I want you to know some things.
I want you to know you have an appointment this morning at the NC State vet school. They’re going to take a look at your wonky knee, which Dr. Purcell thinks you’ve torn. I’m sorry you’ve had to limp around on it for so long, but this was the first appointment they had, and I didn’t think I could afford the orthopedic vet in private practice in Cary.
(I kind of hoped, between when I made the appointment a month ago and now, that it would work itself out like all the rest of your creakiness. But no, the limp has persisted. You won’t even jump up into the car. It’s a good thing I’ve been going to CrossFit so I can squat-clean you into the Outback when I need to.)
I want you to know that this injury is my fault. I saw you walking gingerly on that leg before Christmas. I should’ve kept you on the leash. But scampering up Swift’s hill is one of the great joys of your life, and watching you scamper, well, that’s one of the great joys of mine.
Most likely, the vet school folks are going to say you need surgery so, most likely, you’re going to have surgery. I know you’re not even four yet and Mom said they might not even put you fully under, so it’s highly unlikely that anything bad will happen to you.
But I want you to know I’m fucking terrified that you’re not going to wake up from the anesthesia or there will be a complication. What does that even mean, a complication? I guess a complication makes things more complicated, more difficult, and I can live with that, as long as it doesn’t make you dead.
I’m having a difficult time right now. Work is hard. There are great changes afoot in my life. You and Redford are the only thing that keep me sane sometimes. Your needs are so predictable, so simple: food, water, play-dates, walks, and belly-rubs. My needs are so complex: I need my students to be compliant but not robots. I need to feed my body but not too much. I need a mate, but I don’t know how to find him.
So you’re going to be fine. For me. There will be no complications. Because—and I really want you to know this—I love you so, so much.
Do you hear me, Violet? Don’t die today, OK?
Love,
Amy
*hug* She’s gonna be totally fine. They’re awesome people over there – that’s where I took my cat when she developed a crazy scary life-threatening reaction to her meds, and they fixed her up wonderfully. Give Violet a big ol’ hug for me as soon as you see her again, and bring her into Crossfit sometime! :)
Sending prayers, hugs and happy thoughts for the appointment today.
You both should have a little more faith and look forward to being well, happy and scampering up that hill!
I love you Amy Scott. This piece brought tears to my eyes, and the image of you squat-clean lifting Violet… I suspect it’s similar to what I gotta do to get fat Leroy onto the bed!! Please send updates as they arise. Love, Cat
i lUV u 2 vYliT! sTay sTwrOng so wEe CAn PwAy 2GEthr aNd bArk @ iVy aGaiN sOOOn!!
lUv aLwayS,
bArlEs
Warm thoughts from 3000 miles away. xo
OK – how’s the doggie?
Surgery is scheduled for next Thursday. :(
Poor Violet. So sorry you both have to go through this. Maxwell Simon Shirey had to have dog-o-pedic knee surgery twice and is absolutely fine — he has since only limped on the very rare occasion that other efforts (barking, crying, sad puppy eyes, etc) have failed to get him the attention and/or cheese he so desired…
Thanks for all the love and warm thoughts for Violet and me. We appreciate every last one!