The Accidental Olympian

TURNS OUT BEING SICK IS A GREAT WAY TO TURN ON THE SELF LOATHING

I have been the worst sick-day patient EVER. 

Work for a couple hours, tell myself I can pull it together, but then give up because I know if I just get some rest I'll be better tomorrow and kick this shit, plus, isn't that why I have 60+ hours of sick time, and also I'd like to add to this run on sentence that calling in sick when you work from home means your work is still right there looking at you like, "Why aren't you just doing me Ashley, you're still home aren't you?" and before you know it you're yelling back at your computer, "YES I'm home, but my brain feels like swiss cheese, and my throat is being an asshole and if you'd just stop judging me computer then I might actually get some rest and feel better for the rest of the week!" which is futile because HI you're yelling at a computer while you lay in bed alone which means you might have a fever, and hey, WHY ARE YOU LOOKING AT ME LIKE THAT COMPUTER?

 

Shit. I'm going to need a mental health day, from this mental health day. 

In other news, I do sometimes take picture with things other than my cell phone. SURPRISE!

I went snowshoeing this weekend AND cross-country skiing and if you're not careful winter and I are going to run off and get married or something and invite NONE of you to the wedding. None of you. 

There you have it. 

I'm still sick.

But not dying, so feeling guilty about being sick. 

Still also feeling terribly pathetic about feeling pathetic about being sick.

Which means I'm even confusing myself in this sickness wormhole. 

Also, it's still snowing. 

And I still like it.

Even though certain PEOPLE have no faith in my abilities to cope.

YES BEING SICK HAS MADE ME SENSITIVE AND DISGRUNTLED. WHY DO YOU ASK?

 

Check back in next week when I tell your kids that Santa isn't real and the tooth fairy is a lie. 

HAPPY TIMES!

OHHHHHHHHHHHH REALLY

So then.... what does that say about ME? 

OMG, am I aging faster than normal? 

Am I going to end up like that kid in the movie Jack? 

What's next? Osteoporosis? Hunching over? The suddenly desire to wear flower swim caps at the pool? Will my skin develop that thin as paper feeling old ladies get? Am I going to find myself standing in my front yard in my robe and slippers yelling at kids to get off my lawn? Where does this horror end?

First shingles at 26, next WHAT EXACTLY?????

It's the beginning of the end my friends. 

 

 

HA! Wait! That's perfect, "the beginning of the end," since all those nuts think the world is ending on Saturday, May 21st. Maybe I'm prematurely aging to catch up with the fact that the world is ending this Saturday on Adam's birthday. 

It all makes sense to me now. 

And I mean hell, if the world does end on Saturday, at least I don't have to pay back my student loans. 

WINNING. 

WHERE IS THE PAUSE BUTTON?

Things are, well NUTS around here. 

One of my coping mechanisms is I've taken to writing my "to-do" list on the bathroom mirror in a dry erase marker.

There is a road trip packing list, a to-do list, a house chores list, a to-sell list, a word doc on my computer, post-it notes, notes on my cell phone, in my email, scrawled on the back of my hands. 

When I think I've got it all, I know EVERYTHING we could possibly need to do before April 30th, of course something new is added.

That's the nature of moving. 

It delights in making you feel as if you're running in place. 

 

 

The other day TILTE emailed me asking for a Stella update. Is she ok? Medication working? No longer snacking on her own poop? And I keep meaning to email her back with a, "Thank you for asking, I love you so much, please can I come over to your house and have you pet my hair and so I can tell you all the sordid details," reply, but alas, I hardly have any brain function anymore.

So TILTE, here's my reply! 

Among the list of things like, "research Alaska internet providers, sell boat, pack books, pay apartment deposit, wash exterior windows, repair kitchen wall, repaint kitchen, take items to Goodwill, continue breathing, etc," I am also trying to decide what to do with Stella. 

You see, she's on an anti leaking pill she takes willingly every Tuesday night and on top of that she has another pill she takes every 8 hours. Yep.

Every. Eight. Hours. 

This has taken us from a dog that honestly dripped urine awake and asleep (I know, ADORABLE trait) to a 98% normal dog. But we're still not 100%. We can't figure out if it's medical or behavioral, and I just wish I could get down on the ground with her and have her tell me what's wrong. Is it Oly? Is she stressing you out? Are you even leaking anymore or is this some kind of submissive peeing? Is it us? Are we not being patient enough? Is it the meds? What do you need my dear? 

She also seems to have a constant case of cotton mouth. 

And I really wish the solution to this problem was that I give her a stern talking to and tell her to stop smoking so much pot behind the bleachers with that horrible neighbor girl Nicole, but sadly, this is not the remedy. 

Plus, she still enjoys eating her own poop. 

Sometimes I feel like standing in the yard, looking to the sky and shaking my fist very sternly while shouting, "WHAT THE FUCK DID WE DO TO DESERVE THIS? HUH?!?!?!"

There are less than two weeks till go time, and I feel so conflicted. 

Do I take her to the vet who's seen this whole roller coaster progress for one last round of tests? Knowing that two visits will easily total $1,000 that could be put towards moving? 

Or do I wait till we get to Anchorage and take her somewhere new? See if a fresh set of eyes can see something we've missed? I mean, this state has the Iditarod for crying out loud, might there be someone even more dog specialized for her to see?

How do you know the right way to progress with something like this? 

 

 

 

When I talk to friends about Stella and the steps we've already taken to get her healthy (can you say $2,000+ in medical bills all before the age of 6 months?) they look at my like I'm out of my mind. 

Who would do this for a DOG? 

But you see, they haven't met this dog. 

This dog that each person who has come into contact with has been shocked and amazed by the unusual personality of my little medical mystery. 

The calm, dedication, love and complete lack of puppy behavior that oozes from my spotted pup. 

She is in every essence what people dream of when they think of adopting a puppy and almost never get. 

Minus the medical nonsense of course. 

I need to fix her. 

I just wish she'd tell me how... 

GUESS WHERE I AM????????????????????????

Did you guess the Pet ER?

You know, the same one I was at only 2 months ago with my adventurous eater Miss Oly.

It's like I live here or something.

 

As I mentioned before, bringing Stella home has been a little wild. Three days into Stella ownership, there Adam and I were at the vet being told that because Stella didn't have a UTI, she would live a horrible miserable life and should just be put down.

After the first vet sent me home in tears our shelter contact brought us back to her vet where Stella was prescribed an antibiotic in the hopes her leaking issues (as if potty training isn't horrible enough, throw in a little leaking for added carpet hell) were caused by an infection after being spayed.

But, a week later we were still leaking, and by 'we' I of course mean her. And getting quite creative regarding keeping the carpets safe. Doesn't she look dashing in my old panties? 

The last couple days have been hell. One minute someone is optimistic, the next someone is telling me that I need to give the dog back and they'll put her down. No one really knows what is going on, and people keep just going to the dark place, the dead place, meaning I go to the crying place. Like the WOW crying place. 

So here I sit. Finally at the specialist. The man who instead of going immediately to the bad place is actually running real live tests. TESTS PEOPLE! Tests that might result in some answers. Some answers could be expensive, some could be easy to treat, one might be more expensive than myself or the shelter we got her from can honestly afford. I'm trying not to think about that option though, because when I go there I feel sick to my stomach and I don't know if I could go through with it, and what kind of person would that make me? And honestly, how do you go on knowing THAT was what you had to resort to? I can't even write the words because they make me physically ill to think about what we'd be forced to resort to so instead I'll keep calling it THAT and praying we don't need to go down that horrible horrible road.

(sigh)

 

The point is we're finally looking for a treatment instead of simply talking about the worst.

And that, that helps me sleep a little better at night.

Just a little.

 

 

Hold me.

For realz guys.

YOU HAVE A BRAIN TUMOR, AND YOU'LL PROBABLY JUST DIE

I wanted to stop talking about the puppy (who we named Stella by the way), I really did. I had this whole other post ready for you that wasn't even about this damn dog, and then Saturday happened. And I knew I needed to share the horror with you.

To help you get the true feeling of our visit to the vet yesterday (yes, we've had her all of three days and we were already in the vet. Foreshadow much?) I am going to explain what happened from the perspective of if I had been the patient at a human doctor.

 

 

Let's say I've been having a headache (puppy was having what appeared to be a UTI. And by explaining the puppies illness I just got this whole human version of the story really confusing. Already. You're in for it!). 

So I go to the doctor.

They take a urine sample to check to see if I have some, who knows, let's say imbalance that might be causing my headaches. If they see it in my urine, I get some pills and TA-DA headaches gone.

Before they take my sample I mention an issue I'm having with an urge to eat my own poop (ok, well you have to know that one is ALL THE DOGS ISSUE. Man I suck at this story) and the doctor says she can prescribe me something that will stop that urge no problem. I'm thrilled to finally stop eating my own shit.

She returns and tells me that my urine was fine so OBVIOUSLY this means the only other reason I'm having headaches is I have a brain tumor.

I look absolutely horror stricken.

I ask how she knows I have a brain tumor based only on headaches and a non conclusive pee test.

She says it's the only other option since the pee test failed.

She says she could do some more tests, but they're just going to reveal a bad outcome. Of eventual, death. 

I ask about treatment, I mean HI she just told me I'm going to die!

She says it's costly, and I'll still just die.

I cry. A lot. This woman says based on a UTI pee test I'm doomed!

Adam looks at me terrified because, wow, I'm going to die!

Doctor says if I'm really willing to go through the effort I could get a second opinion, but it's only going to be the same diagnosis. DEATH and other equally bad shit. So, it might just be a waste of money. 

"I know this is horrible news, and I'm so sorry. If you're not too attached to your life, Washington state did recently pass an assisted suicide law, so we could go in the back room and just get this whole death thing over with now and save yourself and your family anymore heartache," she says.

Cue more tears.

OMG I'm going to die!

Should I just end it now?

Maybe I should just go home and cry a little first. 

Since I'm going to die and all.

"I guess you wont be needing these anti poop eating meds anymore right?" she asks, "Since you're going to die and all?"

Sobbing into my lap, "I guess not. What's the point? Why even waste the money curing a habit I wont live to outgrow," I choke out.

"Thought so," she sweetly replies.

{end scene}

 

 

 

You think I'm joking don't you?

No vet would EVER tell someone based off an inconclusive UTI urine test, without doing ANY other tests that the outcome of their dog was doom and gloom and pretty much an expensive wasteland of hell before them. Right? NO VET WOULD DO THAT?

Wrong.

She told us about owners who were already very "attached" to their dogs simply having their dogs wear diapers. Of course implying that since Stella is just a puppy, and only with us for three days, putting her down before we waste our feelings and our wallet is the best option for everyone.

Oh, and she also mentioned shortened lifespan.

Based off a UTI test.

AND convinced us not to buy the anti poop eating meds, since we would probably decide to terminate Stella's life and all.

 

 

People, this lady FUCKED WITH OUR HEADS. I sobbed all the way home with Stella in my lap. Looking down at this sweet dog that I already love after 3 stupid days thinking about how the doctor was telling us her life was basically over. If she continued to go on with existing she'd be nothing more than a medical wasteland.

I placed a sobbing call to the shelter we got her from and I couldn't love Adopt-A-Pet more than I did in that moment. Our shelter contact was THIS close to coming down to Olympia to beat the living shit out of that woman. I wanted to kiss her.

Miss Stella will be heading to the shelter's local vet for a checkup and full blood test (because that's how you ACTUALLY test for things like kidney failure or a hormonal imbalance, VET LADY) and I'm hoping that what this really is, what the vet should have said to us is that Stella was spayed a week and a half ago and her body and her bladder is getting back into routine. Also, she's only 12 weeks old. She's still growing, give her two more weeks, if it improves do nothing, if it stays the same, try something new.

Not, "Well, it's not a UTI, so she'll probably have some horrible condition and be better off dead."

 

 

I sure know how to pick um, huh?