when the fog lifts, we are hoping that our beloved dogga will be more himself.
it happened the beginning of this week. suddenly, for no apparent reason whatsoever, dogga collapsed. he was unable to stand, to walk, his eyes were jerking back and forth (nygastum) and he was dizzy and, clearly, terribly nauseous. it was pretty terrifying to witness this strong, vibrant dog suddenly incapable of movement, confused and scared.
vestibular disease (IVD) affects the balance system and comes on without warning. with symptoms that look horribly like a stroke, between reading dogcare sites, joining an online group and calls to veterinarians, we became aware of this syndrome (actually, a group of symptoms) we had never heard of before.
our world reduced to the sunroom.
we padded the floor with more non-skid rugs and cleared the room of extraneous stuff.
then we sat on the floor with our dogga and gently petted him, trying to ground him and keep him reassured.
we sat. and we sat. and we still sit…on the floor with him.
we moved an air mattress into the dining room (right next to the sunroom) and slept right next to him, waking multiple times during the night to help him move or to clean up from his extreme nausea.
for days now, we have not ventured further than the sunroom, though david carries dogga outside while i bring the big beach towel that serves as a sling to help hold him up.
we are learning presence and patience. we are leaning into hope.
when the fog lifts – and they say that sometime after 72 hours things should improve – we hope that he is able to be the dogga he knows he is, for we can see in his eyes he has no idea what has happened.
he’s been drinking water on and off when we hold it directly under him and on wednesday he ate the tiniest bit when i hand-fed him some chicken and rice. it is a very slow process and everything seems to be in slow motion here.
in a time when people are so divisive and angry and mean-spirited, i have found that there is a community of generous people whose dogs have experienced this who are out there, ready to help with reassurance and wisdom that comes from being through it. politics do not enter into the equation, not one little bit. instead, the opposite – compassion.
as i write this (on thursday) i remember late last night – also sitting at our little bistro table in the sunroom with dogga resting. last night we watched the milwaukee brewers win the world series and the fireworks went off in our neighborhood all around us. probably one of the worst days for dogga to hear fireworks, we both jumped back down to the floor to help shield him from the noise that frightens him. we tried to explain to him why people were so excited that they were shooting off fireworks. i could see what looked like a literal fancy firework display coming from just around the corner. it was an exciting night for milwaukee and wisconsin and it just took a few minutes to calm dogga back down while the fireworks eased up.
when the fog lifts – and dogga is past these crucial hours of this disease – we hope he returns to us as the dogga who jumps on the bed with his candy cane, who races in circles around the yard when the dachshunds are out next door, who noisily demands treats and happily follows us around the house. we hope the zillion words and expressions he knows are still present with him and that his confusion in the blurry world he is in right now begins to quickly wane. we hope that he feels better.
the thing we are sure of? when the fog lifts we will have spent every moment in the fog with him. and we wouldn’t have it any other way. we will walk with him out of the fog into whatever comes his way and will deal with it all one day at a time. dogga will still be dogga, regardless.
all things are possible – as long as he knows he is loved and we are right here with him.
and, geesh, isn’t that something we might all take into the rest of our lives?
*****
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