This Body is Bullshit

I honestly can only remember two things about Mother’s Day weekend.

Saturday I went into the city to hang out with Grace. It was a beautiful warm and sunny day. We had lunch at this place called Little Bad Wolf which was delicious, then walked around, explored, and shopped. It was a really great day. Just the two of us, no agenda, exactly what I love and needed.

Sunday was a late lunch, or maybe it was early dinner, at this little Bohemian hole-in-the-wall restaurant I never knew existed. My dad, Kathy, Anne, Matt, and me. Good food, nice time. So stuffed. On the way there, Kathy, my dad, and I had stopped at Drew’s to meet Michael, the caregiver who has now been helping Kathy out a couple days a week. My dad is not a fan. He’s having a hard time accepting it. Which is a whole thing we’re navigating.

If my memory serves me right, which it usually doesn’t, the following weekend my cousin, Heather, hosted a luncheon for her husband’s 60th birthday and her son’s high school graduation. Matt, Ken, and I went together, which was really nice. Got to see my other cousins and my aunt, ate way too much delicious food, and just enjoyed being together and spending time with Heather’s extended family.

And then — Matt and I went to Florida!

A little getaway for the two of us. Our belated celebration for both our 50th birthdays and our ten year anniversary, even though we’re creeping up on eleven and Matt is already 51. His idea. He knew exactly where to take me, Marco Island. It’s nostalgic in the deepest way because that’s where I grew up going, where my grandparents lived. We had a condo on the other side of the island from where I’m used to, but it didn’t matter. I just feel better in Florida. I breathe differently there. The water was as clear as I have ever seen it. The shelling was not great though, which was weird.

Wednesday we headed to Bonita Springs to meet up with Rusty and Heather, which has become one of my favorite traditions. They are our people in every way — same schedule, same energy, daytime sun, boating and pool, beach walking, happy hour, early dinner, early bed. They’ve always been so generous letting us stay at Heather’s parents’ beautiful home. It was perfect. All of it was perfect.

And then we came home.

Our flight got delayed over three hours. We didn’t walk in the door until nearly midnight. Grace had been with the dogs for the week but left around 2pm, expecting us home by 8:30 at the latest. By the time we got home they were absolutely starving. We got them taken care of, got into bed, and within about two hours Frank started projectile vomiting. I have never seen a dog do that. Got him settled, cleaned up, went back to bed. He was restless. We got up around 5:30 and before I could even get his breakfast together he was at the slider door getting fresh air off the deck and then projectile vomited onto the deck again. He was not himself. He was very unwell.

Off to the emergency vet, Arboretum View. $1,300 and four and a half hours later, we came home with no definitive answer. Some blood levels off, some intestinal inflammation on the x-ray, an anti-nausea injection, and fluids. Within a couple of hours he was back to himself, which felt like a small miracle.

My dad, Kathy, and George came over later. It was Memorial Day. Kathy brought an entire meal. Barbecue ribs, corn casserole, sweet potatoes, veggies, and cookie bars for dessert. My dad was content and happy being here. We started early because we were both running on nothing from the night before, so by 5:30 we were done eating and I felt bad because I know Kathy would have liked to stay longer. They headed home. My dad called me later, a little confused, sitting outside with his dog watching the sunset. Confused but not manic or scared or angry. That’s a good night for me. I just hope it was for Kathy too.

We went to bed.

The plan for today was simple: Matt would take the day off, pick up a rental car — his car is still in the shop, another long story — take Frank to his follow-up with Dr. Palmer, and I would go back to work. Frank had other plans.

When I got out of the shower, Matt was very concerned. Frank could not stand without swinging in circles. His head was bobbing. He looked like a little drunk sailor. I had no idea what was happening.

We piled in the car to drop Matt at the rental car place first. The parking lot was chaotic. I was distressed. I was not paying attention the way I should have been. And I have no idea how I did it, but I took out the corner of a parked rental car and trashed the side of my own.

Instant tears. Full breakdown. How could this be happening? We just got back from the best trip and now I have a very sick dog and I just did something so incredibly stupid.

Matt knew I was distracted. He wasn’t really angry – disappointed, maybe. We have his car already on an insurance claim for hail damage. Our house exterior is being redone because of hail damage. And now this. He stayed to deal with the accident report and the rental car situation and I headed to Dr. Palmer alone.

Dr. Palmer is the best. He came in expecting a routine follow-up from the emergency vet visit and immediately saw that something was very wrong. He looked at Frank and told me that while he could do some things in his office, what Frank really needed was a facility with higher-tech capabilities — specifically an MRI. Because what he suspected, based on what he was seeing, was either a brain tumor or a stroke.

Not something I was prepared to hear sitting alone in a vet’s office.

As I was walking out Matt was walking in. We left the rental car at Dr. Palmer’s and drove to the emergency facility in Aurora. The one that treated Gus for his cancer. I know it well. They’re wonderful. But it’s not somewhere I ever wanted to be again. Matt and I took turns crying on the way.

The doctor there was thorough. She examined him, ran tests, and concluded she believes it was a seizure. But it could be one possibly caused by a small stroke. We’re waiting on some test results to know more. An MRI would have been seven to eight thousand dollars, which was not an option. What I can tell you is that he was in really bad shape when we got there. Clearly something serious had happened neurologically. But after nearly five hours of being there, something shifted. He started snapping out of it. By the time the doctor was giving us the diagnosis, Frank was ready for a nap but only after accepting several pieces of cheese from the doctor, because he is still Frank even in crisis.

He’s made what appears to be a full recovery. For now. A big miracle.

I missed work today and I feel guilty about it. But I was where I needed to be. My kid and my dog will always be a priority. I just hope my little guy is going to be okay. And to justify it a little for myself, I did work on Memorial Day catching up on emails and verifying timecards. Plus, dealt with the ongoing poop issues while in Florida. That was shitty.

We went from “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times” in about forty-eight hours.

That feels about right.