Pedal Another Mile

Bicycling, death, life after death.

My Hero

It's 3:30am as I lay in bed, unable to sleep as a result of what occurred just half an hour ago. First off, Billy Jo is ok. Well, as ok as she can be. This isn't a update about something that happened to her at 3:00, so everyone can breathe. I woke up to go to the bathroom and Wrigley launched out of bed ready to go outside as she sometimes does. I directed her to get back in bed, and she obeyed. Billy Jo asked for a pain pill so I got her one. A few minutes later she got up to go to the bathroom and again, "lil' miss eager to go outside" launched out of bed.

She had been out not longer than six hours ago so I told Billy to not fall for her tricks. This dog is always ready to go outside. Many times she stands at the patio door with a look on her face that says "Let me in! Quickly! I need to go back outside!"

She said she would go let her out anyway. She immediately came back upstairs and said that Wrigley had gotten sick at some point while we slept. Wednesday evening she threw up the biggest amount of puke I've ever seen come out of a dog that small. It was epic. I cleaned it up and yesterday was a "no human food" day. 4:00 am yesterday I awake to the lovely sounds of Shadow puking. No worries- I got this. Last night Billy Jo throws up all over the bathroom. As I said a few days ago- I'm immune to her vomit from years of experience.

So I head downstairs expecting another mountain of puke. What I got was the punch in the nose of dog poop. 3/4 solid and 1/4 diarrhea. She's obviously got some little stomach bug the past few days. She never has accidents in the house.

When Wrigley was a puppy and we had her crate trained, I came home one day to her and the cage covered in diarrhea. I carried this shaking, shit covered puppy in my arms upstairs to give her a bath. I was fine.

I wasn't fine this morning. I immediately began gagging, and thought I'd finally be joining the rest of the family in the pukefest. Hey, what can I say... I don't like being left out.

Billy Jo told me she'd take care of it and began cleaning up this mess. Instead of going back upstairs I pinched my nose shut and stood there, while a strong feeling of sadness and helplessness overcame me:

"What the fuck am I going to do when she's gone?"

I've had a rough week, emotionally. I'm ecstatic that she has been feeling so good lately. Many moments throughout the days Billy Jo is just... Billy Jo. Everything is fine. Hell, I even forget once in awhile that she's in hospice - things seem that "normal".

It's the scariest roller coaster I've ever been on- I somehow found the strength and peace to accept that she is dying, and now I'm somehow not strong enough to keep "false hope" at bay.

The hospice social worker, my therapist (who I saw Wednesday for the first time since all of this went down), and friends all say to take everything one day at a time... hell, one moment at a time. Enjoy and savor the good times for what they are. I do. I truly do. I'm just scared that the strength and acceptance of what lies ahead that I have built isn't strong enough to withstand that feelings of false hope, and that I'll slip into a denial mode, and really be caught off guard when things really go bad.

I was caught off guard an hour and fifteen minutes ago:

"What the fuck am I going to do when she's gone?"

I haven't had that thought in my head for a while. At least not in the fearful sense.

I'm very glad the hospice social worker is going to be here in less than eight hours.

As for any more sleep tonight... I doubt it. Her next meds are in an hour so I don't want to take a Xanax. Maybe I'll just work on the book some more.

Thanks for reading, as always.

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