When I was a kid, I used to love the entire Christmas season, from the moment the first holiday song came on the radio. To me the holidays have never been about exchanging gifts (ok maybe a little bit), but about being with family and friends and doing all sorts of holiday-related things. When I was growing up, my extended family always got together for different holiday activities like breakfast with Santa or windowshopping at the decorated stores in downtown Chicago. My friends would get together for holiday shopping trips, particularly last minute holiday shopping trips. We would often catch a movie or go to a local restaurant and dessert place called Bakers Square afterwards. It was a ton of fun. Good conversations, cheesy Christmas decorations and festive music made it something that I looked forward to every year. When I went off to college and subsequently moved to the New York City area, I still came home around the holidays and met up with family and friends to do these things.
The holiday season has seemed a lot less festive since I moved to MA. I am not surrounded by the family and friends with whom I shared my holiday traditions. Breakfast with Santa was just a small affair with my husband, the Big Giraffe, and kids - no extended family. Last minute shopping trips are also on my own, and they are something I rush through, not something that I find to be fun. And there are never enough opportunities to go out for dessert. I know I should be really grateful. I have a wonderful family, we're all healthy, and we can afford to exchange gifts and have a nice Christmas. What more should I really want? I want to not feel homesick for those childhood experiences.
When I woke up this morning, I just couldn't seem to shake a feeling of self-absorption and self-pity. I was trying hard to find my "inner happiness" and to be in control of my own happiness, but really, I just wanted to go to my childhood home. This led to a "what the heck am I doing out here" conversation with a bewildered Big Giraffe that ended with me bursting into tears. Then I progressed down my normal emotional journey through the land of upset to a point where I brought up every person who I felt had wronged me in the past couple weeks my lifetime, including the couple who blew us off for Christmas dinner last year at the last minute because they had a better offer. (Even after calming down, that one still makes me mad.)
As I was really getting worked up, Gandalf vomited. He hadn't been acting like himself for most of yesterday, and by last night he had started getting sick. I was a little bit concerned, but he's a golden retriever, so he's always eating things that aren't fit for canine consumption. However, the vomiting continued and it started to smell. Even worse, Gandalf suddenly looked terrible. Minor concern turned to real worry. While the Big Giraffe stayed home with the boys, I took Gandalf to the vet for an emergency appointment. Gandalf walked to the car and from the car into the vet's office, but once he was there, he couldn't walk anymore.
The vet immediately gave him x-rays and put Gandalf on IV fluids. He told me he would give me a call when he had more info. I didn't even make it home before he called my cell phone. The test results suggested that Gandalf had a GDV. His best chance for survival was to get to the local veterinary hospital (at Tufts vet school) and, if the diagnosis were confirmed, have immediate, emergency surgery. I burst into tears as I drove back to the vet's office. The staff brought Gandalf out in a stretcher and loaded him back in my car. The tears continued to flow as I drove Gandalf to the vet school from which I once was supposed to graduate this May.
At the school, the veterinary students rushed out to take him from my car and put him on a gurney. Then I got to wait. It was agony and I felt incredibly guilty for being so self-centered this morning. Truth be told, Gandalf is one of my best friends. He's always happy to see me and spend time with me no matter what. He would never pass up time with me at the last minute for a better offer; in fact I bet he would just love to go out for dessert with me.
I sat in the hospital crying and wiping my nose with soggy, well-used tissues. Everyone else was there with someone else. No one would sit next to me, or the weird guy who was there with his dog. Even the weird guy was giving me looks. I tried to make small talk with a couple sitting next to me, but after a few terse answers, they got up and moved. Nice. No, they weren't there for an emergency. I tried to distract myself by reading a magazine, but my only choices were AARP or an August issue of People.
After eight hours one hour, the vet came out. She wanted to do more x-rays before the surgery. More time passed. I wondered how people with loved ones in surgery can handle the waiting. I made a mental note to myself that if I ever know someone who's sitting in the waiting room of a hospital (animal or human) that I will definitely go over and sit with them if they're by themselves. At the very least I will bring them a sandwich and a better magazine.
The vet finally returned with good news. Although the x-rays looked troubling, just as they were about to prep for the surgery, Gandalph started to walk. He was improving. The vet was very positively surprised. I felt like I had just won a million dollars
As the vet went back to perform additional tests, I was finally able to relax in the waiting room. I even located a box of kleenex. When a vet tech came out to return Gandalf's vet's stretcher, I even tried to make small talk with the weird guy, joking about my pleasure that the stretcher had not been lost. He reacted similarly to the couple; he inched away from me. Even he couldn't quash my happy spirits. To be fair, after observing my arrival with my own stretcher and my sob fest, he may be describing me on a blog somewhere as the "weird woman".
In addition to caring for the boys, the Big Giraffe had undertaken two missions. He had been scheduled to deliver the weekly welcome and announcements at church, so he needed to find a fellow church board member to cover. I had committed to babysitting for the daughter of a friend through the babysitting co-op, so that she and her husband could see a show. The Big Giraffe needed to find a replacement co-op member to cover. When I called the Big Giraffe to share the good news, he was ecstatic that Gandalf was recovering. He was also able to share good wishes from the church friend and the many babysitting co-op friends with whom he spoke during the day. When I got home, I received a very nice email from a friend in my playgroup. My parents were also very concerned and generously offered to foot the vet bills. If you have pets, you know what a big offer that is.
Gandalf is out of the woods, but he still needs to remain in the hospital for at least 24 hours. He still may end up needing surgery, but it looks like he will be fine. I'm ending the day feeling very lucky. Lucky and exhausted.
I'm so sorry you had to go through that. I'm glad to hear Doggie is getting better, and I'm sending super positive thoughts your way that he will make a full recovery soon. <3
Speedy recovery wishes to Gandalf. And I don't think you should feel bad for feeling lost earlier in the day. We all go through it. Incidentally, for many of the reasons you gave, the rate of people suffering from depression increases dramatically during the holidays, especially women. Hugs!!!
Boy, that post made me really, really nervous and a little teary there in the middle. I'm sending good vibes to Gandalf. Some to you, too. You have a right to your feelings, and it's okay to be self-absorbed somtimes.
Whew... Glad he's recovering. And the vet bills being covered is a huge present! Seems to me that even though you're far away, your family is still involved in your life... and that you have friends that consider you family... take care.
I'm so glad that Gandalf is okay. I hope that he comes home soon. And I hope that you aren't too hard on yourself for what were very legitimate feelings earlier in the day.
Oh, poor puppy! What a miserable day, but I'm thrilled you got good news in the end.
My parents have never been pet people but when our dpg had some mysterious seizures earlier this year, my mother called me almost daily to check on her. It was very sweet.
Professional Mom of two cats, a dog, an ant farm, and oh yeah...two boys: a 6 year old and a 3 year old. Also found in my house is my husband who is known on this blog as The Big Giraffe.
For those of us who didn't get an instruction manual with our babies and for whom parenting hasn't always gone as planned. On a more serious note this blog is about supporting a woman's ability to make her own choices about parenting including the choice, for whatever reason, to bottle feed her babies formula.
I'm so sorry you had to go through that. I'm glad to hear Doggie is getting better, and I'm sending super positive thoughts your way that he will make a full recovery soon.
<3