spilt milk on borrowed mink.

[shakey graves - business lunch]

I'm staring at the calendar. Can’t believe I'll be finishing up my partial hospitalization/outpatient program on Friday. I missed only one day, last Friday, to travel to OMA with Al for a very brief 36 hours. We mostly spent time on his parent’s couch and traveling the awfully plowed roads - OMA got 5-8” the day before our arrival. I had forgotten how terrible it is to drive in that city. Especially without all-weather or snow tires.

My folks decided to play musical chairs. They came up to DLH to help care for Josie, our 10-year-old Blue Heeler, who had a growth removed from her right hind quarter. It was an elective surgery, not causing her any grief. But if the growth were to continue growing it could’ve hindered her mobility considerably. Once removed, however, the growth had discoloration and an odd texture - we decided it send it to pathology for further testing.

We were only going to be in OMA for such a brief time, it wasn't in Josie’s best interest to take her with us. And we would have little to no time to spend with my folks. It was a relief to know Josie would be in the good care of her grandparents. Plenty of lounging and resting - exactly what she needed to get better.

We visited friends - Katie, Ian and Max who made us a delicious salsa verde chicken taco dinner. It felt like old time at our house on Corby St. Gabbing about music and love interests. But now we had the company of little Henry, Katie and Ian’s 2-year-old son and Pepper, Max’s adorable miniature collie puppy. We sat on their couch and I shared my manic episode and current therapy woes. It was hard to retell, living through it all over again. Yet, it was such a relief to become unburdened in a safe space with friends who totally get it - if not feel the exact some way in term of feeling “rudderless” and sans purpose. I looked to these friends as stoic and sure beings. There was no way they could relate to my sob story. I was pleasantly shocked to hear not only that they understand but they appreciated the courage it took to share my tale. Misery may love company, but it sure is nice to enjoy those in the room that feel the same as I.

We had a day to visit with my folks - celebrated our homecoming at Texas Roadhouse. We played four rounds of my favorite card game, Village Idiot. We said our goodbyes on Monday morning and thus began Josie’s turn for the worst. She stopped eating. This isn’t entirely uncommon - she often will go on hunger strikes to express her sadness and confusion for folks coming and going, disturbing her routine that she relies on so stubbornly. But unlikely times previous, she never got her appetite back. Tuesday I called the vet for an urgent care appointment Wednesday. We were worried there was an infection near or due to her incision, which was puffy and dark red.

Josie’s my first dog. I have no idea what they require outside of head pats and regular meals. She’s a working breed, so we hike the steep elevation trails behind our house. She demands attention and loves her brother Frank, our long-haired black cat - but hates when he gets head pats and she does not. I don’t know what to do for her when she’s not well. And it breaks my heart that I can’t adequately communicate how much she’s means to me. I show her my love through high activity, not lounging on the couch.

Josie has spent 5 out of the past 7 days at the vet receiving fluids and treatment for liver disease. She’s been home this weekend with a 6-pill medication treatment for sludge in her gallbladder and appetite enhancers. She still refuses most meals, even the yummy wet food and pills hidden in peanut butter.

It’s been stressful. And nerve-wracking. Alex turned 35 on Friday and I had forgotten due to Josie’s ailments. He discussed one day before his birthday the potential reality of putting Josie down. “If she won’t eat, she doesn’t have the will or desire to live. There’s nothing else we can do for her.”

I’ve seen Alex cry only twice in our 10 year relationship. The first, after his first car “accident,” when he slid into a parked car during an ice storm on Christmas Eve in OMA - driving home from work at Whole Foods. The second time, 4 days ago.

I learned in therapy Radical Acceptance. Recognizing that life is unfair. Suffering is inevitable, and no “why me” ruminating and whining will change that. If my dog won’t eat, I have to accept that she is in so much pain that she doesn’t want to live anymore.

I restrict meals because I have little control over most things in my life.

It’s too soon into my mental wellness/fact finding mission to connect those horrible dots.