Things have been kind of hectic lately, not allowing just some good old fashioned down time for blogging. As Jackie put it here, its not for a lack of excitement. I think she hit on the big things thus far, new car purchase and Ellie's surgery. There have been other things I have been meaning to blog about, finished a couple more books and had some thoughts to share, possibly an update on the whole weight loss goals I mentioned previously, and maybe even a post about feeling a bit over saturated with connectivity (FB, Twitter, Blog, etc.), or maybe overwhelmed. But, that will all have to wait for another time.
Today was Ellie's surgery. As some may know, our 9 month puppy was diagnosed with Femoral Head Necrosis a few weeks back. As I understand it, for one reason or another, blood flow was not getting to her back left leg, causing the tissue and bone to eventually die off. Her condition was not severe, but it would only get worse, devolving into bone on bone contact and a lot of pain. Thus, the surgery, which, according to the Vet this morning, will remove the forming of the joint as it is dying off, and smooth the top of the femur to reduce any bone on bone contact, and eventually scar tissue will form a false joint. That leg, which already a tad bit shorter than the other hind leg, will now be noticeably shorter. While the surgery is not too serious (it doesn't involve heart or kidneys or brain), its still a serious leg/hip surgery, with the Vet referring to it as a "salvage procedure" to rescue what's left, I suppose.
As I was driving down to Fort Wayne this morning, with Ellie visibly nervous as she sensed this was not normal operating procedure, I wondered how this would feel if it was my child instead of my dog. These feelings tend to naturally arise, in part because I view dogs as family members, and thus have paternal feelings towards Ellie, and in part because Jackie and I want children, and the prospect of parenthood is something we desire and hope for. However, as I don't currently have kids, I can only imagine what this would feel like, taking your infant or toddler (for equivalency purposes) to a surgery, and trusting doctors and nurses to do what their training has trained them to do. I imagine the doubts and worries, that we all bury deep within us, would be more nagging on the day of, more nervewracking in the hours and minutes before handing over your loved one.
What I kept thinking about Ellie was that I wish I could make her understand what was happening. At least with a young, school age child, you could have a discussion, you could at least attempt to make the general concept of what was happening known, i.e., something's not working right and this will fix it. With an infant and toddler, you couldn't do that, and in our situation, we could not do that with our Ellie. And while I truly and genuinely think it would so much tougher with a child than a dog, I have to admit that those worries left my shut cellar door somewhere inside me and came to the forefront of my mind this morning as I was dropping Ellie off for her surgery. It wasn't a matter of trust with the Vet (because we have a lot of trust with that particular vet office, particularly with our last dog), its just the worry that something could go wrong because, well, things go wrong all the time, sometimes for no particular reason, that's life. But I imagine much of it is the paternal feelings manifesting themselves, the urge to protect and care for my loved one, our pet, and the knowing that I have done all that I can, and I need to rely on someone else to finish that care.
It invokes simultaneous feelings of helplessness and humbleness. Its the realization that all I can do is have the surgery done, and hope that the surgeon's skills is a gift to our dog and helps. Its the realization that even for those that you love and feel charged to protect and care, there are points in the process where you are helpless and its out of your control, where you need someone else's special gifts to help find a remedy. And that realization leads to humbleness. The humility that comes from these situations, where our interdependence with one another as a community seems to hit you on the head. The humility that comes from knowing completely your own helplessness and inability to complete a task (surgery), and finding someone else that has the talent, skill, and gift to help in the exact manner you need it.
My sense of faith, be it as full of doubt as it tends to be, has always felt a strong pull to the idea of interdependence, the concept of one family, one body so to speak, all working together, utilizing our differing gifts. In a situation when you are in complete reliance, and putting full faith, in someone else's special gifts, that interdependence, that connectedness we all share as we live out our common journeys in this world, truly hits home. It's at points like those that our frailty, our weaknesses, and most importantly our inherent limitations are easily recognizable; and in me, it creates humility deep within me, and simple awe at the sheer volume of ways we can help our fellow beings.
(btw, the Vet called and said Ellie did fine with the surgery, and we should be picking her up this evening).
Today was Ellie's surgery. As some may know, our 9 month puppy was diagnosed with Femoral Head Necrosis a few weeks back. As I understand it, for one reason or another, blood flow was not getting to her back left leg, causing the tissue and bone to eventually die off. Her condition was not severe, but it would only get worse, devolving into bone on bone contact and a lot of pain. Thus, the surgery, which, according to the Vet this morning, will remove the forming of the joint as it is dying off, and smooth the top of the femur to reduce any bone on bone contact, and eventually scar tissue will form a false joint. That leg, which already a tad bit shorter than the other hind leg, will now be noticeably shorter. While the surgery is not too serious (it doesn't involve heart or kidneys or brain), its still a serious leg/hip surgery, with the Vet referring to it as a "salvage procedure" to rescue what's left, I suppose.
As I was driving down to Fort Wayne this morning, with Ellie visibly nervous as she sensed this was not normal operating procedure, I wondered how this would feel if it was my child instead of my dog. These feelings tend to naturally arise, in part because I view dogs as family members, and thus have paternal feelings towards Ellie, and in part because Jackie and I want children, and the prospect of parenthood is something we desire and hope for. However, as I don't currently have kids, I can only imagine what this would feel like, taking your infant or toddler (for equivalency purposes) to a surgery, and trusting doctors and nurses to do what their training has trained them to do. I imagine the doubts and worries, that we all bury deep within us, would be more nagging on the day of, more nervewracking in the hours and minutes before handing over your loved one.
What I kept thinking about Ellie was that I wish I could make her understand what was happening. At least with a young, school age child, you could have a discussion, you could at least attempt to make the general concept of what was happening known, i.e., something's not working right and this will fix it. With an infant and toddler, you couldn't do that, and in our situation, we could not do that with our Ellie. And while I truly and genuinely think it would so much tougher with a child than a dog, I have to admit that those worries left my shut cellar door somewhere inside me and came to the forefront of my mind this morning as I was dropping Ellie off for her surgery. It wasn't a matter of trust with the Vet (because we have a lot of trust with that particular vet office, particularly with our last dog), its just the worry that something could go wrong because, well, things go wrong all the time, sometimes for no particular reason, that's life. But I imagine much of it is the paternal feelings manifesting themselves, the urge to protect and care for my loved one, our pet, and the knowing that I have done all that I can, and I need to rely on someone else to finish that care.
It invokes simultaneous feelings of helplessness and humbleness. Its the realization that all I can do is have the surgery done, and hope that the surgeon's skills is a gift to our dog and helps. Its the realization that even for those that you love and feel charged to protect and care, there are points in the process where you are helpless and its out of your control, where you need someone else's special gifts to help find a remedy. And that realization leads to humbleness. The humility that comes from these situations, where our interdependence with one another as a community seems to hit you on the head. The humility that comes from knowing completely your own helplessness and inability to complete a task (surgery), and finding someone else that has the talent, skill, and gift to help in the exact manner you need it.
My sense of faith, be it as full of doubt as it tends to be, has always felt a strong pull to the idea of interdependence, the concept of one family, one body so to speak, all working together, utilizing our differing gifts. In a situation when you are in complete reliance, and putting full faith, in someone else's special gifts, that interdependence, that connectedness we all share as we live out our common journeys in this world, truly hits home. It's at points like those that our frailty, our weaknesses, and most importantly our inherent limitations are easily recognizable; and in me, it creates humility deep within me, and simple awe at the sheer volume of ways we can help our fellow beings.
(btw, the Vet called and said Ellie did fine with the surgery, and we should be picking her up this evening).
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