Wheelistically @ Claire.NU » Bad Days

The Bit With The Walking Wounded…

Claire — Wed, 25 May 2011 13:57:06 +0000

I wish I could elaborate more on this past couple of months; this past post. Alas, I cannot. Just know that whilst K and I are still here, still living, breathing and doing our best to enjoy life, the hands dealt to us will always render us walking wounded.

I hope that one day in the future, I can use my blog and the medium of the written word, which I have found to be so cathartic in the past, to exorcise the evil that currently lurks within our midst; within our family. Until then, Caïna awaits…

In Other News…

Just over a fortnight ago, Ziggy and Hector were playing and chasing each-other in the garden, when suddenly, it all went terribly wrong.

Ziggy had trotted out into the back garden, rapidly followed by Hector — nothing unusual there, Hector follows Ziggy everywhere. I heard a flurry of activity: the gallop of houndy paws, a playful growl, a yelp and then, another yelp, followed by silence. Deafening silence.

The next few minutes swim about my head. K carried Hector in from the garden, he lay on the kitchen floor, trembling, panting, his responsiveness slow and sluggish. His heart was pounding and his gums were white as he gradually descended into a state of Shock.

Literally skinned alive, Hector’s right flank lay gory and exposed, his muscles pale and smooth like a large fillets of chicken. Blood flooded the cavity and ebbed out of my dog, my little mate, my baby, my Bubba. K dressed the wound, binding Hector’s chest tight with Vetwrap to act as a tourniquet and stem the flow of blood. Calm in the face of a crisis, K applied pressure to the wound to reduce the bleeding, whilst I fumbled with my phone for the number of the Emergency Vet. My hands shook so badly, I misdialled several times and then proceeded to babble in a panic-stricken fashion to the receptionist on the other end of the line.

My dog, he’s been attacked. There’s blood, he’s bleeding, we can’t stop him bleeding, he’s not moving — We’re on our way, it’s ok I know where you are… He’s a Whippet. We’re bringing him now, ok?

At this point, the receptionist started reeling off some “small-print”-esque blurb about how by bringing him in, I accept and agree to blah, blah, X-hundred pound admittance fees and something something emergency hours charges.

And, all I could think was: I don’t care. Charge what you like, there’s a huge hole in my dog, a big chunk of my puppy is missing. Please, just help fix my dog. My poor dog, my Bubba. My broken, bleeding Bubba-Boy.

Frustrated and upset, I interrupted — reassuring the Jobsworth that I had both credit cards and pet insurance — and then, hung up.

At the Emergency Vet clinic, the wound was in such a state that the surgeon couldn’t say at that point whether any organs or muscles had been punctured, so Hector was kept overnight with the view of operating the next day, once they’d been able to see how much tissue could be saved/had died off. But, if he took a turn for the worse due to organ problems/bleeding, they would have to operate during the night.

At first, when faced with horror-show scenes, we assumed the worst and thought Ziggy had actually bitten Hector.

Ziggy attacked Hector. Hector’s in for surgery. They’re my world & the closest thing I have to children. The shock & devastation is unreal.

May 6, 2011 10:41 pm via Twitter for iPhone ReplyRetweetFavorite

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Claire

I spent the next five hours sobbing uncontrollably, facing the thought of losing both my dogs. Shock can do awful things to an animal and Hector, being so young and a Whippet, was vulnerable to anaesthetic. What if he didn’t make it? Also, if Ziggy had attacked Hector in aggression, then it meant he was dangerous. It meant that he could no longer be trusted with Hector and he may even be a risk to small children. No matter how much we loved Ziggy, we just couldn’t keep a dangerous dog: between us, K and I have a little niece and now, two nephews on the way, it just wasn’t an option. Ziggy would have to go back to kennel life.

We were utterly heart-broken.

K wept into Ziggy’s soft ears, telling him how he was her “Mr. Zigmund”. We couldn’t bear the thought of him returning to a drafty kennel and eating his food whilst stood out in the rain, as he had done during his life prior to finding a “Forever Home”. And now that we knew he had wheat-gluten allergies and had to be on a special diet, would the kennel staff keep an eye on what he ate, or notice when his allergy made his skin flare up? Would they know that certain close human contact made him nervous, or that he was frightened of electrical cable? Would they know the particular way he loved to have his ears rubbed, or that he gave really good Paw? Would they know that he was such a Good Boy, with his quiet, gentle ways that always put people at ease, despite his large size?

It just didn’t make sense. Ziggy’s a gentle giant: huge, black and towering — and scared of his own shadow. He’s silent and sensitive — delicate even — slinking around the house with soft eyes, sad ears and an unassuming presence. It just didn’t fit. Hector’s injuries didn’t match up with who we knew Ziggy to be. We talked around and around into the early hours and by morning, were no closer to a resolution.

According to the vet, Hector had a steady night, although he was in an awful lot of pain, on lots of painkillers and had to have some blood from the blood bank. By morning, the (emergency) vet was really pleased with how the wound was looking and now that the bleeding had subsided and it had been fully cleaned up, it became apparent that there was no organ or muscle damage. In fact, the vet said that there was no sign of a bite, no puncture wounds, just large skin tearing.

This confirmed what we cobbled together through both what had been witnessed and what we knew about our dogs: There was no aggression/confrontation on either dog’s part, just a game of chase that went horribly, horribly wrong. Ziggy got competitive and nipped at Hector’s fur. Hector turned away, his body going in one direction, his skin in another. Our greyhound and whippet pairing were running at such a speed that Hector’s tissue-thin skin just gave way — Ziggy had had no idea what had happened and was still trying to tackle/wrestle even when Hector was laying injured.

Relieved, we collected Hector from the emergency vet to take him to our regular vet practise . I expected K to carry out my stricken pup the same way she’d scooped him up and ran out to the car with him the night before. Instead, he trotted along on his lead sporting copious amount of blue Vetrap and when I open the car door, he wagged his tail and leapt up to greet me, his sore, but happy self.

Our regular vet concurred with everything the emergency guy had said and when we asked where this put Ziggy in the scheme of things, she reassured us that as they were not fighting and there was no conflict, it was simply a sad accident, which had resulted in a very common houndy injury. She said that had they have been different breeds, it simply wouldn’t have happened, the injury was just greatly exacerbated by thin houndy skin and the sheer speed at which, they’d been going.

Twas a game gone horribly wrong. Hector’s been transferred to our regular vet for surgery. No organ/muscle damage,“just” a huge skin tear.

May 7, 2011 12:23 pm via Twitter for iPhone ReplyRetweetFavorite

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Claire

Hector was taken in for surgery, he had two layers of stitches and some of the residual skin “flap” had to be sacrificed as the blood supply to it was too damaged to save it. Upon Hector’s return home, both dogs bounded towards each-other, full of bounce, waggy tails and hello sniffs, as if nothing had ever happened. The sense of relief was overwhelming. Hector was woozy from the anaesthetic and we encouraged him to lay quietly as he had a tendency to fall off his feet, Bless him. He had a week of antibiotics and anti-inflammatories/painkillers and would have his dressings changed the following week and his stitches out in just over a fortnight.

Hector, at Home

Hector has since had his stitches removed and is healing well. The vets did a marvelous job in putting Hector back together again, the original wound spanned several inches across in both height and width — I had visions of my Bubba looking like a patchwork quilt, but the resulting scar will be surprisingly minimal compared to the bloody, gore-fest that we were faced with that Friday night. His skin on that side is pulled a little taught for the time-being, but luckily, what with him being only 10 months old, he still had a bit of “growing room” left in his skin, so there was enough for the vet to work with, despite having to sacrifice a large “flap”.

Franken-Bubba: Hector, Post-surgery

Most importantly, both dogs are in one piece and are getting on just as well, if not better, than they did before the accident. The scar will eventually “fur-over”, but in many ways, it suits Hector and sums up his brave, rough-and-tumble character. We’ve made some small adjustments, to try and minimise the risk of an accident like that occurring again (which I aim to cover in a future post), but rest-assured when I say that re-homing either of them is not the right course of action for us or them.

I love my dogs and I’m determined to do what’s right for them. They are both “rescues” and both deserve a chance of working things out and learning how to live in a “forever home”, we just need to do a bit more to make sure they get through the learning process safely.

Together in the Garden

My hounds are my world, I wouldn’t be without them.

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The Bit With Caïna…

Claire — Fri, 18 Mar 2011 21:20:18 +0000

Caïna: The First Ring in the Ninth Circle of Hell, according to Dante’s Inferno.

Caïna is reserved for traitors to their kin; the sinners stand in a frozen lake as clear as glass — Cocytus. Paralysed in grim terror with the ice up to their necks, their heads are downturned and their teeth chatter with the cold.

Dante encounters twins that are bound together, having killed eachother in life. One of the brothers is deaf having lost his ears to frostbite. When they cry, their tears turn to ice and freeze their eyes shut. Overcome with rage at their state, the only thing they can do is butt their heads together in anger and frustration; for all eternity.

…I hope that when he gets there, it’s cold.

“Look how thou walkest. Take Good heed, thy soles do tread not on the heads Of thy poor brethren.” — Canto XXXII (Painting by Gustave Dore)

Livid, as far down as where shame appears,
Were the disconsolate shades within the ice,
Setting their teeth unto the note of storks.

Each one his countenance held downward bent;
From mouth the cold, from eyes the doleful heart
Among them witness of itself procures.

When round about me somewhat I had looked,
I downward turned me, and saw two so close,
The hair upon their heads together mingled.

“Ye who so strain your breasts together, tell me,“
I said, “who are you;” and they bent their necks,
And when to me their faces they had lifted,

Their eyes, which first were only moist within,
Gushed o’er the eyelids, and the frost congealed
The tears between, and locked them up again.

Clamp never bound together wood with wood
So strongly; whereat they, like two he-goats,
Butted together, so much wrath o’ercame them.

And one, who had by reason of the cold
Lost both his ears, still with his visage downward,
Said: “Why dost thou so mirror thyself in us?

If thou desire to know who these two are,
The valley whence Bisenzio descends
Belonged to them and to their father Albert.

They from one body came, and all Caina
Thou shalt search through, and shalt not find a shade
More worthy to be fixed in gelatine;

Not he in whom were broken breast and shadow
At one and the same blow by Arthur’s hand;
Focaccia not; not he who me encumbers

So with his head I see no farther forward,
And bore the name of Sassol Mascheroni;
Well knowest thou who he was, if thou art Tuscan.

And that thou put me not to further speech,
Know that I Camicion de’ Pazzi was,
And wait Carlino to exonerate me.” ²

Gustave Dore, “Look how thou walkest. Take Good heed, thy soles do tread not on the heads Of thy poor brethren.” Private Collection. [http://wikigallery.org] [back]
Dante Alighieri (translated by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow), ‘Inferno: Canto XXXII’, The Divine Comedy. [http://www.everypoet.com/archive/poetry/dante/dante_i_32.htm]. [back]

The Bit With Jessie…

Claire — Sun, 01 Aug 2010 12:20:14 +0000

I was given some very sad news this morning. My uncle’s beloved family dog, a Weimaraner called Jessie (and star of this post), passed away last night.

After a long and happy life full of running, playing, bouncing about and nicking food whenever anyone wasn’t looking, Jessie became too old, too pained and too poorly to join in any more. Last night it was decided that she should embark on her Forever Sleep.

Jessie ~ 1997–2010

As a dog owner now myself, this is all too poignant for me: Dogs are our companions, our confidants, our comfort, our court jesters, our best friends and most of all, our family. And yet, their lifespan is heart-breakingly short when compared to that of our own species.

If you have a dog, give them an extra-special tummy-tickle and rub behind the ears today. For Jessie.

The Bit Where There Was That of God In Everyone… (Partially Private)

Claire — Mon, 29 Jun 2009 19:56:56 +0000

[I]t was needful I should have a sense of all conditions, how else should I speak to all conditions; and in this I saw the infinite love of God. I saw also that there was an ocean of darkness and death, but an infinite ocean of light and love, which flowed over the ocean of darkness.¹

If the post ends here, then the rest of this post is “partially private”. Please see this post in order to read the rest.

If you’re already logged in, just ignore this notice and carry on reading…

Fox, G. The Journal of George Fox ed J.L. Nickalls. London: Cambridge University Press, 1952; London Yearly Meeting, rpt. 1975 p.19 [back]

The Bit That Was Too Long To Tweet…

Claire — Tue, 23 Jun 2009 18:40:36 +0000

K’s P45 came in the post today. As did her final pay, which turned out to be £800 short of what she’d expected.

We spent the afternoon cancelling our impending holiday to Scotland (which would have been my first actual holiday in 9 years) and cleared out the paltry savings that I had spent the last year scrimping and scraping together for our future, in order to pay off some of the debt K has incurred as a result of years of untreated mental illness.

Some days were just made to kick you in the teeth.

The Bit Where I Fill You In…

Claire — Mon, 01 Jun 2009 17:52:02 +0000

Hi. My name is Claire and in a previous life I used to blog here. More recently however, my world has recently imploded.

Thank you to all those that sent well wishes to K, in response to my last blog post. Alas, K is still not well. After unceremoniously deciding to have a nervous breakdown in February, she opted to take 3 months off from work with a tentative diagnosis of PTSD and to have some minor surgery. Because, you know, there was just not enough Crazy in this house.

She has since embarked on a much needed career break, whilst she recuperates and seeks numerous forms of treatment. Never in my life have I supported a decision as much as I support this one. Yes, the economy is on its knees and yes, life will have its boot up our arse. But she needs this, her health and welfare is worth more to us than any financial or material carry-on.

I have every intention of returning to my beloved blog, but right now we’re taking each day as it comes and Open University exams and coursework aside, I’ve been on-call 24 hours a day to rub her back and (trying in vain to) make it all better.

I can’t tell you how brave K is being right now.

The Bit Where I Met Dave…

Claire — Tue, 05 May 2009 14:49:12 +0000

Dave
Click the image to view the full-size versions at Flickr.

Camera: Nikon Coolpix P6000
Focal Length: 22.1mm
Exposure: 0.017 sec
Aperture: f/6.6
ISO Speed: 142
Fill-in Flash: None
Post-Processing: Converted to monochrome, faux vignetting, brightness/contrast adjustment, resized and tagged for web

Meet my new mate, Dave.

We met Dave the other week at Colchester Zoo where he gave us tips on eco-friendly interior design in exchange for bits of tuna and sweetcorn sandwich. He can also jump up and down like a Jack Russell Terrier when you hold food above his head.

One of the above statements is surprisingly true, whilst the other is a complete work of fiction. You decide.

I like Dave. I also like blogging, but have been hideously absent due to K deciding to remain rather poorly, getting signed off work for over 2 months and needing the odd bit of surgery, which now may or may not have resulted in a spot of post-operative infection. Fun times.

Amidst all that, K was a birthday girl, which meant we got to go the the zoo for fun, picnics and animal pictures. And, I got to try out the new compact camera I bought in February.

It feels good to be back. Must now go and mop the patient’s brow.

Click the images to view the full-size versions at Flickr.

The Bit Where I Was Wobbly…

Claire — Mon, 28 Jul 2008 15:39:54 +0000

I went to see my nice Doctor last week who is very nice.

That little, niggling thing that started in my childhood and that’s subsequently morphed into that big, huge, thing that’s been happening for the last 7 or 8 years. You know, that thing wherein my brain goes into meltdown and my lungs begin to spontaneously crush and I become inexplicably convinced that I can’t breath and am going to swallow my tongue, vomit and die all at once? Well, apparently, it didn’t just go away on its own like I thought it might.

In fact, more and more things are triggering my panic attacks and recently my anxiety problems now surface throughout elongated periods during the day, often without any provocation.

I don’t really talk about my wobbles like I do most other things. Not even to K, until recently. Whenever I try and explain just how on most days of the week I feel indescribably terrified, overwhelmed and totally incapable of doing even the most tiny/mundane of tasks, I just can’t seem to find the words and so find tears instead. The best I can come up with is saying I’m having “bad” or “wobbly” days. Days when I wobble. Or rather, my mind, sanity, body and world wobble and I just want to go back to bed and hide. Because, there? It’s less wobbly.

I don’t know why, after all the different hurdles in my life that I’ve adequately managed to repeatedly encounter and endure, that it is the simple things like making a telephone call or being in a queue at a check-out that can reduce me to a small, pathetic, gibbering wreck.

The irony of having to dose myself up on tranquillisers just so that I can make it through a 2 minute phone call to my pharmacy to arrange to get more tranquillisers is not lost on me.

Dr. Nice was very nice. He understood and offered me the choice of a longer-term anxiety disorder medication programme or a referral to a Clinical Psychologist. I said FOR THE LOVE OF BOB, WHATEVER WORKS THE FASTEST. Do you know what it’s like to wake up day after day a prisoner of your own Crazy? Every decision I make is not governed by “Would I like to do it?” but “Will this make me so scared of life that it will send me into giggle-sobbing palpitations where my heart feels like it’s going to burst through my ears and my tongue feels so monstrously big for my mouth that I can no longer swallow and so just choke gently, instead?”

So, Dr. Nice decided to sign me up for both, because he’s nice like that.

Today is “Day 4″ on medication that probably won’t really kick in until at least “Week 3″, with the exception of course, of giving me the infamous “Week 1″ dicky tummy Dr. Nice had warned me about.

For one reason or another, I’ve found myself saying to others recently that it’s ok to admit you can’t cope; there’s no weakness in it. It’s ok to say that you can’t do things on your own, you just have to know when to ask for help.

I’ve tried deep breathing, relaxation and self-help assertiveness techniques, mind-over-matter and both exposure and avoidance tactics. I’ve tried for years to just muddle on through this and pull myself together in my own ad-hoc way.

It’s not working and it’s about time I took my own advice. I can’t do this on my own anymore and I’m doing my best to find someone or something that will help me feel what it’s like to not to wake up to a soul-crushing nervousness. Every. Day.

P.S. You may have noticed at some point yesterday that I was faffing about with the whizz-bang oojimajiggery that makes this blog work so swimmingly. It all involved upgrading WordPress and making it even betterer and more fandangly. But knowing you, you probably won’t even notice the difference. Or at least, that’s the idea anyway. If you do notice a difference and I have accidentally made something decidedly a bit on the broken side, do consider sending messages of general panic to my email box.

The Bit With Smurfs & Shit Hosts…

Claire — Thu, 06 Mar 2008 16:33:24 +0000

In an attempt to get something done today, I am posting here.

I’ve been loafing about in over-sized pyjamas and matted hair all day because my nerves are bad and when my nerves are bad it feels like an army of Smurfs are merrily building a city of little toadstool houses inside my chest cavity; leaving no room for my internal organs. Ergo, Smurfs are bad. The Smurfs went on a tea break for a while, then the Diazepam wore off and now they’re hammering away at their new three-storey shopping complex with under-street parking facilities for their little Smurf cars. The little blue bastards with their white shoes and trousers all built-in!

I feel I’ve gotten off the beaten track.

In other news, I (think) my dealings with the old shit host are over… I think.

The only contact email address they publish is: support@oldshithost.com

Bear in mind at this juncture that this is the very email address that boasts 24/7 support responses but takes on average 14+ hours to reply with a load of old pony. I digress, I emailed them with all the relevant details and said that I wished to cancel the account. An hour or so later, I get this:

Hello Claire,

Thank you for contacting [Old Shit Host] Technical Support!

In order to complete your request please contact our billing department at the accounts@oldshithost.com or call [“toll free” number, which is not free if dialled from the UK] option 3 and they will assist you gladly. If you require further assistance, please do not hesitate to contact us and we will be glad to assist you further.

We are available 24 hours a day, 7 days a week for additional assistance, and invite you to contact us if you have any additional concerns.

Ok fair enough, I opt not to use the international number and resend my wish to cancel to the inbox of accounts@oldshithost.com.

The response:

Hello:

To cancel your account, you need to send an e-mail to cancel@oldshithost.com and provide the following information:

1– Domain name
2– Account password and the last 4 digits of the credit card on file for authentication purposes.
3– Reason for cancellation.

Once received, your account will be canceled and the confirmation will be sent back to you. If you did not receive our confirmation, please contact us again as we might not received your e-mail.

Oh, for crying out loud — can’t they just FW: the bloody thing on?

Third time lucky, perhaps? Hammer off yet another email, this time to “cancel” because apparently “support” was the wrong guy and “accounts” just wasn’t close enough (Jesus wept…) That’s before even addressing the dodgy “your account will be canceled and the confirmation will be sent back to you. If you did not receive our confirmation, please contact us again as we might not received your e-mail.” bit.

Slightly iffy…

A couple of hours later, I get a LOL-Cat caption masquerading as formal confirmation of the termination of my account:

Hello Claire,

Regarding your webaccount, please be advised that has been cancelled your
hosting services.
If you have any questions or concerns, please don’t hesitate to contact us.

Thank you,

cancel@oldshithost.com

http://www.oldshithost.com

[totally different toll-free number to the one given originally]

And they want us to think they haven’t out-sourced their tech support to the armpit of the developing world? With that grammar? It doesn’t even bloody make sense!

Here’s the best bit: just out of curiosity I visited my old URLs whilst writing this — not only everything is still just how I left it, but I can even still log in to my old control panel.

I can see this is going to be a good’un…

The Bit With Women Drivers…

Claire — Sun, 02 Mar 2008 21:20:14 +0000

Deary me, you are a sensitive bunch. A little pert, peachy rear of a rock star in his prime and anyone would’ve thought I’d posted Terry Wogan’s Gentleman-vegetables (a la Moleskin-gate) in a screen-cap of desktop wallpaper proportions.

I had intended to publish another Mystery Macro challenge this weekend, but the quiet, nothing-y weekend I had planned has turned into one involving copious amounts of laborious music downloads (I heart the music, I just hate the downloading part) and a rather crunched car.

Yes. You know that nice new shiny car with the shinyness that we got in September? Both doors on the driver’s side are now scraped, dented, mangled and ill-fitting after a rather inconsiderate, stationary car went smashing into the side of K whilst she was driving rather innocently.

Apparently.

A bit like that time when a wall jumped out behind her when she was reversing in our old car.

Twice.