In the course of four days, both my husband and one of my dogs ended up in the emergency room.
It was a stressful stretch, to be sure. But I am trying to look on the bright side and thinking “all’s well that ends well.”
At least so far.
The trouble began when Paul came back from walking Aquinnah, our chocolate lab, at 4:30 a.m. “I fell,” he said.
Paul had landed flat on his face. His glasses flew off. He had abrasions on his forehead, knuckles and right knee.
The wounds were ugly, but I didn’t think he was seriously hurt. Still, I thought he should get himself checked out. I once fell at work and, of course, policy required that I go to Workplace Health. Though I had no visible wounds, I did require treatment for a twisted wrist.
Paul was perturbed because he had no idea how he had fallen. When it was light enough, he went back to the scene of the crime (the end of our driveway) to see if there was anything lying around that he might have tripped over. I said, “You are walking a 13-year-old 85-pound labrador retriever in the dark. It’s surprising it hasn’t happened before.”
He was proud, however, that even though he dropped Quinn’s leash when he fell, he grabbed for it immediately, before he even got up.
For his part, Quinn just stood there, looking concerned.
Paul could have gone to “urgent care” or his own doctor, but their offices didn’t open until 8. I thought he should go to the ER as soon as possible. It was a work day for me, but I arranged to go in a bit later so I could stay home with the dogs. Thirteen year old labs don’t like disruptions to their schedules.
Paul was examined, received a tetanus shot and was told to watch for signs of a mild concussion. His knuckles continued to bleed on and off for the next couple of days and he felt woozy—probably a combination of the shot and a concussion. But it could have been a lot worse. He didn’t even break his glasses.
On Saturday, we were able to get away for a few hours for a walk along the coast and have lunch out. That night, Paul took Quinn for his constitutional. A neighbor’s dog ran out to the sidewalk, headed for Quinn, and the street beyond. The owners were yelling for the dog to come back. As the dog neared Quinn, Paul was shouting, “Get your dog.”
Quinn was “harrumphing” continuously when they got back. That’s the word I use for a particular gagging noise he makes from time to time. He has some sort of laryngeal weakness that labs are prone to in old age. He can’t bark like he used to; he makes this deep, low “harrumph” noise instead.
Usually I don’t worry about it, but he wouldn’t stop and seemed very agitated. I was worried he was going to go into cardiac arrest. After an hour, we were ready to take him to the emergency animals clinic (40 minutes away). But then I noticed that when I left the room, he quieted down. Maybe my anxiety was feeding his.
The harrumphing slowed down. Paul decided he would sleep with Quinn downstairs, while Martha and I headed to the bedroom. Quinn didn’t stop making the noise, but the frequency slowed considerably. The next morning, I suggested that Paul—who still had a badly scraped forehead and knuckles— take him to the animal ER. I was afraid that if he ate breakfast, he might choke. I wanted a veterinarian to take a look at him.
The report was good. The vet was sure Quinn had irritated his throat or larynx in the encounter. He gave Quinn a shot of an anti-inflammatory medicine, and said it might take a couple of days to clear up.
Quinn did well when he came home. He ate and the harrumphs were infrequent. By Monday he was much better.
Still, he’s a senior dog, and he does have a condition (not to mention at least 10 fatty tumors). I was on edge all of Sunday. When I am in that state, I have to tell myself to “go with the universe.” Bad things happen. We just have to deal with them. And yes, sometimes several misfortunes befall us at the same time. It’s the old, “it doesn’t rain but it pours.”
One friend had two cars break down in rapid succession. Another has had difficult times three springs in a row—family deaths and surgery. A colleague had a heart attack and then her house burned.
Tragedy can strike in the blink of an eye, and it doesn’t care if you had a tragedy yesterday. But we can’t live our lives thinking that way. I try to appreciate the normal, ordinary, somewhat boring days. They are gifts.
Quinn is sleeping peacefully as I write this. Paul’s wounds are fading. The sun is shining; the wind is rattling the windows. In this moment, all is well in my world. I am grateful for that, no matter what the next moment brings.
It was a stressful stretch, to be sure. But I am trying to look on the bright side and thinking “all’s well that ends well.”
At least so far.
The trouble began when Paul came back from walking Aquinnah, our chocolate lab, at 4:30 a.m. “I fell,” he said.
Paul had landed flat on his face. His glasses flew off. He had abrasions on his forehead, knuckles and right knee.
The wounds were ugly, but I didn’t think he was seriously hurt. Still, I thought he should get himself checked out. I once fell at work and, of course, policy required that I go to Workplace Health. Though I had no visible wounds, I did require treatment for a twisted wrist.
Paul was perturbed because he had no idea how he had fallen. When it was light enough, he went back to the scene of the crime (the end of our driveway) to see if there was anything lying around that he might have tripped over. I said, “You are walking a 13-year-old 85-pound labrador retriever in the dark. It’s surprising it hasn’t happened before.”
He was proud, however, that even though he dropped Quinn’s leash when he fell, he grabbed for it immediately, before he even got up.
For his part, Quinn just stood there, looking concerned.
Paul could have gone to “urgent care” or his own doctor, but their offices didn’t open until 8. I thought he should go to the ER as soon as possible. It was a work day for me, but I arranged to go in a bit later so I could stay home with the dogs. Thirteen year old labs don’t like disruptions to their schedules.
Paul was examined, received a tetanus shot and was told to watch for signs of a mild concussion. His knuckles continued to bleed on and off for the next couple of days and he felt woozy—probably a combination of the shot and a concussion. But it could have been a lot worse. He didn’t even break his glasses.
On Saturday, we were able to get away for a few hours for a walk along the coast and have lunch out. That night, Paul took Quinn for his constitutional. A neighbor’s dog ran out to the sidewalk, headed for Quinn, and the street beyond. The owners were yelling for the dog to come back. As the dog neared Quinn, Paul was shouting, “Get your dog.”
Quinn was “harrumphing” continuously when they got back. That’s the word I use for a particular gagging noise he makes from time to time. He has some sort of laryngeal weakness that labs are prone to in old age. He can’t bark like he used to; he makes this deep, low “harrumph” noise instead.
Usually I don’t worry about it, but he wouldn’t stop and seemed very agitated. I was worried he was going to go into cardiac arrest. After an hour, we were ready to take him to the emergency animals clinic (40 minutes away). But then I noticed that when I left the room, he quieted down. Maybe my anxiety was feeding his.
The harrumphing slowed down. Paul decided he would sleep with Quinn downstairs, while Martha and I headed to the bedroom. Quinn didn’t stop making the noise, but the frequency slowed considerably. The next morning, I suggested that Paul—who still had a badly scraped forehead and knuckles— take him to the animal ER. I was afraid that if he ate breakfast, he might choke. I wanted a veterinarian to take a look at him.
The report was good. The vet was sure Quinn had irritated his throat or larynx in the encounter. He gave Quinn a shot of an anti-inflammatory medicine, and said it might take a couple of days to clear up.
Quinn did well when he came home. He ate and the harrumphs were infrequent. By Monday he was much better.
Still, he’s a senior dog, and he does have a condition (not to mention at least 10 fatty tumors). I was on edge all of Sunday. When I am in that state, I have to tell myself to “go with the universe.” Bad things happen. We just have to deal with them. And yes, sometimes several misfortunes befall us at the same time. It’s the old, “it doesn’t rain but it pours.”
One friend had two cars break down in rapid succession. Another has had difficult times three springs in a row—family deaths and surgery. A colleague had a heart attack and then her house burned.
Tragedy can strike in the blink of an eye, and it doesn’t care if you had a tragedy yesterday. But we can’t live our lives thinking that way. I try to appreciate the normal, ordinary, somewhat boring days. They are gifts.
Quinn is sleeping peacefully as I write this. Paul’s wounds are fading. The sun is shining; the wind is rattling the windows. In this moment, all is well in my world. I am grateful for that, no matter what the next moment brings.
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