Tuesday, May 25, 2010

To hell and back

What a horrible few days. The two men in my life are down for the count, leaving me stressed and scared.

The weekend started with my little man, Moose going to the vet to get his teeth cleaned. If you'd smelled his breath even once, you'd be signing him up for a dental cleaning, too. But I dragged him to the vet with some trepidation. Moose always has trouble with anasthesia and Friday was no exception. The vet couldn't keep him steadily asleep; because of this, Moose vomited during the procedure, spewing bacteria into his lungs and thereby greatly increasing his risk of pneumonia. Moose now lives on two antibiotics and lots of my prayers that his body fights the infection.

But there's more. Moose lost seven teeth, six of which literally fell out of his mouth the minute the dental instrument touched them. The vet says some dogs are prone to plaque problems and Moose is one of them. I assumed this would mean that Moose should get his teeth cleaned more often, but the vet advised against it because Moose has so much trouble with anathesia. My poor Moose may be a toothless wonder before long. I guess if worse comes to worst, I'll be making him meaty milkshakes. Thank God there aren't doggie dentures because I'm sure the vet's office would be trying to sell me a set.

Moose seems pretty well recovered now. He does cough from time to time, but that could be from the trach tube, too. So I'm watching and waiting and bribing him with balls of raw hamburger that conceal his antibiotics. He really likes the hamburger, thank God.

So that was Friday. Saturday was far worse.

My boyfriend, Tom, spends Saturdays with his teenage son, Michael. Much to my complete dismay, Tom and Michael both recently purchased crotch rocket motorcycles. I HATE THEM. Why my 55-year-old, not-in-the-greatest-of-health boyfriend feels the need to ride one of those God-awful death traps is completely beyond me. I suspect he wants to connect with his kid, and I respect that. But I don't think it's safe for anyone to be on a motorcycle, least of all Tom and his son.

Anyway, on Saturday night, I tried repeatedly to call Tom. He didn't answer which is very unusual. I knew Michael and he were visiting a friend earlier in the day, but it was getting towards midnight and I was frantic. I called and called and called and then finally text-messaged Michael; the one good thing about kids is that they ALWAYS respond to text messages. Michael wrote back immediately saying that Tom would call me when they got home. I waited and waited and finally Tom phoned. The long and the short of it: Tom was riding his motorcycle home on a dark, wet country road, lost control of the bike, hit a car, was ejected from the motorcycle, and ended up rolling repeatedly into a ditch. Two ambulances, two fire trucks, and multiple policemen later, Tom arrived at the emergency room. Grace of God, he didn't die.

His injuries include a broken foot, several broken ribs, and a broken collarbone, all on his right side. Considering that he could have died or had brain or spinal cord damage, the injuries seem minor. But it's going to take months to recover. The doctor told him to take at least a week off of work which is a good thing since he's not even sure how he'll be able to drive when he can actually hobble out to the car. And obviously his injuries are going to negatively impact our relationship for the timebeing, too.

What makes me angry - furious actually - is that this could all have been avoided if he'd never gotten on the bike. The orthopedist told Tom yesterday, "Man, you are way too old to be falling off a motorcycle." No kidding. I hope he heard this because if he didn't, I'm dragging his sorry ass to an audiologist. I've mostly avoided bitching at him about this accident because I want him to focus on getting better, but when he's on the mend, we're definitely having a serious conversation. He's got a choice to make: it's me or the bike. I can't live with this. I really can't.

So it's been a really tough few days. My only comfort has been getting a little knitting done. I'm almost finished with the Cable Sampler Scarf, a lovely diversion from my dark reality of late.

I screwed up one of the cables and have frogged back to fix it. So far, so good. No one would have noticed the mistake but it would have bugged me. Better to fix it than try to live with it. I know from experience that I'd never wear the scarf if it wasn't knitted correctly.

I plan to make the Cabled Cuff Mittens from the new Cascade 220 book, 60 Quick Knits. They'll be cute with the scarf, don't you think?

Thank God for knitting. Speaking of God, if you're a praying woman, please pray for my beloved pug and my beloved man, too. And while you're at it, put in a good word for me, too. We all really need the help.


  1. You poor thing! What stress! Oh, what an unhappy week. I can imagine I'd feel so frustratingly powerless in the face of both those situations, and my heart goes out to you. I'll be hoping for a speedy recovery all around -- alas, no recovering teeth once they're gone, and no doggie dentures. Poor baby!

    My father was an emergency room surgeon. As I was growing up, he was always happy to answer medical or health questions from me, but he rarely pontificated on any such subject -- EXCEPT motorcycles! While other fathers might tell campfire tales of the old fisherman with a hook for a hand, MY father would tell me exactly what they had to do to remove road rash from motorcycle crash victims in the ER. He spared no gruesome detail for my friends and me. I never got drug overdose stories, or gunshots, or pregnancy lectures -- but the one rule he made perfectly clear in my house is that no child of an ER surgeon would EVER be allowed to get on a motorcycle!


  2. Ay Ay AY! Caramba!
    You must be a wreck with worry,gal.
    Prayers all around.
    Fortunately Tom will be able to mend. But...how much ya wanna bet he will get back in the saddle again on another bike if that one is not rideable. (singing)'Macho, macho man'.

    And Moose with the dental problems. Ensure and /Hamburg smoothies for Moose!

    I thought you were unusually quiet for the past several days. Life has a way of turning us away from our usual routines.It can be quite upsetting at times because we are women and natural caregivers.Hang in there.

  3. Best wishes to your man and pug.
    And take care of yourself too.

    PS: The mitts are gorgeous.

  4. I'm so sorry you had such a tough week. Thank goodness for your knitting to help you cope.

    My dog Hanna (a Pekengese) had to have her teeth cleaned. You could smell her bad breath too. Luckily, she only lost one tooth. Unluckily, she needs them cleaned again. The smell is getting bad. Her mouth is always open a little bit with her tongue sticking out. Pekes have a smooshed face like your pug so putting them under for procedures is also a risk.

    I'm glad Tom's injuries were not worse and I hope he has learned to stay off the motorcycle. Thankfully, my husband learned his lesson before I met him when he almost crashed on a back road with no one around to help if he needed it. He hasn't ridden in about 15 years. And never will again.

    I'll keep you, Tom, and Moose in my prayers for fast healing for all of you. (hugs)

  5. I am so sorry you had such a terrible weekend! I am totally praying for you and your boyfriend and dog! Pets shouldn't be allowed to get sick it is to emotional for the owners!

  6. Thank you to everyone for their kindness and support. I truly appreciate it. This is a tough time, I have to admit. But it's bearable because I knit and because I have supportive, warm knitting friends who will hold my hand during times of trouble. I hope I can hold yours half as well when you hit a rough spot. THANK YOU.