Life – freckled crab

I Had Transient Global Amnesia…so I was told

“What month is it?” my sister asked me as she lay in bed, me standing beside her in my bathrobe.

I looked around the room. It was dark. I felt cold.

“Um…February?” I guessed, it being a few days before my birthday in JULY.

“Here we go,” she muttered, throwing back her blankets.

I had kept asking her where my husband was. He had been training in another state for weeks. I had called him a few minutes previous. Twice. I never call him at work. He called back and I hadn’t answered.

Fortunately for me, my husband is an EMT and my sister is a nurse. She had also taken care or our mother who had frontal temporal dementia. This was not her first foray into neurological misfires.

A blood sugar test was taken, because of course we had that in the house. I remember her doing it and staying on the phone with my husband. She drove me to the ER. I remember the drive but not talking to my husband during it. She gave constant pop quizzes. I flunked.

I asked her constantly if she called my work. She had. Then if the dogs were ok. They were. Those two concerns were my max capacity.

The day had started normally – I had walked one set of dogs, came back home and walked the other set. It was a lovely warm morning, and I took videos of them romping. Got home, took a shower. I remember getting out of the shower. I remember sitting on the edge of my bed in my robe. Then I was asking my sister questions while she lay in bed. It was like an aperture opening and closing, sometimes opening completely, other times just barely.

But it didn’t hurt. Well, it didn’t hurt me. My sister is the one that was most affected in those moments.

We spent about five hours in the ER, I got scanned and blood drawn. A doctor came in to explain things. I remember him but not his words. My sister was like a photojournalist that took notes.

I was home by the afternoon, and I felt a little foggy but otherwise fine. My sister herded me like one of my cattle dogs and kept me penned on the sofa while we watched movies.

For the next week I thought I could feel gray fingers try to stroke my brain, but I pushed them away. Could have been a coping mechanism, but for sure there were times I felt dazed.

You know what the treatment plan is for this, you guys? Giving me reassurance. That’s not reassuring. I saw my doc, she entered it into the log, and filled out paperwork so that my husband can’t travel for work for more than 2 weeks.

Per Mayo Clinic, there’s a low probability that it will ever happen again. Per Reddit, this could happen all the time.

It’s like I experienced a slice of my mom’s dementia. And you know what? It wasn’t bad for me. It was like I was wrapped in cotton and all I could perceive was if I was comfortable or not. It was scary, but to have the aperture twist open and I see my sister’s face was so reassuring.

It’s been almost a year and I haven’t had another so fingers crossed, kids.

I Hate the Term “Broken”

I really do. Saying someone is “broken”, when referring to an emotional state, just doesn’t make sense to me.

Why? Because they cry? Because they’re lost? Grieving something? Because they’re a mess?

Sure, some people are more resilient than others, and some stay down longer than others, but in my mind, never “broken”. That’s for a spoon or a bones or a computer. Feels very judgmental.

I’ve been noticing it a lot recently, and it’s been bothering me. Makes me mad when I hear it.

What I Learned While Housesitting

Friends were going on a 10 day trip and their planned house/dog sitter fell through, so in I swooped. I took Mayhem for a cortisol vacation (it’s a real thing, google showed me) since it’s been nothing but change for her for 8 months.

The home was immaculate. I mean, I was looking for dust and finally found some on day 5. The pup is an older, extremely well behaved Labrador. She poops on command.

And this is what I learned (besides that by comparison my house is filthy):

1. Mayhem does not need 2+ miles a day. Oh she’ll do it, but she’s almost 8 years old and doing so kept her body in a state of stress. Short bits of training and play, with every third day or so getting a long walk is enough.

2. I was keeping myself in a constant state of stress by running these dogs all over the place when they didn’t need it. Yeah, 6 miles a day is a great way to lose weight, but I was physically and mentally exhausted.

3. My husband’s laid back vibe that drives me crazy sometimes was good for the pups at home. Olive was less clingy, while Ruckus and Pepper kept each other fully entertained.

4. I can relax at home and not constantly worry about what dog needs what. They are fine.

I actually sat and read this weekend and didn’t exhaust myself. It was great.

I Made It

I did you guys. Two weeks alone with three dogs (and another one was in boarding). The puppy, Ruckus, is 5 months old and learned he can jump over his exercise pen. Faaaaantastic.

It wasn’t that bad, really. The hard part was bringing Pepper, the one in boarding, back. She is a love, but her and one of my other dogs do NOT get along. So I approach it like introducing a new dog. Which led me to a lot of research. Which led me to the Leerburg YouTube channel where they lay down the law. They come across gruff, but they’re saying the same things my dog trainer is (but she is tiny and adorable so it sounds softer coming from her).

This is a new mindset, guys. I was very dress-the-babies-up-sleep-in-the-bed, but that’s a one or two dog household, not 4. Four makes it less an animal lover house to a complete lifestyle.

Yeah I cried this morning. Four dogs screaming for attention, hungry and have to poo and just had a big rest.

But I made it.

Same, But Different

For the past year or so I’ve been going way deep with story structure. Books, podcasts, courses. I find the phrase “learning your craft” presumptive and cringy, but that’s what I’m doing, if I considered my book a WIP (a work-in-progress for the snooty snoots), and not an HMOUD (hot-mess-of-unrealized-dreams).

And for the past six months I’ve also gone way deep on dog training. YouTube, trainers, podcasts. We adopted a dog who is so much fun, but she and one of my current dogs hate each other.

What I’ve found is that for both of these things, there are a thousand ways to get to the truth of the matter. There are foundations that can’t be denied. Certain things have to happen or what you want to happen just…won’t. You can dress it up anyway you like – the path can be long and winding or straight and narrow, but you’re going to the same place.

For writing, there are foundational beats that a reader expects for the genre, and tension that has to exist. Your protagonist has to make hard choices, and for me that’s hard because I’ve made very few hard choices. But to my credit, the ones I made were biggies (even though sometimes it was the wrong choice).

For dog training, there are rules and boundaries a dog has to understand, otherwise they get out of whack and become a mess. Implementing those boundaries are hard for me (note the above bad choices).

So, for two things at the same time, I am learning that I and my life situation are not special, and if I want to get where I want things to go, I have to act like my protagonist and make things happen.

That’s all I got for tonight guys.