Baggage

Sometimes around here the words flow from my brain like so many birds through a swarm of bugs, gobbling ideas up left and right without a moments hesitation.

Other times, not so much.  Check that, MOST times not so much.

Ideas come to me fairly often, but typically at a time or place where documenting even a scrap of a thought for later reference is not gonna happen.  Driving down the highway for instance or standing in the shower.  That may not seem like much, but if you know me IRL, you know how easily I get distracted by something sparkly.

This one has bounced around for a few days but I think I have a reasonable handle on how I want to say what I want to say.

So here goes.

I worked yesterday.  Part of the day involved our monthly paramedic training courtesy of our hospital.  It's not an easy task, trying to keep a bunch of Type "A", easily amused, borderline juvenile delinquent, Alpha Males on point, especially when it's a rather mundane part of the job.  I think, without confirming it with anyone, most of the disciplinary actions that take place around any given fire department occur due to relative inactivity.  If we're busy running calls everyone is too preoccupied with "the job" to find much time for shenanigans.  Kind of an "idle hands..." thing, you know?  Our Continuing Education (ConEd) while important, is not the kind of thing that tends to hold our attention for long periods of time, despite the best efforts of any instructor we've ever had in my 24+ years here, regardless of the topic.    So, when I tell you yesterday's training was on Legal Aspects of paramedicine, I challenge you to stifle the yawn involuntarily working it's way through your system right now.

Can't do it, can you?

Now, for clarity, I came to the realization many years ago, the things we love about our job usually involve someone else having a bad day.  Very bad.  Sometimes the worst day they've ever experienced.  And I don't wish misfortune on anyone.

Mostly anyone.

I kid, I kid.

Mostly.

So my days of wishing for calls has gone by the wayside.

However, and this is a big however, I will gladly take any kind of call during paramedic training.  The earlier in and the longer the call the better.  Just sayin.  So yesterday when we were mercifully called out, I was not at all unhappy about it.  Until we got to the call.

Again, for clarity, I'm at a spot where this might go off the rails and I want to be very careful about how I proceed.  I want to get a point or two across, but I don't want to throw stones at anyone.  I may edit this a couple times before it sees the light of day, I may can it altogether, but if you're reading to this point, please bear in mind I'm upset at systems and NOT people.

The call came in for someone with a service dog wanting to go to the semi-local VA hospital.  We'll go there even though we pass several other hospitals along the way, if it's in the best interest of the patient and not a threat to his or her medical fragility.  Once maybe twice a year is all.   Also the service dog part was a first, at least for me and the rest of our crew.

We were met by our patient's supervisor who told us the patient was a vet with significant PTSD issues who was in need of treatment at the VA.  We entered the room and two things jumped out at me.  Our patient was seriously upset.  His movements were exaggerated and animated, he looked disheveled and wild eyed and he was just short of screaming at the top of his lungs.  And his dog was completely stressed out by the whole situation.  At some point in the almost instant assessment we have to make we need to determine if a roomful of strangers is the best approach or if it will cause more harm than good.  We all instinctively backed away, save for one of our crew, also a vet.  But watching through the small side window next to the door we could see the dog was still upset, pacing and panting.  The volume the patient was speaking probably didn't help the dogs demeanor either.  He yelled at the dog a few times, I'm sure due to his own personal stress, and she didn't seem to know how to respond to him.  My Lt. made the decision to enter the room and lead the dog out and, after a few minutes I found her at my feet.  So, I tried to calm her.  I mean on top of the patients situation, an agitated dog would do no one any good since none of us knew her or how she would react.  She wouldn't (and really never did) respond to any commands I gave her but I think that's probably a function of her job as a service dog.  I mean she's probably trained to respond only to her human, otherwise it could get confusing for all parties concerned, right?  At any rate, since she stayed by me I crouched down by her and started talking to her in my best cool, calm and collected voice while stroking her face and back slowly to try and calm her.  It worked fairly well, I think.  She sat or laid at my feet the whole time she was by us.  I noticed her breathing slowed quite a bit (which I took as a good sign) even though it was still faster than normal.  And, when I'd stop petting her, she'd nuzzle back into my lap trying to bury her face in my legs.

I need to take a few seconds here and give a shout out to the DG coppers that responded.  I think they may have been in afternoon roll call when this started because they were significantly behind us and that's unusual.  I mean, they're out on the streets while we're in a firehouse, so they almost always get wherever before we do.  We had been on the scene for a few minutes when our dispatch asked if we still needed PD there, the officers were held up by a train passing through town.  The Lt. said no, they could disregard.  It was the right call too, since our patient had calmed quite a bit, even though he was still resistant to go for treatment.  A little while later though, as his voice grew louder and more upset, "Lou" asked dispatch to send a couple coppers to the scene.  Looking through the window he could see the patient was still seated, but the potential for escalation was certainly there.  And, while none of us wants to get into a physical confrontation with any patient, when it comes to the safety of our partners, we sometimes have to deal with a situation in that way.  We drew up a dose of medicine just in case too.  When the PD made it there, they dealt with this scenario about as well as I've seen in my time here.  Very low profile, let our guy deal with the patient, but right outside the door in case stuff went south.  And when our patient finally came out for the transport to the VA, they were supportive to both us and the patient.  One of them took the service dog while the other trailed our procession just in case.

I'm not going to write about the demons our patient talked about.  But hearing it made me terribly sad.  It's not a new phenomenon, going to war.  Humans have been doing it since the dawn of time.  We've gotten so good at war and yet, we as humans, still suck at dealing with the emotional aftermath.  Why is that?

That's rhetorical btw.  No need to answer.

Our ambulance crew made it to the VA without incident.  About the best outcome any of us could have hoped for.

PTSD is a real thing.  It's an insidious, vile disease that robs people of any semblance of normal functionality.  It can cause them to do things they normally wouldn't dream of doing.

To total strangers, to themselves, to loved ones.

And it's not specific to the military either.  Cases involving Police and Fire are happening in numbers very similar to the Armed Services.

I guess what I'm trying to say, in my own awkward way, is to be aware of your fellow human beings. Offer a kind word, not only to those you know, but to total strangers.  No one truly knows what's going on inside the brain of someone else until you make the effort to find out.  Be less quick to judge.  Be quicker to support and encourage.  If you can help someone, please do.  If you know someone that may be dealing with PTSD or any other emotional "disorder" please encourage them to seek some type of supportive care.  If you're the one dealing with various demons, please remember you're not alone.  Seek out help, in whatever non-destructive way you feel comfortable and keep trying till you find the thing that works for you.  Believe it or not, each of us is important to someone, for any number of  reasons.

Peace

Let's go for a walk

These words invariably elicit a prompt response from an otherwise sedentary dog.  Namely, mine.

Sophie is, as I've mentioned here before, my very favorite dog of all time.  And this is one of my favorite pictures of her, odd as it may seem.  It will forever put a smile on my face because, when she's laying down like this, if I lay down in front of her, like I did to take this picture, her tail immediately starts rhythmically thumping the floor.  So, I mean, obvs, right?

Today, she and I are celebrating her 11th birthday.  I'd like to say I remember the day we brought her home, but that would be a lie.  Of sorts.  I don't have any clear recollections of that day.  I do, however, vividly remember the day I found out we were going to get her.

I'm pretty sure I've mentioned here, multiple times, Tobi the Jack Russell terrorist (not an autocorrect) and how he ruled the roost.  So, adding a dog to the family wasn't something I'd really considered, even though (maybe especially because) we'd taken an ill-fated attempt at taking in a Lab that needed a new home.  As it turned out the reason the Lab needed a new home was her inability to get along with other dogs...  $600.00 worth of vet bills later, the Lab was out and Tobi was recuperating.

So, when the Quiet Child remarked how she'd like to get a puppy so that the soon-to-be-born Boy Genius would have a puppy to grow up with, Diane offered up her assistance and even recommended a breeder that lives near us.  She called and found out that he did, in fact, have two litters of puppies to check out.  Diane made an appointment to see said puppies the next day.

While I was at work.

My phone rang the next afternoon.  It was Diane.  What follows are direct quotes, etched in my memory...

Me: Hi

Diane: These puppies are so frickin' cute!

M: You want one don't you?

D: Can we?

Like I really had any say in the matter.  Picking out which puppy went similarly...

Diane: Do you want a Black Lab or a Yellow Lab?

Me: (after several seconds of careful consideration) you know, I'm kind of a traditionalist.  I think I'd like a Black Lab.

D: We're getting a Yellow one.

M: Ok

Even though Diane was the one to take Sophie to obedience classes as soon as Soph was old enough, and she worked with her every. single. day. Sophie always gravitated to me, a trait which continues to this day.

We've been through a lot together, Sophie and I, over the last 10+ years.  From Diane's passing to two moves to my divorce from the pirate.  And through so many times when I didn't really care to interact with people, Sophie was always there, laying at my feet, completely non-judgmentally supporting me as only a dog can.  So the least I can do for her is try and make her life as comfortable as I can.

That's not always easy for this dog.  She's got a dietary condition that, if left untreated results in explosive (not an exaggeration) diarrhea (sorry for the visual) along with arthritis in both hips and synthetic ligaments in both knees.  If someone had told me ten years ago that I would spend THAT much money on a dog I'd have laughed in their face.  Now?  How could I not?

At this point in her life, Sophie isn't really up for long walks.  Or moving rapidly.  Instead, we take four or five walks of maybe a half-mile or so over the course of the day when I'm home.  These walks take anywhere from thirty minutes to an hour.  Allow me to try and reproduce a typical timeline-

9:03 Leave the house.
9:04 Sniff the neighbor's yard.
9:07 Sniff the neighbor's yard three houses down.  Also, lose interest in her squeaky ball.
9:12 Take care of business.
9:17 Lay down in the shade.

9:24 Sniff the shrubbery on the corner.
9:25 Lay down in the shade.

9:31 Cross the street.
9:40 "Visit" with one of our neighbors and her Black Lab Junie.
9:46 Gaze longingly at Junie's kiddie pool while I tell her no.
9:55 Lay down in the shade.  Roll around in something disgusting.

10:02 Grudgingly go back into the house.

Due in large part to our walk routine, we have met most of our neighbors.  In fact, more neighbors know her name than mine.  And I'm not even joking.

She's been good for me in so many ways, getting me up and out of the house so many times when that wasn't necessarily something I was prepared to do.  Sometimes like this.

Subtle, no?

Over the years, she has offered no solid advice yet listens patiently whenever I need to vent.  To say I've been through a lot in the last ten years is kind of an understatement.  And Sophie has been there for me every step of the way.  She regularly brings a smile to my face.

Sometimes when I need it most.

Let's go for a walk.

Peace

Packer fans

Well, at the risk of stepping in something no one wants to smell, I'm attempting to honor a request.  A few weeks ago, when I wrote about how life has a way of continuing, despite what or how we may feel about it, one of the girls commented to me about how I need to write something for each of their birthdays...  Well, here goes (Shout out to Sarah!) nuthin'...

When I was younger; much, much, much, younger I used to get pretty excited about what in the grand scheme of things are pretty trivial.

Like sporting events.

I've always been a huge Bears fan.  In fact, one of the cooler sports nerd things that has happened to me, was when Diane and I (and my brother and sister-in-law) met Walter Payton at a restaurant he used to own in Aurora.  We walked in and instead of some teenage host/hostess, there he was, greeting people like old friends.  We chatted briefly and shook his hand but the funny part was when Diane tried to show him how a simple hand shake can be used to establish dominance.  We had had some discussion about a news story (or something) on the topic that we found interesting. Anyway, when she tried it on Walter and explained to him what she was doing and why, he got this little gleam in his eye and squeezed her hand just enough to show her that her trick didn't work.  We all had a good laugh and a great evening.

So back (more or less) to the point, when I was younger, I used to hold... oh, let's call it... a wee bit of animus towards, in particular, the Green Bay Packers.  And their fans.  If you watch football, you know the type.  Camo, blaze orange, cheese hats, beer bellies, runny noses, frost filling in their beards.  And then there's the men.

I used to make fun of them unmercifully.  But, as I got a little older, a little more mature (what? I'm mature dammit!) and a little wiser I realized that many people I like, some I even love, are, in fact, Packer fans.  Some of them don't even live north of the Cheddar Curtain (I know, right?!?) a fact which always amazes me a little.

Which brings me to the topic (you knew I'd get back here eventually, right?) and that, is Sarah.

This involves one of my favorite Sarah/Caitlin stories and it may, at least in part, explain why Tobi, the Jack Russell terrorist (not an autocorrect) became the way he was.  Oh wait, no it doesn't, he was that way from the start.

We had just moved in to the house in Wonder Lake.  Caitlin invited Sarah up to spend the night (or possibly weekend.  Either way, the length of time is not germane to the story) and the next morning, Caitlin thought it would be a good idea to "test" the Invisible Fence we had installed to limit Tobi's terrorist activities to our yard.  I mean, after all, we didn't want the neighbors to hate us.

At least not right away.  Let me earn it for crying out loud.

So Caitlin went outside the Invisible Fence and called Tobi to her.  He dutifully trotted over toward where she stood, he wasn't fully trained on the fence yet, until he hit "the line".  At which point he yelped, turned and ran back in to the house.  Caitlin felt horrible.  Even though Tobi used to bite her feet (and for whatever reason, only her feet)  and regularly chewed up her clothes, she never wanted to hurt the little jerk (and I mean that in the most endearing sense) and when she saw him react that way, she ran over to him and picked him up to reassure him.

Well, that's what she told us anyway, lol...

So, to put the candle on this cake, Sarah, I hope you have the most amazing birthday ever!

I love you!

Peace

Good Girl

I took Sophie for a walk this morning, in the rain.

Actually "walk" is not the most accurate way to describe what we do.  When asked by one of the many neighbors she's caused me to meet, I usually describe it as "going for a sniff".  She's 10 years old, has arthritis in both hips and has synthetic ligaments in both knees, so she doesn't really tolerate long distances.  Instead, we go for four to six blocks, pausing often in favorite yards for a break and sniffing, what seems like, every possible smell she can find.  These short distances take us, typically, thirty minutes or more to complete.

She's always off leash when we do this, to be honest, I'm not convinced I know where the leash is at this point.  She does a pretty good job of staying by me but I really don't care too much if she wanders a little further from me than she should.  She's social with both people and other dogs, but I usually call her close because you never know how others might react to her.

I stood on the sidewalk, watching her blissfully roll in something (probably something disgusting) in somebody's yard, getting rained on.

And it didn't bother me in the least.

I told you that to tell you this.

Good news, bad news.

The good news is, I started my day by hanging out with the Beatle baby (Beatle toddler?) and the little Diamond.

The bad news is, I did it so my son and daughter-in-law could take their beloved boxer, Maggie (aka Good Girl) to the vet.

Her final trip to the vet.

Yes, THAT final trip to the vet.

Maggie was the first boxer I ever met.  She was a sweet, sweet dog.  She doted on her human babies.  And she filled huge portions of R and D's hearts.  And will for quite some time.

She would almost always greet me with a toy in her mouth, eager to play tug of war and she loved flashing "puppy eyes" to guilt someone into giving her a treat.

She was 11 years old and for most of that time she was pretty healthy.  Knee surgery slowed her down for a bit, but she recovered pretty well from it.  Recently, she was diagnosed with kidney failure and while the vet took great care of her and it looked like she was on the mend, it took it's toll on her, leaving her unable to stand without falling and only hobbling around the house.

Maggie had a huge heart and hid her pain well, I think.  But it ultimately became obvious there was no choice but to ease her suffering.

Now, before you say something stupid like "it's only a dog" let me just say something...

I've got the grief bona fides down pat, thank you very much, and if you doubt that read here, here, here or here and if you're still of the opinion I'm spending too much time talking about "a dog" save yourself some time and stop reading.  Grief is grief and none of us have the right to tell someone else they're doing it wrong.

Lose my web address too.  Thanks.

I also wanted to say something to the Boy Child and my favorite daughter-in-law, even though I think they both know it.  There may come a time when you decide to get another dog.  That's ok.

That time may never come.  That's ok too.

You'll know the time if it comes.

So I guess I'll wrap this up by saying-

If you've got a pet of some sort in your life, good for you.  Personally, I think they add so much more to our lives than they may be an inconvenience to us.  My life has been enriched beyond measure by the animals that I have been around.  I still, on occasion, think about some of the ones I've lost.

Even Tobi, the Jack Russell terrorist.

And always, I smile at their memories.

Take good care of your pets, they do so much for us, and all they ask in return is a little love.

It seems to me they're getting the bad end of the deal.

Peace.