Tag Archives: peri-menopause

I can’t sleep…

10 Jan

Well not enough at any rate. Either I’m too busy mind-fucking myself or the dogs are restless, or I’m drenched in night sweats. Whatevs, the end result is: I can’t sleep.

The other night Sparky seemed mad at me, which is ridonkulous because I bought all sorts of delish doggy treats for our week up the cabin, spoiling this doggly with tasty bits of bacon-y, cheese-y, meat-y morsels and tons of mommy-lap-time.

So I was a bit miffed that he slept at the end of the bed. All night. No midnight cuddle with me and the next morning, he seemed mad and sad again. I took him out for his morning ablutions (read: pee and poo outside please) and he was walking sideways, like a crab. Sorta. Back hunched upward, his head angled to the right.

I figured puppy probably swallowed a snausage whole and it was blocking his happiness. If you catch his my drift…

So no more treats today little fella until it passes.

Except by nighttime, he was still in a bad way. He started whimpering every time one of us attempted to pick him up or once when we tried to kiss his head. My inner dialogue was at war.

Rational me: He’s fine, it’ll pass. Pun intended.

Freaked-out me: OMG, did he eat a chicken bone, or what if it really WAS a full snausage and it won’t digest? Could he die from being constipated?

Rational me: You didn’t have chicken for dinner plus he drank water, he’ll be fine.

Freaked-out me: This is serious. He could DIE! And in DEAD SPARKY.

Sparky kept getting up, whimpering, trying to find a more comfy position and by 2:30am, I convinced Rational Me that he WAS gonna die if I didn’t do something.

I called the local vet – who was Rational, but because she can’t see him, she doesn’t know what’s going on. She agreed to meet us at the hospital.

We bundled up both puppies in a blanket and got there at about 3:30am. Her big concern was his bladder, which would be seriously bad news. She needed to check to see if he was blocked. Guess how? Yerp, a catheter. Which freaked me the eff out and apparently was inserted 8″ into his “you know whatsee”. I didn’t even know he had 8″ available…

Dribble dribble, good news, his bladder is just fine. Rolling my eyes, I knew this – I have pictures to prove said prowess.

Anyhoohaw, turns out Sparky hurt his back, maybe from all that sitting up and begging or who knows, from all the belly scratches resulting in rapid hind leg movement. Either way, it was worth the emergency trip to the vet to find out a couple muscle relaxers would restore my puppy’s vitality.

As we climbed back into bed at 4am, all of us exhausted, I kept thinking (yes, thinking): I love my dogs: flaws, paws, pee and all. And I really need to get more sleep. And I need to clean the fridge. And the bathroom cabinet. Oh, and I need to re-do my nails. Maybe I should try counting sheep?


Being a woman…

11 Jul

It seems there is something in the water. Besides fluoride and microscopic E. Coli that is. Maybe it’s really not our hormones or our peri-menopausal state, but almost ALL of my gal pals have either separated, divorced, or are thinking of doing something drastic. But frankly, I just don’t think it’s related to fluoride.

Take my vice president for example. She told me I’m the poster child for positive change (I looked over my shoulder at that one… “me?”) – which inspired her to change her hair style, buy new eyeglass frames and commit to losing that stubborn 20 pounds.

Fuck Aunt Flo

However, in all seriousness, almost every one of my female friends, who are in their forties, have all told me that they too have felt restless, questioning, emotional, angry, dissatisfied etc etc. Not necessarily because of any lover in their life, but life in general. I read up on these feelings.

It’s female mid-life crisis. Without the sports car and comb-over. And it’s supposedly tied to our hormones. Great, it’s not bad enough we have to deal with Aunt Flo and her passel of bitchy behavior and crying jags, but we also have to deal with out of control mood swings, night sweats, and mid-life depression. Super awesome maxipadness.

Fran Liebowitz said it best: Being a woman is of special interest only to aspiring male transsexuals. To actual women, it is simply a good excuse not to play football.