I've struggled with writing this blog post. I've struggled with writing anything over the past week or more. My life always has ebbs and flows, ups and downs. My RSD has the upper hand more often than not and I have been trying to learn to cope better with that. The problem is all the other pieces of life that have been piling up, weighing me down and dragging me through the floor. Each night I would try to get comfortable, try to find a little piece of clarity to write and sort out my mind a bit and that simply would not come to me. Each night the buzzing in my ears was too loud, the jack hammer behind my knee cap too painful and insistent, the swelling in my ankle to explosive to try to focus on anything for more than a brief shooting star second.
Two nights ago we experienced our first thunderstorm of the season. A right of passage here in the northeast, a signal that at last, spring is officially underway. At around 1 in the morning as the thunder boomed in the distance, my sweet lab came thundering up our stairs herself and burst into the bedroom looking for reassurance. As she has aged she has become less tolerant of the storms. We're a lot alike, although our lack of tolerance displays in different ways. I myself wasn't asleep - my body was wired and angry at the sudden changes in pressure. I got up and gave her some kisses and ears rubs, shut the door again (she can open any door in our house no matter how firmly you have it shut) and laid back down with her flopping next to my bed. I watched another episode of junk tv on Netflix while I idily stroked her fur and drifted off to sleep. I woke up to sunlight and an hour I hadn't seen on the clock in quite awhile. I had actually slept in until 8am - something I hadn't been able to do in months. I smiled and was hopeful that maybe this was going to be a good day. That thought lasted for a hot minute. As I was working to get my legs under me and get moving out of bed, my husband informed me that something was very wrong with my sweet dog; that he was afraid she had suffered a stroke in the night. In that split second, I went from having a great start to my day to my heart shattering and wondering just what on earth I did to anger God so much. I seem to keep taking hits on the chin and I'm having a hard time trying to keep it together.
My little blonde dog, she has been with me for a decade. She has seen me through multi-state moves, studio apartments, townhomes, first homes, living the single life and life before I knew my husband. She has always been very tuned into how I am and knows when I'm in a flare and has looked over me, worried over me and loved me something fierce. She's been the best little buddy a girl could every hope to find on a drive to a rescue group in Delaware. She's not gone yet - and I'm certainly not counting her out, she's rallied before, but she's hurting. She's walking like a sorority girl at the end of the night down College Ave - listing badly to one side with a head tilt, her eyes zig-zagging back and forth like she's got vertigo something fierce.
The thing that I'm finding so incredibly difficult on top of dealing with watching my fur baby go through this and making sure that she is comfortable, that she isn't in distress and that I'm being a good mommyy to her - is that I've got other people wanting to tell me how to feel, how to act, how to express myself....I feel unwanted opinions rammed down my throat and it's all I can do to not light up everyone around me. I've got the people leveling opinions to me not only on the situation with my dog - but on my feelings overall and how it works into the grande scheme of things. I don't quite remember asking for their opinion, I'm not quite sure how they can have such an expert opinion when they so very rarely get to see me in person and when we talk on the phone- they barely can focus on what the conversation is about because they are too busy talking to the kids and adults in the background on their end. Some of what they said was extremely hurtful. Extremely hurtful. I'm not sure why they felt like now was the time to jump on me. I guess I seemed like I needed to feel like I wasn't living up to being a good enough parent - what with trying to balance RSD and parenting.
My husband and I are a bit at odds on the issue too. I have very difinitive opinions as to how things will and should go and while I heard him out with his thoughts, my final word was - she is my dog. My dog. My decision. That was not to hurt him. That is a fact though. She is my dog. She is my dog, has been from the start. I don't agree fundamentally with some of his views and therefore I trump him on how it will be. I am a very stubborn person. You almost have to be with RSD. It's the only thing that keeps you going. That crosses over into all parts of my life though. I will dig my heels in. If I feel passionately about something, I am going to defend that feeling, fight for that idea, argue that point - that's just who I am.
I guess what I'm trying to say is. My heart is heavy. My head is swimming with what to do, how to handle everything that is going on and what my next steps are. I'm angry that some people just want to tell me what to do and how to do it. That's the worst thing you can do with/to me. You try to bully me into something and I will only dig my heels in harder. Honestly, I'm just in survival mode right now. Take care of my dog that had the stroke, my dog with the rare auto immune disease, my kids and then make sure my walls are built nice and high around my heart. Why you ask? Because I can't take this shit anymore. I'm done. I can't get hurt or blasted for my opinion if I've just dug a moat and stay hidden behind a wall.... I'm done trying to communicate. Apparently RSD makes that too difficult. Or, you know, ask someone else and that have other theories....half cracked ones, but other ones..
I'm exhausted I'm done.
Staring at the bottom of your glass
Hoping one day you'll make a dream last
But dreams come slow and they go so fast
You see her when you close your eyes
Maybe one day you'll undestand why
Let Her Go Passenger
Two nights ago we experienced our first thunderstorm of the season. A right of passage here in the northeast, a signal that at last, spring is officially underway. At around 1 in the morning as the thunder boomed in the distance, my sweet lab came thundering up our stairs herself and burst into the bedroom looking for reassurance. As she has aged she has become less tolerant of the storms. We're a lot alike, although our lack of tolerance displays in different ways. I myself wasn't asleep - my body was wired and angry at the sudden changes in pressure. I got up and gave her some kisses and ears rubs, shut the door again (she can open any door in our house no matter how firmly you have it shut) and laid back down with her flopping next to my bed. I watched another episode of junk tv on Netflix while I idily stroked her fur and drifted off to sleep. I woke up to sunlight and an hour I hadn't seen on the clock in quite awhile. I had actually slept in until 8am - something I hadn't been able to do in months. I smiled and was hopeful that maybe this was going to be a good day. That thought lasted for a hot minute. As I was working to get my legs under me and get moving out of bed, my husband informed me that something was very wrong with my sweet dog; that he was afraid she had suffered a stroke in the night. In that split second, I went from having a great start to my day to my heart shattering and wondering just what on earth I did to anger God so much. I seem to keep taking hits on the chin and I'm having a hard time trying to keep it together.
My little blonde dog, she has been with me for a decade. She has seen me through multi-state moves, studio apartments, townhomes, first homes, living the single life and life before I knew my husband. She has always been very tuned into how I am and knows when I'm in a flare and has looked over me, worried over me and loved me something fierce. She's been the best little buddy a girl could every hope to find on a drive to a rescue group in Delaware. She's not gone yet - and I'm certainly not counting her out, she's rallied before, but she's hurting. She's walking like a sorority girl at the end of the night down College Ave - listing badly to one side with a head tilt, her eyes zig-zagging back and forth like she's got vertigo something fierce.
The thing that I'm finding so incredibly difficult on top of dealing with watching my fur baby go through this and making sure that she is comfortable, that she isn't in distress and that I'm being a good mommyy to her - is that I've got other people wanting to tell me how to feel, how to act, how to express myself....I feel unwanted opinions rammed down my throat and it's all I can do to not light up everyone around me. I've got the people leveling opinions to me not only on the situation with my dog - but on my feelings overall and how it works into the grande scheme of things. I don't quite remember asking for their opinion, I'm not quite sure how they can have such an expert opinion when they so very rarely get to see me in person and when we talk on the phone- they barely can focus on what the conversation is about because they are too busy talking to the kids and adults in the background on their end. Some of what they said was extremely hurtful. Extremely hurtful. I'm not sure why they felt like now was the time to jump on me. I guess I seemed like I needed to feel like I wasn't living up to being a good enough parent - what with trying to balance RSD and parenting.
My husband and I are a bit at odds on the issue too. I have very difinitive opinions as to how things will and should go and while I heard him out with his thoughts, my final word was - she is my dog. My dog. My decision. That was not to hurt him. That is a fact though. She is my dog. She is my dog, has been from the start. I don't agree fundamentally with some of his views and therefore I trump him on how it will be. I am a very stubborn person. You almost have to be with RSD. It's the only thing that keeps you going. That crosses over into all parts of my life though. I will dig my heels in. If I feel passionately about something, I am going to defend that feeling, fight for that idea, argue that point - that's just who I am.
I guess what I'm trying to say is. My heart is heavy. My head is swimming with what to do, how to handle everything that is going on and what my next steps are. I'm angry that some people just want to tell me what to do and how to do it. That's the worst thing you can do with/to me. You try to bully me into something and I will only dig my heels in harder. Honestly, I'm just in survival mode right now. Take care of my dog that had the stroke, my dog with the rare auto immune disease, my kids and then make sure my walls are built nice and high around my heart. Why you ask? Because I can't take this shit anymore. I'm done. I can't get hurt or blasted for my opinion if I've just dug a moat and stay hidden behind a wall.... I'm done trying to communicate. Apparently RSD makes that too difficult. Or, you know, ask someone else and that have other theories....half cracked ones, but other ones..
I'm exhausted I'm done.
Staring at the bottom of your glass
Hoping one day you'll make a dream last
But dreams come slow and they go so fast
You see her when you close your eyes
Maybe one day you'll undestand why
Let Her Go Passenger
