SOOO true

Fun with Miss Dog

Miss Dog spent the day at the vet yesterday. She now has a row of stitches on her lower abdomen, no reproductive ability and we are $700 worse off.   Miss Dog has strict instructions, she’s not allowed to run and jump for at least 5 days. Preferably ten.  This is laughable. If you knew Miss Dog, you’d be laughing right now.

I set her up in the lounge room first thing in the morning. Toys, blanket, water, barricade so she can’t leave the lounge room, tiny play pen in the corner. I sit at the dining room table with my work.  She sniffs around the whole room. She grabs at my dressing gown and starts trying to pull it off me. She grabs my notebook and starts to chew the paper edge. She grabs my scarves from the hat stand and starts to chew on them.  She knocks my water bottle down off the table and starts to chew on that.

She continues to smell everything around the room and then comes back to jump up on me.  She wriggles her head under my arm to reach the laptop and starts sniffing the keys.

Now I’m trying to get her in the play pen, she goes nuts, playing. She barks and me and takes off, running into the bathroom. She grabs a sock from the floor and jumps into the bath. I’m hobbling behind her, yelling.

Its been ten minutes since Mr Man left.  Great start.

I pull her out of the bath with lots of resistance and hope that her stitches are still intact. I finally get her back into the play pen where she looks at me mournfully.  I’m sorry. Miss. You aren’t allowed to play. What an awful thing to say to a puppy.  Now she is curled up in her corner, resting.  That’s better.

Ten minutes later she’s up at the table again trying to pull down whatever she can find. I take her outside for a walk. She drags me and my stiff braced leg around the yard. Sometimes she comes close to me and whacks the back end of her 25kg body against my leg. Ouch.   Right, back inside to do it all over again.

*Sighs* its going to be a long day. 

it struck me...

I’m writing this on Friday. On Monday, I dislocated my knee at work. To be more accurate, I dislocated my left patella.  So pain, ambulance, long wait, xray, brace, crutches later, I’m home for two weeks.  I can’t drive yet because I cant bend my leg enough to physically get into the car.

I’ve watched movies, finished my book, been to the doctor, organised paper work, referrals, Work cover forms, emails, phone calls etc. And I’ve done some laundry, reorganised the pantry, vacuumed etc. Just a little.   All the while, Mr Man has been telling me NOT to do anything, and to REST MY LEG. Which is fine but I want to do things, and I’m stubborn sometimes and the pain isn’t that bad.  I’ll be fine. ‘Little Miss Independent’ somebody said.  Hmmm.  

Anyway, I’m over being stuck at home. Over It. . . So last night I announced, tomorrow is Friday. I’m going to try and drive.  I want to go here and get this, I want to get this, I want to leave the house.

And Mr Man gently but firmly suggested that I don’t. That I have to stop and let my leg heal and maybe next week I can drive.  That it won’t get better if I keep using it.

“I should have taken the week off to look after you’ he said.

I replied. “ I…… don’t need taking care of…  I’m fine! .’

 ( which is SO typical of me.)

Mr Man, stopped, turned around, looked at me straight in the eye and said

 “Let me take care of you’. 

And then he said it again, stopping at each word in emphasis.

‘Let.  Me. Take. Care. Of  You’.

And then it struck me. It really did.  I have to let Mr Man take care of me.

 I have to let him love me.

Me being a stick in the mud stubborn and independent is robbing him of being able to love me in this way. And that’s not fair.  

That’s the beauty about love.. its about wanting to be looked after as much as wanting to look after.  I want to take care of Mr Man as much as I love how he wants to take care of me.

So, I’m home today. I’m not going anywhere. I haven’t done any housework.  

I have rested my leg as much as possible.

And you know something else ? Mr Man is right. 

For the first time, I Googled my injury.  And the physio injury page on Dislocated patellae states that:  the most fundamental component to recovery is that the patient rests sufficiently from ANY activity that increases their pain until they are symptom free. 

Well. There you go.

I love you Mr Man. 

I'm not a tree

Well it’s been a few weeks, it really has. I got busy. And stressed and lost my ability to cope at work it seemed. And I got sick. Twice.  First I had a bad cold which knocked me down and stole my voice.  I recovered. Then I got a stomach virus which knocked me down again. I wasn’t happy at work. I was stressed in the traffic and at home?   I loved being home but I had this big black cloud of UNI hanging over my head. I couldn’t relax. I knew that I should be doing uni every night after work, and on weekends. And I would feel so stressed and guilty when I didn’t.    I was spending a lot of time on uni and that didn’t leave much time for anything else, or anyone else. And it just wasn’t working. Something had to give.

So I stopped uni. I just stopped. I threw it out of my mind. I emailed the uni and said I’m out for a while. Maybe I’ll enrol in November. Maybe I won’t.   It just wasn’t worth it. In three years’ time, I’d rather have a strong happy relationship, than a degree. I’d rather have a job and have my emotional and mental sanity, than a degree.  I’d rather have close friends and family, than a degree.

And now?  I feel so much better.  I work all day knowing that when I get home, I can relax, I can breathe, I can enjoy my home and Mr Man. And the weekends are even better. We do stuff. We socialise. We work on our house, our future. I continue to breathe and relax and that means, come Monday? I’m ok. I’m ok for the week. And THAT is a beautiful thing. 

and now ?

Fast forward through a few more days like that . (Leave the house at 6.00am, get home at 7.40pm,  shower, eat, collapse into bed.)

It’s Saturday. And I’m sick.  I’m exhausted and I’m sick. I just slept for 3 hours while Mr Man was at a birthday party we were invited to L. I feel nauseous, my glands hurt.  It feels like there is a ball of fire in my throat and talking is quite the effort. I just decided I need fruit icy poles for said fire ball so Mr Man has gone out to get them for me, and vitamins.  I have a handful of pills sitting in front of me to take but I don’t want to have to swallow them. 

Tomorrow we are supposed to be going out of town to surprise my dear friend for her birthday and I fear I won’t be well enough L  I guess I had this coming.

On the bright note, I’m going to try and apply for a job this week which is ten minutes away from home. Ten minutes. Not two hours. How delightful. 

A day in the life...

6.00: wake up. Outside is so cold. The bed is so warm. 

6.30: leave the house. Coffee  in hand.

8.00: get to work 

I do an hour of work before my shift starts.

 9:00 my work shift begins.

5.45: work shift ends, I get back into car and head home

7.30: home.  Do uni.

8.00: shower, Mr Man cooks dinner, we eat.

8:30 : I wash up, organise clothes for the morning.  

9: 00: bed 

Just wanted to share this beautiful true story about Kyrie and Brielle Jackson. Born prematurely in 2000, Kyrie was healthy, Brielle was much smaller and struggling.

Brielle was going down hill one day, oxygen levels down, heart beat fast, breathing irregular, pale, crying non stop.

Nothing was working so the nurse on duty went against hospital protocol and lay Brielle in with her sister. The two had not seen each other since they were born, the day before.

When she came back a minute later, this is what she saw.
Kryrie had somehow, reached up and wrapped her arm around her sister.
Brielle had stopping crying, her colour returned, her heart beat steadied, her oxygen levels rose. She continued to improve from that day on.

Amazing at first but then you think well. of course!