“Remoted” – Day 406 (Monday)

Some days feel like a pop quiz from the Universe. It's a surprise test of patience, fortitude, and everything else. Today was one of those days.

Right from the get-go the crap was flying. The paper that neglected to run our ad last Sunday and ensured it would run yesterday, ran an ad, it was just the wrong ad. The day went downhill from there.

I have a lumpy neck.

It turned out the crap day probably started sneaking in on Saturday when I noticed Winston’s glands near his jaw were a bit large – kind of like raisins. Sunday, they were bigger, and this morning they were as big as grapes and could be seen from across the room. He hasn’t fussed at all, and his appetite is still good. The vet was called first thing in the morning, and we got an appointment late in the day.  

There was no way of getting out of the house without Moose, so we all went. Forty minutes later and in the parking lot to the vet, both dogs tumbled out of the car to go potty. On the way back to the car, Moose decided to pause and squat in the middle of the parking lot to have a gigantic poop. The poop bags were in the car, so it was a sprint to fetch those. With two dogs on leashes, the reeking bag of poop that tested my gag relfex, the car keys, and the roll of bags, Moose was coaxed back into the car because he didn’t need to see the doggy doctor.

While putting Moose into the car, the roll of bags fell and rolled under the car. It kept rolling, or more exactly, unrolling, but also rotated so that a long strip of bags unfurled and blew in the breeze while the still rolled up part remained under the car. Pulling the loose end to retrieve the bags meant unrolling the entire thing. I’m sure this was funnier to watch than it was to live.

Winnie and his ample throat lumps went inside and I went back to the car and Moose. A doctor who I hadn’t met before was taking care of Winston today while I waited in the car. She called with an update, and was about as technical and blunt as you would never want anyone delivering news to be. She opened with, “mandibular glands … could be cancer,” and then steamrolled through a monologue full of medical terminology but I had already blanked out at “cancer.” I heard “blah blah blah might be infection from his horrible, horrible teeth … blah blah … his sugar is high again and diabetes can make him more prone to infection … blah blah … lost more weight …” Then it was another wait for some blood work to be done.

A small financial fortune and 1.5 hours later, we left with a receipt outlining the princely sum just paid thanks to the Honorable Master Card, a bag of dry prescription food with very vague instructions to transition from the old to the new food over seven days, three cans of wet food, a note to increase in the twice daily insulin dosage, and another appointment in two weeks. Depending upon the results in two weeks, there may be a test for Cushing’s, which is the condition that Moose has.

By the time we got back home, 3.5 hours had passed since we left and it was nearly 7:00, putting us two hours past doggy dinner time and insulin and bumping up on my self-imposed “no eating after 7:00 sole dietary guideline. There was a scan of the new insulin dosage which was on the box with the new vial, the antibiotic instructions were on the pill bottle, and the then trying to figure out the dry dog food. Thank goodness for leftover mac and cheese.

In addition to the work nonsense, and the stress and concern for Winston, today was also visited by one of the random bouts of envy for all the fortunate people with a significant other or a best friend to talk to or maybe the number for a comedy hotline for a laugh after a hella day. At the BungaLowell, the decompressing took place with another Prime video show about punk bands, "D.O.A.: Right of Passage."