The Hospital, The Accident

I am grateful for so many things right now. First and foremost for my health and my wonderful husband. Second (but tied for first) for the incredible doctors and nurses who are helping repair me--they are saints: every single one of them. I have had the most attentive, patient, kind, professional staff ever work on me during this past week. Third, but still tied for first are all of the dear friends and folks in our lives--my husband's office and their support has helped both he and I weather this storm in more ways than I can count. Without them, I don't know what we'd do. I was admitted on Monday, but am due to come home on Saturday--(my fingers are crossed). Phone calls to see how I was doing, just checking in--short chats--have been life savers. Two of my dearest friends--just checking in: life saving. Our healthcare system and its compassionate workers are what saved me, too. From a physical standpoint, the scars I have will be with me for the rest of my life. The incident that changed everything in a moment will also live with me forever. I begged Mr. Thyme to please bring me my laptop. My writing is in itself healing. I have felt lost without it.


It was over nine years ago when I received a call about a puppy that was found in an alley near the Mississippi River--someone had brought this little man into the city pound in a fast food cup. He still had his umbilical cord attached. He needed hand feeding, would I do it? How could I say no (I am way better at saying "no" today, trust me!). I rushed down there to find the little guy barely fit the length of my palm, all squirming, eyes still shut, not yet able to see the world around him. He was precious. We loved him. We tended to his every need--setting up a little incubator to keep him warm. I was like a new mother. The feedings, the training. I did need some guidance on what exactly was involved when one "hand raised" a puppy without a litter. I was given instruction and guidance by other fellow "rescuers" in the community. I went to work to save his life. He was a handful. He had a family of canines totally enamored with him the whole time. All the while, I kept thinking about what he might turn out to be--what breed exactly was it that I was "hand raising"--some breeds you can see right away, others are more difficult to conclude. I guessed maybe a pit mix, or a golden/lab mix (as so many in shelters are)--he turned out to be a rare breed, and newer to this country in terms of his AKC registration. I actually thought for several years we had a golden retriever mix on our hands. Not so--he appeared to be a pure bread. He was our "Little Man." So he was special. . . from the very beginning.

When he was about three, our house in the city (we have since moved) was burglarized--thieves had kicked in our privacy fence to get into our garage. In doing so, this allowed our "morning"routine to be disrupted quite a bit. When I let the kids out--the thugs were still trying to get into our cars--three of our dogs chased them, ran after them, and probably scared the heck out of them: good dogs! Then, they were gone out the backyard: my dogs with them. One of them was Little Man. . . for three days he was missing--gone. Here I was in shock over the assault on our property, but dealt a double blow when my babies left, too. It nearly killed me. I had lost all my strength, could not even think about going to work. The two others had found their way home, thank god. But not Little Man. He took a detour. When he was found three days later, the shelter called to say a woman came home to find him in her bushes, shaking and scared. Who knows what he had been through. I just wept constantly. (Over the course of several days, I went everywhere distributing his picture, sharing our contact info.) Please help me find him. Sharing the whole dreadful story over and over again. It was a nightmare. Someone eventually found him and I was phoned. We were reunited.

We discovered he had gone blind this past fall. Still, our vet (another saint in our lives) and our assessment together noted that nothing was out of the ordinary health-wise. Just his blindness--otherwise, he had his favorite girlfriend and when they were outside together, he couldn't stand to not be near her. Still, not presenting any other outward changes in "health" that would send up alarms. This is hard for me to write, and I am still on IV antibiotics and sitting in my hospital bed, and I am crying during most of this, but it will help me to get this out there--bear with me.

Sunday, as I was preparing dinner--I knealed down to my bookshelf to peruse one of my cookbooks for dinner ideas. Sitting cross-legged on the floor, I had two in my lap. Our Little Man was with me. Then out of nowhere, I was screaming in pain and saw the blood. I looked down and saw him, he was still there, no growl, nothing. Just wagging his tail. Something was not right here. No warning, no precursor to any of this. Meantime, my husband ran in and began attending to me. I was going to be fine, I insisted. Well, I almost wasn't fine. And am lucky I made it in to my doctor first thing in the morning. He then promptly admitted me to the hospital.

We had to say good-bye to "Little Man" on Monday.

When I started down the "rescue" path, it sort of tore at my soul--to actually realize the number of unwanted dogs and cats that pass through area shelters each year. I became entrenched in the "world of rescue". Shortly thereafter, I had a decision to make--open my own shelter (not enough money for this) or try something else to help fund programs to prevent animals from ending up there in the first place. I could NOT save every single dog out there--and needed to not do any more volunteer work at the shelter--it was killing me emotionally. So I founded Sweat-4-Pets ten years ago to raise money for OpSpot (Operation Stop Pet Overpopulation Today)--who welcomed the idea and who allowed me to work with them in doing so. It was not an easy start, getting a brand new fundraiser off the ground,  but you can't just stop in one year and give up--they had faith in me and the idea--and here we are ten years later. OpSpot is dedicated to eliminating the unnecessary euthanasia of dogs and cats in St. Louis and surrounding areas--we raise money to help families afford spaying and neutering their pets.

I am devastated. I am a wreck emotionally. I cry on and off. I see him in my memory, not as the dog that did this to me, but as the dog we knew for years who would never do this to me. I am, however, healing and will be heading home soon. I will need more meds through an IV when I get home (this should be fun--the whole affair of insertion of this "needle" will probably take place tomorrow).

Again, I am in good hands. I am so very grateful to everyone that has helped me along the way. I want to get better. I want to run my half marathon in April--doctors say this should be no problem. I want to get back to my kitchen and cook. It's Valentine's Day weekend for goodness sake--I want chocolate!