Mid-day today, I found myself standing in the middle of my living room, scratching my head, and asking out loud -- loudly -- what the hell has been happening around here the past couple of weeks?!
We've had a dose of bad karma 'round these parts that is pretty unbelievable. It started with the Guv claiming that Dash was sick and my denying it ... and Dash spending a night booting up his guts. Then the cough set in, and I heard some crackles, and then I started coughing... and wham, Dash is fighting pneumonia, has been out of school for over a week, and I'm still coughing. I'm in denial about what the coughing means for my lungs -- which finally, last month, showed "normal" inflammation markers for the first time since June of last year. Seven-plus months of pneumonia was enough, thank you; I'm not going back there. I'll just sit right here on my nebulizer, pop some more antibiotic pills, and continue my cruise down De Nile.
Petunia caught it for a day, apparently mistaking Groundhog Day for April Fool's Day, realizing that she had a mother who was sick enough to want her to stick around and play with her brother so that, when mom's bed called, mom could answer it... yeah. She's back in school, having avoided "it."
But then, today, the dog's turn came. The first clue was last evening, when she had an accident. ("Accident" means "crapped on the floor," by the way.) It's pretty rare that Lola has an accident these days; she's pretty good about barking at the door to ask to be let out. We only take her out on leash, still, as there are too many places where she could escape; she can fit through the bars of a baby gate, and our fence is, at parts, less secure. Last night, she didn't bark, she just went on the floor -- and it was a little bit ickier than usual, but I thought little of it. Then midnight rolled around, and I heard scratching on the floor of her crate. And a little bit of whimpering. And since the Guv and Dash were sleeping right under that crate (in the basement), I figured I should investigate. Whhooot, that smell! It didn't look too bad, so I took her out to finish her business (no luck), then left her in the dog bed to sleep it off.
I woke up this morning to find what can only be described as a Shit Explosion with a side of Projectile Vomiting. Thank God the dog is confined to one rug-free, leather-and-wood room. That shit was everywhere. It was impossible to take a step without strategic planning. The kids stood at the gate, agog. Then Dash ran away, and he probably threw up (he usually does when the dog has accidents in the house). It was 7:35 a.m., Petunia had to leave for school in 15 minutes, and there was no way I'd even make it to her lunchbox in that time frame. Somehow, though, it all came together, and then the reality hit: something had to make the dog sick. Generally speaking, dog bowels just don't spontaneously combust without reason. I figured I'd better call the vet. It was her day off, so I left a message, contemplating whether or not to call her back-up clinic. She rang back with a lot of questions about where she is allowed to roam free (nowhere), whether or not she could've ingested a huge chunk of Something Bad that could be obstructing her (unlikely), and where we walk her (around the yard and 'hood). "Are you near your backyard?" she asked. "Yes," I answered. "Will your phone reach that far" she asked. "It's wireless, so I think so," I replied. "Go to where the dog goes," she ordered. I did. "Now look around, like you're a dog," she ordered. I thought my vet was probably trying to have a good laugh, but I got on all fours, then crouched even lower. And I saw: mushrooms. E.V.E.R.Y.W.H.E.R.E. Normally, this wouldn't be a problem, but, normally, I'm not in my bed moaning because I can't breathe again. Ergo, Petunia and, on one occasion, the Guv, have been taking Lola out for several days to do her business. They have the attention span of gnats, those peas-in-a-pod, and they wouldn't notice if Lola was chewing off her own limb, let alone a Mushroom of Death. Not that I'm blaming them -- I've gotten so used to her trying to mouth acorns in our yards that I wouldn't have thought anything of her chewing on something. But she likely didn't eat "whatever" it was on my watch, which made me feel all the worse that I can't garden for crap.
The vet was holding... "Whoops," I told her. "I'm not exactly a great gardener." She told me to google "death cap mushroom," and, while it doesn't appear that we have those (though they do favor live oaks, under which our species of mushroom were growing), we had several other varieties, some of which looked like the pictures of "toxic" on the "why the hell are these mushrooms in your yard?" website. She suggested I take Lola to a vet clinic in San Mateo (which might as well be San Francisco from where I live), as they have an on-site lab and can tell instantly if she's in liver failure, which is what comes of mushroom toxicity. (Seriously; three dumbasses humans ate death cap mushrooms last autumn and killed themselves.)
So... the vet found an elevated liver enzyme, just not high enough to be super-alarming. The options were: pay hundreds of dollars for her to get subcutaneous fluid and take her home with medication, watching her carefully and bringing her for a recheck tomorrow; or pay thousands of dollars for them to keep her there and, if she was going to die of liver failure, they'd make her comfortable but probably wouldn't be able to do anything to stop it. So... we're home. Waiting. Watching. So far, so good.
Meanwhile, I called a "real" gardener who is coming tomorrow afternoon to spec things out. I'm pretty much planning on concreting everything except for a small patch of fake grass. At best, we'll rip out all of the native grasses under, in, and around which the mushrooms hide; at worst, we really will rip out the whole yard and replace it, not just for the dog but also because I really can't keep it up (and don't care to do so).
I can't stop kicking myself about all of this, on a number of levels. If I were just a little more pushy about Dash's hand-washing, maybe he wouldn't have gotten the bug that grew into pneumonia. If he didn't get a bug that grew into pneumonia, and if I didn't need to sleep with him when he was sick, then maybe my own lungs would be as well as they were last week. And if we were both well, then no one else would've taken the dog for a walk; I'd have been on it, and she wouldn't have eaten anything...
Aww, who am I kidding... the mushrooms would still be there, because I never would've thought twice about their presence (if I could even see them from my usual standing height). Lesson learned, the hard way... though it's late at night, and little Lo seems to be doing fine. My poor furry little baby. Tomorrow, the gardening begins.
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