F.I.N.E. and S.O.B.E.R.
Sep. 15th, 2006 09:25 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
brightrosefoxIf you know what these acronyms mean, congratulations, you understand the state of my mind right now.
Everything is fucked up, insecure, neurotic and emotional. Son of a bitch, everything's real.
Tuesday is back in the hospital, in critical condition with confirmed severe, severe asthma (the doctor's exact words). She had injections of the strongest steroids, she is in an oxygen chamber. They want to keep her overnight. When Danny and I went in back to say good night, she was sitting crouched on a blanket. She stared at us like she wanted to murder us. I warned the doctors that her natural state was irritated and pissy, and if she tried to claw their eyes out it was a good thing. They thanked me profusely for that, and the nurse hung a Caution sign on the chamber. It made me laugh.
I paid the $200 deposit, just like last time. And just like last time, the estimate to get her home will be between $400 and $500. It can be done, but it will put a severe dent in my ability to help pay for a new water heater. Adam says he should be able to help cover it.
My mind was in a bad bad place. I was having ugly thoughts. Was this pain and trauma worth it? Could we deal with this again? Should we bother? I have been crying. These are awful thoughts. But as Beca told me over the phone, I am only human. I can only do what is best. I do not want to see a loved animal suffer for my love. I shall expect the best and prepare for the worst. I believe Tuesday will be fine. But I know -- I know -- this will happen again. This will keep happening.
Gods damn it.
She's my baby. But....
Gods fucking damn it all.
Danny gave me a screwdriver. Small. Half orange juice, half vanilla vodka. I drank the entire thing in just a few swallows. Forgetful juice and delerium, as Danny says,
Oh. Hell.
Excuse me.
I think I am too drunk to type well.
I am drinking another screwdriver, though. S-l-o-w-l-y.
Forgetful and deleriously yours.
Everything is fucked up, insecure, neurotic and emotional. Son of a bitch, everything's real.
Tuesday is back in the hospital, in critical condition with confirmed severe, severe asthma (the doctor's exact words). She had injections of the strongest steroids, she is in an oxygen chamber. They want to keep her overnight. When Danny and I went in back to say good night, she was sitting crouched on a blanket. She stared at us like she wanted to murder us. I warned the doctors that her natural state was irritated and pissy, and if she tried to claw their eyes out it was a good thing. They thanked me profusely for that, and the nurse hung a Caution sign on the chamber. It made me laugh.
I paid the $200 deposit, just like last time. And just like last time, the estimate to get her home will be between $400 and $500. It can be done, but it will put a severe dent in my ability to help pay for a new water heater. Adam says he should be able to help cover it.
My mind was in a bad bad place. I was having ugly thoughts. Was this pain and trauma worth it? Could we deal with this again? Should we bother? I have been crying. These are awful thoughts. But as Beca told me over the phone, I am only human. I can only do what is best. I do not want to see a loved animal suffer for my love. I shall expect the best and prepare for the worst. I believe Tuesday will be fine. But I know -- I know -- this will happen again. This will keep happening.
Gods damn it.
She's my baby. But....
Gods fucking damn it all.
Danny gave me a screwdriver. Small. Half orange juice, half vanilla vodka. I drank the entire thing in just a few swallows. Forgetful juice and delerium, as Danny says,
Oh. Hell.
Excuse me.
I think I am too drunk to type well.
I am drinking another screwdriver, though. S-l-o-w-l-y.
Forgetful and deleriously yours.
