Whew. I sure did.
Miss me, I mean. 'Cause I sure haven't been myself this week. Not a scrap of food from Sunday noon to Wednesday noon. My poor little midsection is still tender. I'll tell the whole story, but pity-pukers should skip down to the knitting content, I think...
We got Monte on Saturday morning, right? You remember (if you don't, scroll down to the cute puppy pics in last weekend's post -- did I tell you he's named after one of the cars in the car lot where they found his litter? A Monte Carlo? His litter mates were Honda, Toyota, Lexus, etc. after the rest of the cars there... cute, huh?). Almost as soon as he got in the house, I started getting twinges in my gut. You know, like "Oh, my, freaking, God! What have I done?!" twinges. And he was good. So good. Only a few accidents, and those mostly at the back door after he "told" me he needed to go out. And only one poop in the house.
The first night, he slept from 10 until 3 a.m. I heard him rustling around, took him out, he peed and pooed and went right back in his crate until 6:30. Dry as a bone in there too. What more could you ask from a guy who just turned 10 weeks old? Not much I'd say. But the twinges continued. In fact they grew into downright grips and cramps. I thought I was having a panic attack over getting the dog. Every time I looked at him, my stomach turned. Poor guy.
Sunday evening, (the easily grossed out or those who've never had dogs with tape worms should look away from here too....) as we played with Monte on the living room floor, all of us romping and growling and laughing, even Sophie, the big dog, got in on the act. She got down on her haunches to challenge Monty and I looked at her backside... it was moving. Not dog-moving, but little white, slimy worm moving. And from you know where. That was it. I was off to the bathroom and didn't look back.
Now, the panic attack was in full swing, so I thought. By morning, I was retching over and over, and hubby had to take the kids to school. 2 things got me out of bed -- Monte had to go outside and Sophie HAD to go to the vet. I got Monte squared away and dragged myself and the wormy dog to the vet. What was the first of several very low points followed. A room full of people, barking dogs, my wormy one, and bilious me. Sheesh.
And there, it dawned on me. The gal behind the counter looked at me and asked, "You ok? You're white as a sheet. Do you think you have the flu?"
In a comic strip, a light bulb would have appeared above my head in that frame of the strip. Or there would be a freeze-frame on my stunned face.
The flu.
DUH!
What kind of person mistakes the stomach flu for a panic attack? When she's never had a panic attack in her life and wouldn't know one if it hit her on the head? When she's not prone to panicking -- even when she probably should -- 'cause she's so annoyingly cock-sure of her self and her rightness all the time? (Oh, I forget what the letters for my Myer's Briggs test are, like ENF something, but suffice to say that they're so far to one side that they're coming around the back, 'k?)
Me, I guess. This awakening happened, of course, as husband was winging his way off for a 3-day business trip. I was by myself, with two kids, two dogs, three practices of various types, three days worth of homework and meals and laundry and cleaning, ... and the stomach flu. Lovely.
Most of it's a blur, really. Monte was soooo good. He'd go outside, he'd play with Sophie, and then he'd go right in his crate for a few hours so I could sleep. When the kids got home, he'd play with them while I slept. There were only two accidents in the house. The kids even volunteered to get up with him in the night, but... as tempting as that was, I didn't let them. School and all... but don't I have good kids?
I suppose the lowest point was early Tuesday morning, about 6 a.m., and I had Monte outside after he'd had a really good night. (Pity pukers look away...) He was stretched out peeing, and I was doubled over barfing in the yard. And that's not even really the problem.
See, big dog Sophie is MY dog. She takes really good care of ME. Oh, she plays with the kids and wags her tail off when hubby drives up, but she sticks really close to me. All the time. Like same room close. And for that I'm truly thankful. I love her to distraction -- really. She's (weird for non dog people here) one of my best friends. Ok. Weird even for dog people.
Anyway, she must have known I was in extremity and she absolutely wouldn't let Monte near me. She herded him this way and that all morning. But he's persistent. And hard-headed. And a puppy. And he wouldn't be denied. Finally, I was curled up on the kitchen floor and he crawled up into my lap. He gave me a little puppy nip and that was it for Sophie. She took him by the head and flung him across the room... Scared me to death.
He got up and shook it off, but he was certainly cowed. And he limped a little and cried. I was totally freaked. I called his foster mom in what I guess was some kind of fugue state and asked her to take him back... "For a few nights," I said, "Until I'm better."
But I was thinking, "Get this bundle of whatever out of my house!" I'm a baaad sick person.
She came for him that afternoon -- she's a really good egg (Hi Bobbi!) and she said she'd bring him back when I was better. The kids were bereft. I was relieved to just curl up and die. At that point I'd have to say that I didn't intend to get him back. "He's a puppy, for God's sake, he's cute and some other family will give him a good home," I thought. But the kids and hubby had other ideas.
And I got better. Finally ate some white food Wednesday afternoon, after a night and morning without puppy. Sophie never left my side -- she slept alongside my bed, she sat next to the couch. She didn't bark at any passers-by or the letter carrier. I got stronger and finally ate something with color Thursday night. Hubby came home. Yesterday, I got the kitchen floor sealed against future accidents and all the laundry done.
Monte came home last night to tears and cheers. Big dog played with him all evening -- I'm not sick anymore I guess, so he's not a threat.
We are all glad he's home. Even me.
I think he got bigger while he was gone. And one ear is beginning to want to stand up, so he looks off balance all the time. And I just love him. Witness the fact that I'm up at 5:15 in the morning with him. His tummy is off -- too much tumult I think.
I can finally drink coffee again (think 1 week without coffee everyone -- scary?) so, what the heck. Time enough to knit this morning and blog some. Life is good. Again.
Knitting Content -- It's Safe To Read Again If You're Easily Queasily
From Sunday to Thursday, there was no knitting. None. That's when you know you're really sick. But Thursday and Friday saw a flurry of activity.
That's two of the three Mason-Dixon baby kimonos I'd like to make for a friend due in February. Sugar 'n Cream as you can see. The yellow one is all garter, the apple one has garter ridges, but then the rest I've done in stockinette. I like the garter one better. We'll see about the seaming though, as I'm better at stockinette seaming than garter seaming. That's the reason I haven't made the Einstein coat. But I digress.
Some stealth knitting is going on as well. Let's just say there's going to be a new little Buckeye fan in the family come summer (jeez, my sibs are prolific) and I've found the perfect pattern (thanks, Alison!) for the perfect yarn.
It's good to be back.
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