It was a quiet day for the most part yesterday. We had brunch at my sister’s house for Easter which was nice. My nieces were there and their significant others, my brother, my mom, and a friend of my nieces who has two little boys. It was fun to watch them look for their eggs hidden throughout the living room.
When we got home Gidget was “off.” She was more hyper than usual and wouldn’t sit still so I could express her bladder. I noticed when I picked her up that her fur felt funny – almost waxy.
I looked for evidence to confirm my suspision. I found a section of the hardwood floor in the kitchen wet with urine and bits of white foam. My suspicion confirmed. She had another seizure.
She had one in mid January and February. I thought perhaps she may not have another since she made it through March. Not the case. I’ve never had to deal with seizure’s in a dog before, but once again, like I did with IVDD, I’m learning and understanding what they are about.
My heart hurt thinking of her being all alone when this happened. Though dogs don’t know they are seizing, I felt bad for the extra confusion she likely felt as she came out of it.
While her seizures have been short, I was concerned if she had had another longer seizure and I wouldn’t have been there.
I calmed her down and then got her into the sink for a nice warm bath. As I ran my hands down her little, soft body, soaping her up, I decided to let go of the fear. The fear of the what if’s. The fear of what next? The fear of hoping this does not turn into anything more serious.
The thing is, if we live in fear, we don’t really live. I’ve done my research and have talked with my vet. While seizures are scary, they are common, and oftentimes dog’s live long lives even with them.
I snuggled her in a big blanket and loved her as hard as I could. This is all we have right here, right now, I thought. Gidget knows I love her. I made sure to tell her that. I made sure to feel it deep in my heart so it embeds in her heart and helps her feel save and loved.
I talked with God and asked him to take care of her for me—it is in His hands. I prayed that He help guide me if, and when, I need to do more.
And then I appreciated normal. Well, what normal is for me. Normal is different for everyone. But the quiet of our house as John took a nap and I held Gidget in my arms made me feel normal again. To be in solitude with Gidget, talking to the spirit in which I believe in. Connecting in a way that is always there for me when I trust and open to it.
Appreciating deeply that I have a heart to love my Gidget on such a profound and deep level– even when it is scary to think of loss that will come again someday.
But for now normal is what we have. So I soak it in and I give thanks that Gidget is herself again today. And normal is giving her at least one hundred kisses on the side of her snout this morning after seeing her sweet face peeking at me through her kennel as I got out of bed.
And appreciating normal makes each day grand with the hope of a new day.