Friday, June 27, 2008

Doggy Blues

Two years ago I was vacationing at my family's summer house in the North Woods Wisconsin when my husband (soon to be "ex") called. "Are you sitting down?" He always said that when it was something really big, for some reason.

I sat and he told me that our dog, Contessa, was sick and "Lis, they don't know what's wrong with her." I waited one more day up North for the news of our dog's condition to change to something good. You know, like she ate something bad but she was fine.

Nothing changed and seeing the worry on my face made my dad tell me to pack so he could bring me home. The five and a half hour trip never seemed longer. To make it worse, no dog to greet me when I walked into the house. Empty, quiet, lonely.

By the time I made it home Tessa had been in constant veterinary care for forty eight hours. My husband had to take her to a specialty hospital a forty five minute drive from our house because our regular vet and the hospitals close by didn't have anyone that could tell what, exactly, was going on with our dog. I drove up to see her right away and spoke to our regular vet on the way. "Go see her Lisa," she told me. "She's dying and she might not make it home." I was completely shocked to find a lethargic dog with a swollen tummy and very little of the happy-girl-look she normally had in her eye. Her new doctor, a kidney specialist named Dr. Thornhill, told me he had tapped her tummy to see why it had swollen and found blood. They needed to open her up to let it out and find the source of the bleeding.

After surgery we had little more to go on. She still wasn't eating, her kidney function continued to drop and they found lesions in the stomach wall but no sign of what left them. Another day passed before the Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever test came back positive and the hospital was able to start her on the proper antibiotics. My husband and I visited her daily, sometimes together and sometimes separately. She was always happy to see us but too tired to show much enthusiasm. She swelled with water and grew bigger each day. She was admitted at ninety seven pounds and after eight days was one hundred and seventeen, but she hadn't eaten. Every part of her that could hold water was filled, her legs, her toes, her lips, her ears. Her neck hung with water weight so low that the feeding tube in her neck was being crushed by the overlapping skin. Temporary stitches were made behind her ears, like a hair clip, to hold the skin back and up behind her head. Her mouth was open constantly and her swollen tongue fell out of it from behind her swollen gums in a desperate attempt to cool her body and ease her nausea. After nine days my husband and I visited her together and Dr. Thornhill greeted us for the first time with a long face. "We don't have many more options. If she doesn't eat she won't get better and the feeding tube isn't going to be able to give her everything she needs to help her body repair itself. She's taken on too much water so we're going to try to relieve her of some by giving her a diuretic. We'll know soon if she's going to pull through."

I cried the whole way home. My husband refused to give up on her and told me so. I think he was a little mad that I had begun to lose hope. I dug out my rosary and prayed to the God I was no longer sure existed but had prayed to in time of need before. I posted pleas on Craig's List for people who had more pull up in Heaven to please say a word for my dog. I emailed all my friends and asked them to do the same. I talked to the little girls next door and asked them to help with their precious prayers. I was desperate.

The next day I drove out to see her and the technicians told me that she was too weak to come to the visiting room, I would have to visit her at her bed. I brought with me a pillow from our couch and two t-shirts one that I had worn and one that my husband had worn. The three items smelled like us and I hoped it would help remind her that we were with her even when we weren't. The technicians were kind enough to let me hold my baby for over an hour while she slept. I talked to her almost the entire time.

"Contessa, what are you doing in here? The sunflowers are filling with seeds and the squirrels are soon going to be raiding them without worry that you'll chase them away. A tick, Contessa? A tiny tick did this to you? You're a BULLMASTIFF! You are a strong defender of giant estates and you're going to let a tiny little tick take you down? Come on, now! Enough already, you have got to start showing this thing who you are. You are Contessa Medici Pookie Bear, Brindle Bullmastiff extraordinaire. Get up and fight already!" I did not cry once with her. I laughed and sang her songs and told her everything that was going on at the house while she was gone. Finally the techs kicked me out.

The phone rang at 11:20 that night. My husband spoke and I waited to hear the news. "Lis... that was Dr. Thornhill." Well, duh... "He said he couldn't believe it but Contessa is starting to look like she's getting a little better. She's lost some of the water weight and she ate something today." We hugged and cried.

A week later we brought our emaciated Bullmastiff home. She was now only seventy two pounds and carried with her a box of meds, another box of fluids to be administered subcutaneously three times a day, and a seventeen thousand dollar bill. (My knees went weak when I signed for it).

The meds were unbelievable. Thirty six different pills to be given at five different intervals throughout the day to a dog that didn't even want to eat her food much less pills that were making her feel sick. We tried hamburger, baby food, peanut butter, tuna, salmon, ice cream, all of her former favorites were now making her turn her head away from us and gag. Some mornings she was too weak to climb the stairs outside to pee, the only good thing about being so thin was I could now carry her. Slowly, our dog began to eat again and gain her weight back. Slowly.

So a couple weeks ago when she started to show signs of lethargy again I began to worry. I thought maybe she was reacting to the changes in her pack. Her dad and I no longer sat on the couch together watching TV with her, we didn't even sleep in the same room. We didn't eat together and throw her scraps when we were done, we were all three rarely in the same room. I thought maybe that was effecting her. When I spoke to her dad about it he began to notice changes also so I took her in to the vet to be sure.

My gut was correct, her blood work showed some weakness. Today I wait for the results but the vet feels she may have Addison's disease. This is treatable with medication but I can't help but feel so sad for a dog that has been through so much already. I think, that her Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever actually brought my husband and I together while we struggled to keep a failing marriage whole. We bonded and stayed strong for her sake and I believe the ordeal kept us together another year. This time around, even our dog can't save us but she has managed to get us talking again. We are more easily able to discuss necessities and move toward beginning our new lives without being hurtful to each other.

She truly is a miraculous dog. The love of my life.

Monday, June 23, 2008

What You Can Learn From a Bullmastiff








I've lived almost five years with this amazing animal and she has become my all-time favorite dog. She's taught me a lot over the years so I asked her to write out some advice on living life to the fullest. Here's what she said:

1. Get a personal trainer

That's right, let someone else worry about how much you eat and how often you exercise. It's easier and they are more honest with you about your weight.

2. Take naps every day.

3. Two shorter workouts a day are better than one long one.

I prefer early morning and early evening. This works out best for my personal trainer and the temperature is most favorable at these times. Also, the squirrels are most lively at these hours and busy eating so they're not as likely to see you coming.


4. Know when to move on.

Lie in the sun until you get hot then move to the shade. When you're too cold move back into the sun. On the same note: Walk fast through the sun and slow in the shade. Why torture yourself? Get to the shade quicker and then enjoy it.




5. Don't judge men by their height or color.


Hey, some of my best boyfriends have been white.





6. Chew your food.

Swallowing things whole is never a good idea, unless someone's coming and may catch you counter surfing. Savor your food.

7. Children shorter than eye level are more work than the taller ones.

They often smell like poop, they have no respect for your eyes and nose, they drool more than I do, and they repeat commands even after you follow them.


8. Be cautious of people approaching the back of the house.

Really, what sort of human picks at garbage? And the other ones, the guys that get really tall on the poles, that's just not natural.

9. People approaching the front of the house should be greeted respectfully.

Even the ones putting white envelopes in the little house with the red flag on it. And yes, even the ones with the little pamphlets that always wear suits and dresses.

10. Drink a lot of water.

I hear it's good for your skin and has all kinds of healthy benefits. I like it because it makes a really fun noise when I lap it up. It's really refreshing.









Nice Guns!

During the school year I rise at 5 a.m. to workout at school. It's convenient, it's never crowded and it's free. There are a group of women who swim regularly on Monday and Wednesday mornings and a couple others that use the gym along with me on the other days. We need to vacate the locker room by 7 so as not to be in the way of the girls who have zero hour Lifesaving. High school girls, contrary to popular Hollywood movie portrayals, are so insecure about their bodies they shower in their swimsuits and change into clothes completely covered with beach towels if all bathroom stalls are occupied. I am always sure to be timely about getting out of their way since a girl gave me the ugliest gas face I've ever seen when I was walking from the shower to my towel seven years ago. I am an adult, I no longer shower in my swimsuit. Poor kid, I don't know if she'll ever get over that. I certainly haven't.
I warned the others of the girls' reaction to me. "Little did she know," said Kim, a fellow swimmer, "you've got the nicest figure out of all of us!"
A couple of the older women, incredibly talkative and nearing retirement, have been discussing where they'll workout when the school is no longer an option. They visited and then joined a new health club in Oak Park and were really happy with it. It's a pretty sleek joint and is brand new.
"I'm a Y girl, myself." I told them as they bragged about their new memberships. They went on to tell me about all the state of the art amenities and cool classes they are able to take at their new shiny club. "That's all fine and good," I added, "but I'd miss the old Polish guys taking laps in their shorts and black socks."
It's summer time and I'm back at the YMCA. I go to Berwyn, I like it there. It's shiny enough and yet I never feel intimidated. I do, however, on occasion run into former and current students. They often don't recognize me because I usually dress a lot nicer when I go to work. I also don't sweat that much in the classroom. Not anymore.
I ran into a kid that was in my Photo class about five years ago, Trino. He was a soccer player and apparently still is. We caught up a bit and then continued our workouts. Forgive me here, because I don't know the exact names of machines but after doing some leg lift thingies and some leg presses I sat on an arm machine. The one where your arms are raised just above your shoulders so your hands and head create a pitchfork shape. You pull your arms toward each other til they meet in the middle, like cheerleaders do when they clap. I completed my second set and Trino walked toward me in the direction of the drinking fountain. He flexed his bicep at me and winked so I flexed my left bicep back. I did this, partly to be funny but also because I really am impressed with my arms. The older guy on the ab machine across from me chuckled and Trino asked, "so you come here mainly to work on your lower body?"

Tuesday, June 10, 2008

High Infidelity

Dora suggested that I write about our night together a couple of months ago:

I went to the suburbs to hang out with my parents and met up with Dora. We looked through the paper for something to do after filling our tummies with Mom’s minestrone and decided on an 80’s cover band playing at a bar we used to show our fake id’s to get into (back when those were necessary) called Durty Nellie’s. The original had burned down and the new joint was supposed to be pretty nice. It was pretty nice.

The band began with a Journey tune and the crowd went wild, Dora and I looked at each other and Dora asked, “They know this isn’t reeeeeally Journey, right?” I shrugged my shoulders. The band finished the first song and the lead singer addressed the eager crowd, “How’s everyone doing tonight?” Cheers and raised cups followed.
“How many of you out there are on our mailing list?” More cheers and raised cups.
“Friends on our MySpace?” Lots more cheers and raised cups.
“Well then, you probably are one of the people who voted on our latest poll asking what your favorite songs of ours are and tonight we have a treat for you. We’re going to count down your favorites all the way to number one!! That was number fifty-two, here’s fifty-one.”
I turned to Dora and asked, “They can’t possibly do that many songs, can they?” She suggested I lift her up on my shoulders so we could blend more. Instead we raised our fists in the air and yelled and whistled. “Woooohooooo!”
Somewhere between forty-five and forty we decided to take a break and move into the adjoining restaurant/bar for a drink served in a glass instead of plastic. We found a pub table between the bar and the door leading to the band and settled into conversation. Occasionally the door would swing open and we’d hear the lead singer cry “that was number thirty- two, here’s thirty one!” Journey, a little Styxx…”now for number twenty seven!” Soon the band took a break and much of the crowd filtered into our area for drinks, bathroom breaks and discussion of how awesome the band was. Our conveniently located table became hot real estate. A young man, counting his money moved close to us and asked if we minded sharing our table so he could set his drinks down. “Sure,” I said, “we sub lease that end of the table for $5.00 every fifteen minutes.” He threw down a fiver and continued to count his money.
“I was kidding.” Why would I have to explain that? Dora slid the bill back to him and he slid it back to me. Some people just don’t get me. Money -Counter’s friend did and tried to help out but Money-Counter was not hearing any humor that night. He bought us drinks and left his rent behind. He didn’t even use the entire lease.
Not thirty seconds later a woman asked the same favor of us. I decided that since the joke didn’t go so well the first time to just reply a simple “sure!” She bought four drinks and set them on our table and thanked us, “that was so nice of you ladies, I’m buying for all my friends, how are you enjoying the band?” She kept taking one step toward the table and one step back as she spoke to us. Stepping forward to talk and then back to listen. “We’re having fun!” we replied.
“Oh, my friends and I are having a blast! We’re celebrating one of my good friend’s 40th birthday, my name is Kathy-with a ‘K’ nice to meet you ladies.” Kathy-with a ‘K’ had on pleated stone washed jeans and a jean jacket, her hair was cut in a mullet. Not really a good cut for anyone but I think even less so for people with really curly hair like Kathy-with a ‘K’ had.
“So, is that short for Kathleen, then?” I asked her.
“No!” she seemed very pleased that I fell for that assumption. “It’s short for Katherine, but with a ‘K.’ Most Katherines spell their name with a ‘C’ but mine’s with a ‘K’!”
She told us of her plans for her 40th birthday party but as soon as the band came back on she excused herself, “they’re back on! I’ll see you ladies in there, right?” Dora and I shrugged, “Of Course! We have to hear what made it to number one!”
Dora asked me, “why is it that whenever anyone comes up to the table to talk to us they always talk to you and not me?”
“I don’t know, maybe they think you don’t speak English.” She punched me and laughed at the same time. “You bitch!”
We went back in at about number twelve and fed off the excitement of the crowd. We couldn't help but to dance and enjoy the music for what it was. At about number eight Dora asked me if I wanted to leave, “are you kidding?” I asked her, “we've made it this far, we have to see what number one is.” We laughed and I joined Dora dancing. Dora attracts a lot of attention when she dances because…the girl is really hot. And when she dances it’s hard not to imagine a pole close by.
Finally, number one came along and we held each other in anticipation, “what do you think it’ll be?” I asked her laughing.
“I got my first real six-string, at a five and dime…”
We looked at each other with complete surprise but the crowd was really excited. “What? Summer of ’69? That’s number one?”
If you can’t beat ‘em…we danced. We tried a connected robotic snake and were critiqued by a guy standing close by, “that was the worst robot I’ve ever seen.”
“I know,” I agreed and realizing that once again I was the one being spoken to and not Dora, “it’s her fault, she doesn’t speak English.”
He looked at Dora and smiled and then addressed me, “oh you’re going to let her take all the blame and she won’t even be able to defend herself?”
“It’s who I am.”
Dora asked me if I wanted to leave and the guy, looking surprised said, “Oh! You speak English!”
“LISA!!”
“What? Oh my God! You speak…when did you learn English? Has this whole exchange student from Cambodia been a lie all along? Are you even from Cambodia? First thing in the morning I want you out of my apartment! I can’t believe you speak English!”

The next day I got a text from Dora, in English: “If I find a Styxx cover band playing you wanna go?”
I replied: “Sure…but only if we go on their MySpace and vote a hundred times for ‘Come Sail Away.’”

Monday, June 9, 2008

Girl Bar

I don’t know how I got to be forty without ever experiencing a gay bar, I consider myself really open minded but have managed to get through the past twenty years attending only straight bars. I have a friend who is bi-sexual and has invited me several times to join her in attending “Girl-Bar.” This is a monthly gathering of mostly lesbians in a popular gay nightclub. Saturday night I took her up on the offer. I tried to get a straight friend to join me but it didn’t work out, so I drove out to Circuit alone and met Claudia there.

Claudia is pretty popular in this place; the go-go dancers really like her and so do a lot of women. She left me to get some drinks and was provided shots of tequila by some new friends at the bar. At one point a really cute little Latina wearing only jeans and a push up bra walked near us and Claudia said to her, "wow, that bra looks really good on you. You are so hot." The girl replied, "You’re really hot too." And they started making out.

I'm cracking up and ask Claudia's friend, Monica, if this happens a lot and she said, "to Claudia, yep." A 6 foot tall late 40's lesbian started flirting really heavy with me and I broke her heart when I told her I wasn't gay. "Why? Why do I always fall for the straight ones?" She asked. Claudia and Monica rescued me by dragging me on the dance floor. I've never been touched by so many people in my life. Literally touched, my waist, my hips, my stomach, my ass... and I was not even offended. If it were men I’d be all pissed off but I didn't care. I was completely comfortable.

I worked really hard at getting Claudia sober enough to drive home for an hour or so, we left at about 2...something? Outside a really gay man ogled at me on the sidewalk and I was really confused by that. I'm pretty curvy, what was up? Claudia explained how gender doesn't matter when people are only interested in sex. She told me that when she attends gay night (men) she has to sometimes hide in the bathroom to get away from all the men. “They tell me I look like a cute little boy.” Go figure.

Thursday, June 5, 2008

Karma pays me back

When I first saw my house I knew I had to have it. I was leaving on a five-week trip to Europe and I told my husband to try and get it for us, which he did. I was so in love with that house, from first sight to dramatic move in. It soon became a symbol of my marriage in my dreams. Whenever my husband and I were fighting I’d dream of trees falling into the roof and damaging it. If we calmed down and talked over the possibility of divorce I’d dream of watching strange people come through it looking to buy it. I’m still in love with my house; I still very much love my husband. But the divorce is in progress and the “For Sale” sign went up last week

When we first moved in I was so pleased with how many neighbors would stop by and say “hello, welcome to the neighborhood,” while I was outside gardening. There were a lot of hustlers; I’ll call them, trying to sell me things like tropical plants, smoke detectors, and bags of socks. I’d wonder, “Where did they get those giant plants?” Soon, three large tropical houseplants were stolen off our front porch. My next-door neighbor asked, “Why you don’t lock your front gate at night?” So we started locking the gate at night. But during the day the mail person needed to get in, the neighborhood beat officer stopped by on occasion and the alderman’s clerks would come through as well. So we’d unlock the gate each morning.

One sunny morning a lady came to my door selling candy bars. For her kids, she said, “They go to St. Martin de Porres right up the street and they sellin’ these candy bars to help pay a tuition.” She was well dressed but the clothes were unkempt and she wore a lot of makeup and a wig. “You new to the neighborhood?” I explained that we had just moved in and really loved it so far. “For real? I stay wit my kids right up on Waller.” She gave me an exact address on the street next to ours. “Here my kids, right here.” She said as she pulled out her wallet and a photo folio filled with pictures of children. I asked her why the kids weren’t out here with her selling the candy. She laughed and said, “You know what? They should be here. I bring ‘em wit me when I bring you da candy.” I looked at a laminated page of fundraising candy that had to be at least five years old. I knew something was up but I completely played along with her. I told her what I wanted and she recorded my order in a spiral notepad. Wow, no phony order sheet, just a notepad, I wondered what was next. It didn’t take long to find out, she asked for payment on my 16.oo order. I told her I only had a twenty and she looked around. “Well, there a bank right over there. I’ll go and get yer change.”

I don’t know why I did what I did next. I just did it, without pause. I handed her my money and watched her walk away with it. I shut the door behind me and had another cup of coffee and wondered if even the kids were real. I had my husband put a new lock on the front gate, install a mailbox accessible from the sidewalk, and we started locking the gate all time after that.

The other day I was returning from a walk with my dog. On the sidewalk in front of my house just below the “For Sale” sign was a twenty-dollar bill. I thanked Karma and went inside.

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