or a waste of money, fuck off.  You JUST. DON'T. GET IT.  Here's what you do.  You adopt a dog that is the perfect yin to your yang, and you spend 6 years raising and caring for that dog.  You spend 6 years watching that dog be your faithful companion, who thinks you're the best thing EVER.  ALWAYS.   NO MATTER WHAT, THEY THINK YOU ROCK.  And no matter how shitty your day has been, you can come home to your pup, spend some time walking or throwing the ball with it, and things are suddenly less shitty than they were.  You do all that, and then tell me how you can - with a completely clear conscience - tell me that putting my dog down would have been a better option.  I would rather put PEOPLE like you down.  I feel sorry for you.

Note To Self

Deal with it. Stop acting like your 19 and can troubles really did melt away like magic. You're 31. Deal with it.