Three PT sessions per week with time to rest has been kicking my ass for about a month. Next week: back to work, less rest and down to two sessions per week, thus I am expecting an ass-kicking of comic proportions. I will make every effort to avoid drooling, but no promises.
We have been sick a lot. We had a hurricane and days in the dark. People around us suffered big losses and some are still without power after 10 days. My sister Daria’s house on LBI is covered with a layer of foul-smlling filth. My son in law is being deployed to a desk job in Afghanistan in the spring. There was an earthquake in Guatemala today. Sweetpea got sick, got better and is sick again. I feel ground down and so tired I’m considering making a casserole. Yes. I said a casserole. That might really happen.
This morning, Sweetpea began making the Take me to the hospital noise at Pete, who recognized it from last Memorial Day weekend. Pete called me on the verge of panic, but couldn’t really explain why he was nervous. When I got home, I opened the front door and smelled illness. The vet had an open appointment at 6, which gave me plenty of time to rub half our house with disinfectant wipes. At the vet’s office, a new vet in the practice saw Sweetpea, who curled up in my arms until we were both sick-stinky. The vet agreed our darling was sick and needed an overnight with fluids and medicines. I was reluctant to leave her and briefly considered a weepy retreat, but I had to go to a union contract ratification vote on the way home. And I did. Tomorrow morning, we hope Sweetpea will feel better.