a waiting game

Current work: medical continuity
Listening to: Bach
Reading: Kristan Higgins, Catch of the Day (enjoyed this)

At the moment there’s a dog-shaped hole in the house. Byron is at the vet’s, having a couple of teeth out. Routine, I know, but he has a slight heart murmur, which is not a good combination with anaesthetic. So, until the vet calls to tell me all is well, I’m fretting. I don’t even feel like having lunch – he loves salmon, but isn’t here to share it with me, and it doesn’t feel right eating it on my own without a head on my knee, a hopeful wag of the tail and big sad brown eyes doing the ‘I’m a poor, starving dog’ act.

I also had a panicky moment this morning, when this hole appeared in my vision. Not a black hole: this one had sparkly edges (kind of prismatic, and moving – like a kaleidoscope) and I could see it even when I closed my eyes. Now, the sensible part of me thought, ‘Hmm, that sounds like a migraine.’ However, there’s no family history, I’ve never experienced it before, and I’ve been having hard-to-shift headaches for the last three days (I even spent Sunday afternoon asleep, which is completely unlike me). So I thought I’d better get it checked out.

My eye test was overdue because I’ve been busy and kept meaning to book it next week (except ‘next week’ turned into the week after, yada yada yada). Luckily the optician was able to fit me in this morning. He was lovely – very charming, very knowledgeable (we had a really interesting chat about eye pressure), and very reassuring. Apparently it was a migraine flash, and it’s common for people to experience them as a one-off or even every six months without getting a full-blown migraine.

The cause? Probably stress. Apart from the situation with Dad, I’m really worried about Byron, and in some respects reading the KH book was a bad move: there was a pup on the front cover and the heroine’s dog was elderly, so I knew right from the start what was coming and sobbed my way through it. DH sighed and reminded me that I am banned from reading any book in which the dog doesn’t make it. (Well, hey. I was committed by that point.) And then I told him how worried I am that Byron might not make it today. I can’t be without a dog. I just can’t. So he has agreed that if the worst does happen today, we can go back to Aldertree (who have springy pups due next month). But please, God, my dog will be just fine and will see his eighth birthday on June 7.

I’m going to bury myself in work. Except there happens to be a liver-and-white English Springer Spaniel, who’s an integral part of the book.

Sigh.

I need my dog home safely.