I confess I
leave precious little time in my schedule on a good day; and I leave “zero”
room for emergencies… (something I’ve got to work on), but such a change was not
on the docket for today.
With Rosey
responsibly seen to (she was heading back to the clinic so the surgeon could
examine her sutures under proper lighting and with the aid of anesthesia) I hit
the ground running, feeling overly optimistic about all I could accomplish. The
surgeon’s assistant made a second house call in as many days-- this time to fetch
Rosey and haul her in. (No small feat just getting Rosey in a vehicle… Did I mention how
much I love these people?)
Like a
single mother with a daycare pass, I had reconstructed my “to do’s” so as to
make up for a week’s worth of work in a 7 hour window. With Rosey safely out
the door, I commenced to checking things off the list as fast as my little
heart would let me.
I met with my barn builder… reviewed
layouts. We designed goat stalls and factored in well water. I spoke with
trademark attorneys, scanning signatures back in time for renewals. I reviewed
reprint numbers for a cookbook going into its 3rd printing. I confirmed
meetings with well pump designers, solar panel specialists and electricians. I likewise confirmed a second vet to come take a look at Hics’s tumor. And before
heading into Nashville for meetings I packed a cooler’s worth of veggies for stops
I’d make along the way.
With the
bulk of this list complete I was finally pointed home when in rush hour traffic
it hit me: “I haven’t heard back from the
clinic…Sure hope Rosey’s ok.”
The outgoing
message said “Call us back in 15 minutes if we haven’t returned your call.” I
had done that twice already. Just then it hit me: Ohmygosh!
What if something went wrong? How many times have we heard of some “routine
operation” going awry? My mind was now cranking as I heard myself asking, “Would YOU want to call you, Evins?” It occurred to me that if the clinic had
bad news, they’d probably want to tell me in person given all we’ve been
through…The voice in my head said, “Why I
bet they’re discussing right now just how to break it to you.”
For the past 72 it’s been all Rosey
all the time; but in this last 6 things had grown suddenly silent. So
what if I’d only called in the last hour? My mind, being creatively wired as it is,
can go crazy with an idea like this; the wheels were starting to turn, doing a number
on my head (not to mention my heart). Raw panic hit me like a tidal wave.
Despite the
rules, I was texting and driving… “Could you please call?” followed by “Is
there a problem?” I am normally an optimistic person by nature, but something
felt totally wrong about this moment and for reasons I can only attribute to
sleep deprivation I started to clutch.
I called my foster dog friend who had recommended the clinic...By the time she answered
I was a blubbering mess trying to explain my theoretical crisis. With no more
business to distract, my mind was free to wander all over the place, and wander
it did—sadly to places that under normal circumstances, would not have left me
thinking my dog had crossed the rainbow bridge coming out of anesthesia.
The sad
news is, for a solid 45 minutes my beloved Rosey was dead.
The good
news is, “ecstatic” doesn’t begin to describe my reaction to the text that
read, “She’s OK! She’s OK! They got
really busy and forgot to call you back!”
It was the
strangest, most surreal emotional roller coaster ride I’d experienced in quite
some while…all in a 45 minute window. Rosey had her own little NDE, only it was
totally in my mind.
I’ve heard of living every day like
it’s your last, but living like it’s your dog’s last was a new one, even for me.
(Surely there’s a country song in here somewhere.) But you can bet your bottom dollar no one’s ever
hugged a dog like I hugged Rosey tonight!
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