I’m fine. Two weeks ago, Jolene was in the emergency room, and this week it was my turn. But this is the deal. I’m not looking for sympathy. It’s Thursday, and I just want to tell a story. I’m a horse trainer who spent fifteen years writing about horses every Thursday night. Check my website if you don’t believe me. I’m taking a reprieve and writing about dogs for a change. As the regulars have noted, it’s all the same.
Where was I? It was Saturday morning and between feeding the horses and walking to the house, I became possessed. It came on that fast. But I hate it when people my age yammer on about their health. I’m going to skip the details and just tell you I did some whining and puking and good yin yoga inside the CT scan and MRI machine. The doctors were able to identify I had a brain, twice, and I swear, if it were not for the extraordinary nurses that run the place, I wouldn’t have known that.
Okay, here’s the horse part. The occupational therapist ruled out vertigo. (I did the Epley exercises right after the possession.) He didn’t know what I had, but this week he’d seen several unexplainable conditions. Maybe a weird allergy, he shrugged doubtfully. That’s how I feel about horses. The vet says they’re fine, but their calming signals say they aren’t. Or the way every spring all horses have a huge new training issue that appears the same week the new grass comes in.
I was dizzy, headachy, nauseous, and I’d lost my hearing, but nothing is wrong with me. The hospital excused me 26 hours later, sent me to my GP, who would then refer me to an ENT. On the high side, OT sent me home with a walker. Egads, a walker. I use it. But really?
Of course, my dogs were desolate without me. The Dude Rancher, as my spouse prefers to be called, said Jolene had been tragically dragging my bathrobe around. I planned a way that I might survive their welcome, but they ran through the house looking for the cat. I got a polite hello, Mister lobbed himself on my lap, and they were gone. They were in a fight over a chewy, and they needed to get back to it.
Put it down to my smelling like something unholy from my recent spa visit. Once the chewy debate ended, and I had stumbled to bed, Mister noticed that the foul smell was me. Dogs are attracted to such, and my bed became a mosh pit.
Jolene worked like a frantic ER nurse racing to check every joint in my body, but lacking any medical training, she thoroughly nipped and licked, head to toe. When she got to the IV arm, she set to the task and licked every millimeter. She almost licked the bruise off. I was too weak to stop her. Then she never left me. This girl. Half the time she’s like a runaway chainsaw, and half the time her heart is big enough to cradle mine.
Having Mister on the bed is like having a priest in the room, his commitment eternal. He looked concerned and mumbled silent prayers for healing liver treats and more road trips. He’s taking a mail-order course to become a spiritual leader at the Long Ear Universalist Church of Sensible Behavior. No cats or humans allowed. Edgar Rice Burro got him in. They both share a warm, conservative nature. It’s not easy for Edgar and Mister to live with screeching liberals like Jolene and my mare, Clara, but animals understand it takes all kinds on a farm.
Just as things settled, the Dude Rancher walked in carrying a plate and yelling at me like Garrett Morris doing the News for the Hard-of-Hearing on SNL. The dogs are so disoriented by both things that they lay their bodies over mine to save me. The Dude Rancher has been mucking and caring for the horses. It’s one reason he’s serving me dry toast and chicken soup. Please join me in a moment of mock sympathy for the man who works out at the gym several days a week but is exhausted by barn chores.
It was a restless night, but the window let in a cool breeze and I drowsed, teetered the dang walker to the bathroom, couldn’t get comfortable in bed. As I’ve said, Jolene wakes up happy and ready to play. But this morning, she rolled over and languished, chewing my hospital wristband. After a while, Mister came back with a chewy. Inconceivably, Jolene ignored him. She rested her head on my shoulder and stared at me. The sun came up in slow pink and yellow. The horses snorted, and the day began. Not that I got out of bed much. But I was home. The word still catches in my throat.
Tuesday I saw my GP. It was my first public appearance with my walker. I still hadn’t taken a shower and wasn’t able to eat or drink. I certainly didn’t mind if these people thought I looked sick. Apparently, I looked even worse than I felt.
The woman behind the desk asked if I wanted to add an emergency contact. I gave her the Dude Rancher’s name and number. She smiled at him and asked if he was my son. The Dude Rancher corrected her, but I didn’t hear because I have potatoes in my ears. What?? I whined. He yelled, repeating her words so the entire waiting area could hear. The woman looked mortified. I leaned close, eye to eye, and smiled. “Really, the walker isn’t bad enough?!” She clasped my hand, and everyone behind the counter shared a horrified cackle. Then, my GP confirmed that I was still fine. I’ll be done with the walker by the time I see the ENT. My balance is returning, other symptoms have faded, but I still have potatoes in my ears. Like they say, I’m fine. My personal diagnosis is now alien abduction.
Here’s where I tell you it’s my birthday. Made more serious when it also became the day we call 9-11. Birth and loss. The year the parties stopped.
Now, it’s my annual habit to write something about aging. Usually, insights come to me while naked in the shower. This year it was my bed. Should someone even write while spending sick hours with her dogs? Over-sharing again? Mister says it’s all fun and games until someone gets sick. Jolene nods as mortality slithers into the conversation again. We know how much we mean to each other. The thing about dogs is that when it’s all done and we are finally alone, they are still with us.
I spent the last year coming to grips with some truths that I’m not happy to admit. Not least, I got a walker for my birthday. The advice I tell myself is, “What if this isn’t wrong?” And so I persist. Each year, I think more about how I will land this sucker. This bittersweet life.
I’m grateful beyond measure for the loyal friends who care about me. I notice most of them have dogs, too. We share rants and cheers, wins and losses, and we share our dogs. Our dogs are one way that our love passes between us. Dogs are synonymous with friendship. We remember periods of our lives by the dog who was at our side. And for them, it’s just one life. What a thing to live purposefully for another. What a responsibility to be the recipient.
Dogs. I’m feeling sentimental. Like Jolene sleeps on my old bathrobe, I rest with their memory. Say their names. Laddie. Chico. Raz. Sundance. Ida. Tess. Agatha. Fritz. Spam. Hero. Howdy. Tomboy. Walter. Preacher Man. Jack. Seamus. Mister. Jolene.
[Part 18. Read all the episodes of Jolene’s Story here.]
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Happy Belated Birthday,,do hope you are feeling better soon! I love your spin on the “event”,,humor saves my life often.
Thanks, Eileen. Humor seems to matter more all the time.
Hope you’re up and around (sans walker) soon. Did they rule out meniere’s disease? What a joy Jolene is. (You too Mister!)
Thanks Deirdre. The doctors didn’t, but a dog friend who is traveling on vacation sent me an article about Meniere’s. Makes sense.
I hope you’re feeling better. A good ENT is a must! My husband experienced a similar situation that was misdiagnosed until the referral to an ENT specialist. I’m glad your dogs are helping out!
Better, yes. More to find out, yes. Thanks Billie.
Well, that was pretty much the best thing I’ve read over breakfast in a long time. Thank you. I hope you’re feeling better soon.
THANK YOU SO MUCH, Li. Because it was fun to write.
What a sweet column — I hope you continue to get better and will soon be back to 100 percent. How frustrating when you are clearly not well and they can’t figure out why! I always want to know why (about everything).
Thank you. Lee. Me, too.
There is no end to the list of indignities of aging! We think we understand that when we’re in our fifties, but now that I’m in my seventies I finally understand why my 29-year-old pony is such a grumpy curmudgeon. Hope you’re back at it all soon! Shuffle on, fearless leader!
Oh amen! Your pony would like to say that ‘age is only a number’ slogan is pure drivel. It doesn’t we we curl up and die. But a little reality, please. Thank him and thank you. It does look different now, if we have the guts to admit it. Thanks so much, Jodie.
Gabriel, Pangyr Ban, Spot, Andre, Spike, Londo, G’Kar, Cole, Opie, and a few rescues who went on to own other people. My cats . . .
Thank you, Anna! Heal!!!!
Say their names. Thanks, Judy
Hey Cousin – we all have our long long lists, dont we?
Dearest Anna,
Get well soon and let the dogs heal you; they will.
It may be a virus, so hopefully it will move out shortly.
I am glad they kept you in for observation, though.
Love, Nuala
Thanks, Nuala.
Good grief! So sorry to learn of your awful times. I hope you’re much better now & that you continue to feel better. Also, so happy to hear that your dogs are taking good care of you!
Thanks, Susan. It’s all about the dogs.
Thinking of you and hoping that you have a super, fast recovery.
Thanks, Charlotte. Better every day. Best wishes to you.
Oh Anna, sorry to hear you had ‘a scare’. Rest up and recover and continue to do what you do best and be sure to do isometrics and PT exercises to regain strength and balance. Like they say, getting older isn’t for sissies. xoxo
Thanks, Verna. Yup, and I have eyeball exercises now, too!
I am glad to hear that your nurses are taking such good care of you! Scratches to Mister and Jolene, and a “Well Done!” to the Dude Rancher.
By the way: Toby, Prince, Muffin, Jasmine, Sienna, Pippin, Zula, Rosie Cotton, Gypsy Rose Lee, Harlequin, Gypsy Rose Lee 2.0, Ziva, Mr. Wilson and Teddy Roosevelt (aka Teddy Monster). Plus a few dozen foster pups. You know the last five. Our Zen Master Ziva, our Protector Wilson, and Jolene’s spiritual twin, Teddy, send their love to you all.
This laying in bed till dawn is great says Jolene. Who knew?
I’m amazed the receptionist is still among the living…that had me laughing sooooo hard. Aging throws weird stuff like this at us, and what, we’re supposed to just roll with it? How ridiculous. (I’m having surgery soon after being pronounced completely healthy and fine by 2 ER visits and 7 (yes, SEVEN) doctors.) Keep us updated please! May you be seen, really seen, and diagnosed correctly with all speed!
I’m guessing you were “really seen” finally? Good luck & speedy recovery
Ah, my sister in diagnostic fog… Good luck with the surgery even though you are fine. I’m still chuckling. We really do live the same life. Thanks, Jane.
I got interrupted yesterday while writing a happy birthday email to you, not knowing it was rougher than your typical 9/11s, and never hit send. And now this! Glad the spinning is retreating or you never would have typed out this post. It’ll all be a fading nightmarish memory before long.
And what does it say about me that I remember Chico and Raz??
And you, my first horse friend… we know those long ago horse names, too. It means we persist. We may be gray mares, but we do persist. Thanks, Emily. Better for your good wishes.
“What a thing to live purposefully for another. What a responsibility to be the recipient.” This utterly distilled truth has never been said better.
Wishing you never had to endure this recent insult, and hoping it surrenders to your indomitable strength.
Don’t I know, that aging is NOT for sissy’s.
Sending healing juju.
Thanks for the juju, Laurie. Things are getting serious with this girl.
Take it easy, woman- and I hope you get to celebrate your birthday better another day, maybe next week. This too shall pass.
Thanks, Ren. I live to eat a different cake.
When I’m tempted to rail against the horror of the slow and steady lessening of strength and stamina I try to remember that it’s better than the alternative. That shuts me up until the next time I go to move a heavy bale or unload bags of grain. Then the whining starts all over again. And as someone who has been faithful to my thrice weekly gym workouts since 1981 I will say with compete confidence that lifting weights isn’t the same thing as farm work. I’ve done both for decades, so I consider myself an authority. And FWIW, neither have gotten any easier with time, either. Happy birthday! Get better soon!
Horsewomen are a different kind of tough with a different kind of work-out. That’s for sure. Thanks, Cheryl
Blessings, my friend, I hope you are improving daily.
Thanks, Doshia.
Happy birthday and best wishes for a speedy recovery! I’ll add my armchair diagnosis idea: Vestibular Syndrome. I learned about it when my senior dog had an episode (in dogs they call it ‘old Dog Syndrome’ which is somehow the most entertaining diagnosis name) but my mother the nurse explained it’s common in people. There are prescribed head movements that can help (worked for my dog).
They probably already ruled that out but since you’re also a dog person it’s good to know about that one for your beasties too, it looks like they’re dying but it’s not serious at all.
Thanks, Shaste. Always good to know new afflictions. The name for it in dogs isn’t so great.
I hate to be sick and so sorry to hear you have been! Luckily it doesn’t happen often. I so hope you are feeling like yourself by now!!
Yes, my cantankerous self is still here wrestling a puppy. Thanks, Candis.
Oh, and happy belated birthday!🎂
Weee!
Glad you are getting better! Then you get to learn all about whatever truck ran over you. Usually not what you had on your summer reading list! I’m glad the dude rancher is able to help out. Calming breath work and a dog/cat pile are not prescribed often and should be! 💛
Truth. Thanks, Tricia
a masterpiece! sorry about the hospital and the possession but I enjoyed reading about all of it.
Thanks, Kate. I appreciate it. l had fun thinking about writing it, even in the middle of the drama, and fun writing it. Memoirists are nuts.
Just chiming in to nullify a few of the “too much about dogs” people. ALL your insights are valuable to me!
Thanks, Michelle. It’s feels so good to write about them.
This was a masterpiece of an essay and I hope you get better. It really rang true for me too. had a possession in the hospital this summer. But they had a diagnosis of Broken Heart Syndrome.
I thought they were joking but it was real. Lucky everything checked out and I went home. Again with my nurse dog
Thanks for writing this😊😊
Glad it checked out, and I googled it sounded weird enough that I googled it. I am diagnosed with Labyrinthitis, which sounds like overdoing it with TTouch. What’s with the weird names? Thanks Lisa, here’s to our dogs.
I am so sorry to hear of your ailments. Getting old is sure not for sissy’s ( I tell my self that everyday because everyday there is something new) But, like you I get up everyday thinking positive thoughts and being thankful. I do not know what I would do without my dogs and horses. They give us so much love and companionship I really enjoy your posts whether it be dogs, horses or people. You have a knack of being able to put words on paper that make people think, laugh and might sigh a little bit. I will be praying for a quick and total recovery. God Bless you my friend.
Thanks, Vickie. Better every day. We are still the lucky ones.