Normal Will Never Happen
I had a major epiphany this evening, August 24, at approximately 7:01 pm. This major breakthrough occurred just after I’d left a rambling, rather frantic message for a friend about when and where to meet her tomorrow morning for the completion of a good deed that I myself sucked myself into.
I will never have a normal life.
It’s taken me 35 years to realize this. (I’m not counting the first 18 years of my life because really, does anyone 18 or under even want or know what normal is?)
The impetus for this deep realization is that I’m up to my eyeballs in a number of things right now. Those things include being a small business owner and dealing with an ever-growing client base (that really is a good thing, but lately many ups and downs), my decision to volunteer as a trial secretary for an upcoming agility show (I knew that one was going to lead to stress, I just didn’t think I’d be dealing with other stressful things at the same time), my ever-present willingness to jump in and help and try to do good deeds (even if it means that much more work for me), the fact that I have four dogs – one of which is a month shy of 13 years old and is driving me freakin’ batty because we haven’t gone out to do anything in like four days and last, but far from least, Camm’s rehab.
Yes, it’s true, Clunky Foot Camm is no more.
Now she’s Shriveley Foot Camm. Okay, shriveley isn’t really a word, but it should be.
We’re saving the clunk though as a memento of the past 12 weeks.
On Monday, Camm had her second set of x-rays taken to determine the progress of her broken metatarsal bone healing. (The first set taken at eight weeks showed the bone had not healed completely, meaning Camm got to spend some extra special longer bonding time with her splint/bandage apparatus.)
I had an inkling that the news was good when I could hear the vet tech bringing a dog back into the waiting room area and that dog was not making a clunking sound as she walked.
Sadly however, we must now work on ridding ourselves of the shriveled-up, tiny and inadequate foot.
Camm’s rear foot is a very, very sad dangling thing at present. It’s shriveled, it’s punctuated by some very sore pink spots and it’s bent into the same position it has been in for the past 12 weeks. The sight of it makes my want to cry, it’s so pathetic.
Today, we had our first appointment with an underwater treadmill.
The side benefit to weeks of seeing the vet twice a week for bandage checks is that Camm now loves the vet office. To her credit as a charmer and as a well-behaved dog, she has publicly been named as a favorite by many of the staff there. (Sorry Brady. I think the Sexy Vet Office Lady Friends are appreciative that Camm doesn’t feel the need to poke her nose in their privates. Every. Single. Time.)
Today Camm went to a new vet office. She was nonplussed by this.
As chilled out as she was, she was still prepared to get a bit snarky when the vet started handling the tiny dangly body part that used to be a perfectly functioning rear paw, but was taken aback when he informed her he would snark back. Therefore she decided that she’d let me hold her collar while he rubbed and manipulated her sore little pink foot.
Then, much to Camm’s amazement, she was hustled, at least with me by her side, to another room that had a cat wandering about inside. But before she could find out that the cat wasn’t kind to dogs (I was told this, she quickly forgot about the cat as a result of the next series of events), she was hustled into a large box with clear glass sides. Confusing to say the least, but all handled in stride.
And then the box started filling with water.
Holy mother of gods! Camm stared at the rising water, then looked at me. To her credit though, she wasn’t frightened. Camm had a plan. Swim to safety.
Poor Camm who hasn’t gotten to go swimming all summer was suddenly swimming for her life in a glass box and the water was rising fast.
And then the floor moved.
Holy motherfucking hell!
Camm thrashed about looking for a way to swim out of the glass box.
The vet and therapist dryly observed she was swimming and not walking on the underwater treadmill as was the proper protocol.
Well, duh! Did anyone explain to Camm the proper protocol? Did anyone explain there was an alternative to swimming in a box of water?
Thus, the water level dropped.
Ah! Camm instantly understood. She started to walk as best as she could on the moving floor despite the high water. And despite a sore foot that hasn’t been used in 12 weeks and she didn’t think she’d ever get to use again.
And then the moving floor began moving faster.
What the hell? Can’t a border collie girl get a break?!
It was an exhausting 30 minutes.
Still, as far as Camm was concerned 1) she did get to finally have a swim, 2) shriveley foot isn’t as stinky now, 3) the new vet place gives out really good treats, 4) she made some new people friends, and 5) she finally got out of the house and DID something today!
Surprisingly, shriveley foot isn’t looking quite as pathetic already and Camm is very fluffy.
Now, we get to do that twice a week for at least the next month.
Good thing I got another new client today.
Sorry, Youke. Won’t be any time for any naps in the next several weeks.