Not All Sunsets and Fine Wine

My house plants are wilted and begging for water, laundry is piled waist high, clutter has overtaken every flat surface available, the refrigerator is home to new species of funk never meant to be edible and if I don't remember to order contacts tomorrow, I will soon be walking around without the gift of sight.  

My immune system is fighting valiantly to overcome the last viral assault launched my direction by a patient that actually PULLED DOWN HER MASK, turned towards me and coughed.  (Yep. Turns out "mask wearing" is a special skill not all are qualified for).  My body knows when to call uncle and retreat into a mini coma, which is how I've spent the last few days. You know I'm sick when my husband seeks refuge in the guest room and sends the dog in to sleep next to me.  It's the equivalent of sending a parakeet in with the miners down the mine shaft.  "If the dog's okay, she's okay."

I picked up too many shifts this month and these are the consequences. Everything is dirty, undone, dying or neglected.  Life has been shrunk down to a world that can be summed up in 3 words: work, sleep, repeat. Every minute is accounted for, every moment assigned.

Yet -- in the midst of the chaos, there is a level of validation that helps me find my smile.  There's a certain satisfaction in knowing that I can still keep up with the big dogs at work.  I may not eat, sleep and dream emergency nursing like I once did - but I haven't lost my touch, either.

And in an odd way, it's nice to know that things fall apart at home without me.  The dogs forget their manners, the goats lose their ever livin' minds, the chickens nearly starve to death (they won't come out of hiding even to eat for fear of running into a half-crazed goat) and my husband is counting down the days until he gets his wife (and clean laundry) back.  It's proof that, in some small way, my existence really does make a difference -- and that's enough for me.

To the rest of you nightshift working, family raising, full time nurses out there: You are ahhhh - mazing!!!  I promise to never judge your messy house, empty frig, the fact you fell asleep during your child's last dance recital or that time you wore two different shoes to work.

In all honesty, I hide from the goats, too.  If they see me, they start screaming at me to come play with them and don't stop until I do.  Goats are acutely alert and freakishly smart.  They know I put my eye contacts in every day and keep an eye through the window so they know when to start yelling for attention -- yes, EVERY single day.

Goodbye, Sweet Friend

"I'm putting on my nurse face -- the one that is strong and compassionate, the one that says that everything is going to be okay, the one that says I will take away your pain, I will shoulder your worries and I will give all I have to give to care for you.  I am here, you're not alone and I will not leave your side.  You can let go now; you are free.

I will hold your paw and pet your head.  I will cradle you close and push my sadness aside.  I will make sure you feel love and comfort.  I will be strong so you don't feel the need to protect me.  I will be confident so you aren't afraid.  I will swallow the hurricane of emotions raging inside of me because this moment won't belong to me, it is all yours, my sweet friend.

You've been my nemesis since the day my dad brought you home.  You jumped, you barked, you peed EVERY WHERE and you freakin' sniffed my private parts every day you lived.  You killed my chickens, you got into the garbage and you gave no apologies, not even a shameful glance.  As a matter of fact, I think you smirked.  You turned our lives upside-down and we adjusted to accommodate your growing needs.  Special grooming, special beds, special food, no rules, no free ranging chickens; we altered our lives to fit around yours.  We begrudgingly, yet without hesitation, gave in to all of your demands -- and you silently stole our hearts.  

From the day we lost my Dad, you have not left my side.  I've had to put gates up, shut doors or lock you in a kennel to keep you from following me places you weren't supposed to be.  You followed me room to room, inside and out, no matter how much your bones hurt or muscles ached.  You barked incessantly when we'd been separated too long.  You literally wore a groove into our wood floors making sure I was never too far away. You saved your best for last and it did not go unnoticed.

So today, I use every ounce of energy I have to put on my nurse face, put my emotions aside and put your comfort first.  I will be your rock, I will be your human, I will make decisions that I don't want to make and I will do my very best to honor you and all you've given my family.  I will step up for my Dad and everything he wanted for you.  You were always his dog, you know.  It's time you return to his side.  Tell him I love him, I'm certain he's anxious to see you again.

Thank you for giving me all you had, Max. I will do my very best to return the favor.  Your self-sacrifice has been tremendous.  You will be so very much missed and forever loved. May you rest in peace, sweet boy."

 

We put Max down later that day, under a beautiful Elm tree that was showering blossom petals, in the midst of an unforcasted thunderstorm.  Those of you that know my family's affinity for lightning might share the suspicion that this was my Dad's way of saying both thank you and "Welcome home, old boy."