Two steps forward, 157 back

I think there must be an unwritten rule that you shouldn’t blog when in the depths of a blue mood, but here I go anyway.

Big Mike, after being so sweet and docile on Monday for his bandage change, was his absolute worst tonight. He growled and howled and thrashed around like a crazy thing (tho refrained from biting or scratching), and three of us could not keep him down. Smearing blood on the white bathroom counter, Mike bucked so feverishly that Dr. Sue was forced to redo his bandages three times, which just enraged him further. Sue was not much happier. The decibel levels were at defcon three. She left the room and came back with a hypodermic needle, and, dragging him out from under the bed by his scruff, plunged a sedative into his neck.

I watched my sweet, terrified boy go limp in the grasp of the two medical pros, and felt myself go limp with upset. I held my tears until they left, but then I exploded in sobs.

It’s been an emotionally challenging week, with the hospitalization of Patricia (my son-in-law’s mother and my dear friend) and the death of Jonathan’s godmother, Nancy (Patricia’s best friend of 50 years and also a friend of mine) from cancer on Thursday morning. I’ve been too crazy-busy with the festival just three weeks away to adequately give vent to my grief, so watching Mike get roughed up served to pop the cork. I lay down on the carpet under the bed with him, and stretched out a hand in apology. His eyes were as unfocused as a drunk’s, but he saw my hand and rested his head on it, as he does when he is content. Leaving it there for a few minutes while I cried, I tried to sense what it was he was going through, and where I could not guess what he was thinking – why he rebelled so angrily tonight – i did get a sense of pain. His or mine? I wasn’t sure.

The doctor thinks that Mike would be well-served by a second surgery – this time to implant skin grafts on his still-open wound. She suggested I leave him with her while I’m gone for two weeks next month, so she could perform the procedure and keep him there where she could tend him every day. I don’t love the idea. I know she would give me a deal but I’d need to start a second funding campaign – something I’ve been resisting doing. And the thought of him spending two weeks in a cage – even a roomy one – keeps the tears flowing. He would regress, I know (hard to imagine him curling up with me affectionately for a while after he comes back home) but maybe it’s what has to be done. Or is it?

St. Francis, a little guidance would be much appreciated. Meanwhile, I need to buck up. He’s doing fine, he’s getting better (if slowly) and most days he is the Reverend Jetsun – not the plucky parking lot stray, Big Mike. And you know what? I love him either way.