Diseases of the soul are more dangerous and more numerous than those of the body. ~Cicero
Today, I have a voice. It's the first day since Wednesday that I don't have moments of fade out or whisper. I haven't been sick like this in years, I think. I really can't remember the last time I had laryngitis.
The medicines the doctor gave me to "clean everything out" included a dose pack of steroids. I hate them. He gave me the painful horse dose in the hip before I left, and then prescribed these oral doses as well. Now, I am awake at absurd hours watching bad movies from the 80s, listening to music in celebration on Mozart's birthday, and feverishly crafting or shopping eBay.
Last night, I designed, cut, foiled, and soldered a stained-glass suncatcher of Psyche. I finished her about 3:30 a.m., and I am going to have to go back to it and touch up. Looking at it this morning, I can't even remember all the steps. I remember this period of incredible, almost humming, energy pouring through me after taking that last "bedtime" dose of those pills, but other parts of the process are a blur.
I am also healing from losing Britta. There are those, I have no doubt, who will question whether or not the loss of a dog, especially one who had not been a part of the family very long, could cause long-term pain.
Just today for the first time I could walk around and fill my birdfeeders without looking for her. Just today, filling out an application to start the process of seeking a pit bull to adopt didn't make me want to cry. I still miss her, but I think the worst of the darkness that has surrounded me since she died is starting to dissipate. I am hoping that this soul-sickness will give way to the golden keeping of the good and the sharing of the love she gave me with another needy dog.
I still find it hard to talk about the accident. I still can't easily accept the consolations of others. As is so often when the topic is something that hurts so much, I don't want to talk about it. I don't know how to explain it. I suppose the easiest way to think of it is that it's still too near, too sacred for me to be able to talk about with anything other than pain. I can only hope that this, too, will be something I can recover from in time.
Now, I am going to try to go get some sleep. The rain outside should help lull me. Tomorrow will be a new day, and I will get up, get dressed, and face whatever comes. I might even have a voice with which to address those issues. I don't know when the full recovery will come, but I am grateful for the progress that has been made.
I'm glad you are better. And I understand about Britta.
ReplyDeleteI am 51 years old and have had many dogs and cats. I remember each one of them clearly regardless of the length of time they were mine.
We have only 5 dogs now, two house cats and one barn cat.
Catherine, the barner, is almost 17 years old. She has never been friendly yet she stays wih us. Her mother was a stray that wandered in, immediately had 4 kittens which she promptly carried off and dropped into different neighbors' yards. I had to round them up and lock her up with them for weeks. Once they were old enough to wean, I let her out and she was gone.
I kept two of the kittens but they never responded to affection. Still, even after I moved to the farm, they stayed right in the barn, happy enough. I miss the one who disappeared years ago, even though we had no close relationship. I visit Catherine every day, for what she has to give, for what she wants from me, and call it good.
You are right and kind to reach out for another dog. I know you'll find the right things to say and in full voice.