Friday evening, after my workweek, I was ready for the weekend, and by ready I mean I lay on my bed and cried while tears fell in my ears. I did that for quite awhile Friday; ’tis how I ready myself to PARRRRTAYYY. Actually, it’s been a long time since I cried, as I no longer have a soul.
Anyway I am not making this up; at around 7:30, Ned called, of all people. I haven’t talked to Ned in I don’t know how long. I know we were locked down, but it was definitely early in this process. April? ish?
We ended up talking for three hours, and he told me how he’d gone downtown to help with the destruction after the protests, and I told him … I don’t even know what I told him. Oh, I remember telling him how the lawn guy broke my storm door, and about how then a few days later a neighbor knocked on the door and there was no barrier and after 15 minutes standing in my threshold she said, “Oh, I’ve just been feeling terrible: aches, a fever, my lungs feel terrible.”
I know I told him that hair-raising tale.
And, you know, when I saw those pictures of people downtown with drills and so on, I told myself, Ned is in there somewhere. I just knew.
So it was nice to talk to him, to tell you the truth. It was good to catch up. It’s amazing that there’s anything to catch up ON when you’re mostly confined to home. But it turns out stuff happens to you anyway.
“I’ve really gotten sort of used to it,” said Ned. “I don’t really mind it that much anymore.”
We have Stockholm Syndrome.
Anyway, on Saturday morning I rushed Edsel to the vet, and by rushed I mean I got up, had coffee, did my trainer, so to speak, and then worried because Edsel had no collar.
His old collar wouldn’t work, and I’d ordered him a new one which arrives tomorrow, and didn’t think it’d be that big a deal for him to not have a collar for a few days until I considered EDSEL AT A VET, with DOGS meandering about, and does it annoy you to have to read year after year how life just sort of washes over me with no preparation or forethought on my part? Why don’t I have a BACKUP collar? I have backup eyeglasses. I have backup soap. My mother got me enough backup laundry detergent to last seven lifetimes like Shirley Maclaine.
I settled on a jaunty silk scarf for the Eds
when it occurred to me the vet might have something they could loan me. Turns out they have these leash things they can use like a collar, so Edsel did not have to arrive at the vet looking like a career girl from 1973.
I used my resistance band as a leash/collar to get him from my house to the car. Worked!
One might wonder why I HAVE a silk scarf, given all the outfits you’ve seen me in completed with the look. It had been on a purse. You know how purses were wearing scarves for awhile?
My point is this. And there is a point.
I dropped Eds off curbside, then went for a walk because it’s in a pretty neighborhood and I had time to kill.
Eventually, I thought, man, I feel sort of uncomfortable, and I asked my phone the temp and it turned out I was walking around in 90-degree heat. That meant what else could I do but zip over to Sonic and get a chili dog while Edsel convalesced. I was JUST BITING the first bite when
I knew that was gonna happen.
“He-woah?” I chewed, trying to sound professional and not at all like Elmer Fudd giving a blowie.
It was the vet, as I knew it would be, filling me in on all that was Edsel. First of all, he’s got some sort of fungal infection on his foot and now not only do I have to give him three pills in the morning and three at night, I also now have to bathe his foot in medicated shampoo
THREE TIMES A DAY, soaking it
TEN MINUTES AT A TIME
and I want you to know he doesn’t at all act like Madge’s clients with the Palmolive. “Dishwashing liquid!?”
Anyway, that is not my point, and I do have one.
“Tell me more about the heart condition,” said the vet, who frankly sounded cute. I’ll never know. The vet will forever be on the Dating Game with me behind a wall.
I’d written him a tome about Edsel but I sort of repeated all that, now with embellishment, and here’s what he said.
“Well, I’ve listened to his heart and I don’t think he does have congestive heart failure.”
You … you WHAT?
“We can’t be sure. We need an EKG and an ultrasound.” Eds has had an ultrasound at the last place, but the vet told me she wasn’t an expert at doing them, but that she’d seen enough to tell her he had congestive heart failure.
But what if she’s wrong?
We have to go to a specialist, in Charlotte, and it’s going to be 600 freaking dollars, but between you, me and the 10 others here, that’s 3 months of medication for us anyway. So if he doesn’t need this medication, you get the drift.
The vet is giving me a referral and in a few weeks I’ll take a personal day and Eds will put on his jaunty driving scarf and we’ll head to the big city for a heart test.
The first thing I thought about Sunday when I woke up is, “EDS MIGHT NOT BE DYING!”
Ever since I got the news about his heart last fall, I’ve been buying his food in four-pound bags so I won’t be stuck with extra. I have a plan with TinaDoris that her husband will come help me dig a hole. I’ve been living like this dog is dying and MAYBE HE ISN’T.
Oh my god.
So that was my big news this weekend, other than it was Hulk’s birthday this weekend and he proposed.
It’s been a big weekend, I guess.