Last week, Lucas and I had another 12-hour Purdue day. We left the house right at 6:30 in the morning and arrived home just after 6:30 in the evening. Such a long, exhausting day.
This schedule requires a balancing act that feels like juggling while riding a unicycle–neither of which I can do. We’re trying to balance our work schedules with Lukey’s and Emmett’s myriad appointments while not neglecting Cooper and Newt. We’re trying to balance our work schedules and our checkbook and our time and our attention–balancing all of that against the emotional drain of two dogs with cancer. Some days feel heavy, just exhausting and stressful.
Among those days, typically, are the Purdue days. They’re just. so. long.
For me, the worst part of the day starts around 3 pm. Lucas will be discharged “sometime” after 2:30. In all our visits, we’ve spanned the gamut. Emmett’s gotten out as early as 3:30 and as late as 6. Lucas has been in that 3-4 window most often, but the thing is, we drop him off at 9. So, from 9 until about 2:30, I try to keep myself busy: I get breakfast at Panera and browse for books at Barnes & Noble. Afterwards, I set up shop at Starbucks and attempt (though usually fail) to work until it’s time to head back to the animal hospital. I strive to get back before 3 so that, on the off chance he’s ready early, we can leave the second he’s finished.
I got back to Purdue just before three, and the anxiety set in. Watching the other families wait. And wait. And wait. And the hospital also serves as an emergency room, so folks rush in with a barely-breathing cat or an Irish wolfhound with bloat. Then they wait, too. And the air in that lobby is electric with anxiety and wild hope.
I had my book, but I couldn’t read. Once I get back there, it just becomes waiting. So, I watched. I saw so many moments, moments that encompass every human emotion, moments that demonstrate the depth of the bond we have with our animals.
An older woman and her middle-aged daughter, there for their first consult, received terrible news. The older woman rushed out of the lobby, clutching her tiny white fluff ball pup to her chest. She sat outside, stroking and petting and crying, nestling her face in the small dog’s neck, while her daughter dealt with the doctor, made the arrangements, paid the bill.
An instant later, a retriever, discharged from surgery, waddled over to two women who knelt down to hug him. Two massive bandages encircled the dog’s abdomen, and the tech who brought him out went over detailed instructions on when to change and clean the poor pup’s wounds. One woman simply snuggled the dog while the other stood rigid-straight, asked all the pertinent questions, got the product recommendations, took the notes.
Across from me, a couple I had been watching out of the corner of my eye, got up and went to the soda machine. I was shocked that they’d get a soda. These people were ripped. They were not light exercisers, but probably body builders. Both wore tank tops and shorts and had nary a millimeter of flab. When they got a Coke Zero, I laughed (in my head) because it just didn’t fit with their appearance. They sat down, shared the soda, passing it back and forth while jiggling their legs. They were halfway through the drink when an oncology resident burst into the lobby with their dog. They stood up, tense and solid. “I have the best news,” the doctor gushed. “She’s in total remission.” And the man, that solid, muscular, tank-topped man, dropped to his knees, wrapped his arm around the ancient, white-faced pup, and started to cry.
Another man, super tall and sort of the opposite of a body builder, walked a boxer around the periphery of the lobby. She, the boxer, wore a red T-shirt, and the man kept up a constant, low chatter with her the entire time he walked his laps.
So many more: two people asleep (a feat I could never accomplish in a public place), an elderly couple who waited with their sweet little Boston terrier for their other Boston who was in surgery, a Golden from–of all places–Bloomington who was at Purdue for their first oncology consult and who, coincidentally, recognized Lucas from sitting near him in the lobby of our local vet just last week.
So much love contained in each of these moments. So much love, so much heartache, so much hope and fear, all tangled together.
And, sure, a lot of it is harsh and desperate and scary–that seems to be the world we’re living in–but there couldn’t be the fear and heartache without the intensity of the love.
The love, that’s what creates these moments.
Been there, done that — and felt all the same! Thanks for putting it into such great words!! Although it’s so hard to go through (stress, finances, heartache), our furry kids mean so much to us and it is so rewarding to see others in the same boat — loving up their animal best friends. Hugs to all of you and hope you get some good news soon on Lucas. If I’m ever feeling down I watch his “digging” video — which absolutely cracks me up!! Absolutely amazed he is so clearly thrilled to be digging in his own special spot with one strong front paw! (well, hey, technically a big front end loader only has one big claw too and works great). Cheers to you guys for giving him his special digging spot — i would have never thought of that. p.s. We are now trying your “that’s enough” training trick for overt barking. thanks and good luck to you guys!
I’m so sorry for all you’ve been through, but you’re so right… seeing all the love is pretty incredible. I’m so glad that video cracks you up! He’s actually gotten ALL the dirt out of his corner, so I bought some more and plan to refill it this weekend. 🙂
Oh, and please let me know how “that’s enough” goes for you! We’ve kept at it, and it’s going remarkably well here (the only exception is if someone like UPS is actually standing at the door…)
This is so beautiful. I’ve collected some moments like these too, sitting for more hours than I’d like at the local emergency and specialty clinic.
Thanks for putting into such beautiful words the heart felt sentiments of pet owners. I sat with my mom waiting to hear news of our own pet when she got into some mouse poison in the garage left by a previous owner. And when they walked are woozy girl to us the relief was palpable. We were as mushy as the pet owners you described above. It warms my heart to see the compassion and love we humans have for our animal family members. Thanks for a great post, you write really really well!
Gosh, I know you’ve been through the wringer. I’m sure you have stories to tell!
I’m crying at work now. So beautifully written.
This is sad, and yet very sweet at the same time. <3 <3
Oh Maggie, how your words know my heart!
Just Beautiful….. And also crying at work.
Aw, Maggie…it was hard to read this – only because of the blurry eyeball windshields here. Such beautifully written words, describing what must be the most raw and purest of emotions…you brought tears to my eyes. I wish we could be with you on these days, hold your hand or give a hug, or just lessen the loneliness and harshness of it all!
Heart warming yet incredibly sad. The way you described everything detail of your experience made my heart ache… I just couldn’t handle a situation like that. I admire your strength x
This is going to sound a little woo-woo, but I really do believe that we all have some serious depths of strength that we don’t realize are there… until we need them. Hopefully most of us never have to dig that deep to pull out those reserves, but I know if you ever had to, you definitely could handle it!
What a wonderful post, and so well-written. I love little moments like this. I once saw a burly, bearded man pull his motorcycle over, pick up a turtle that had been starting to cross the road, and carry it across the road to safety. It was the sweetest thing. Thanks for this post 🙂
Now that just makes my day! What a thoughtful, heartwarming act on his part, and thank YOU for taking the time to share it here!!
Beautifully written, Maggie! Thank you for sharing this with all of us. Now I need a tissue for the eyes and nose; and some water to dissolve the lump in my throat. As I read about that dear, elderly woman and her little puffball, I cried the hardest. Even though I wasn’t elderly at the time, I pretty much did the same thing with my little poodle 11 years ago. But I had the luxury of making the arrangements myself with the vet two days earlier. But I held my “baby girl” almost constantly for the next 48 hours.
This made me cry…what a beautiful post with so much emotion.
Thank you for all the comments, everyone. I’m sorry I didn’t get to them all, but please know how much I love and appreciate hearing your experiences. It’s a bit sad that so many of us have felt the same set of emotions in similar circumstances–I wouldn’t wish it on anyone–but my goodness, how valuable that we can all commiserate and share? Thank you, thank you, thank you. Hugs to all!
OK, I often want to comment but get side tracked and don’t end up doing it. This one got me though. So beautiful!