Although I've appreciated the snow days as much as ever, this most recent batch of snow just could not have come at a more inconvenient moment. Chase, our big retired racer, has been injured since February 22nd with a foot laceration that happened while playing with carefree and wild abandon in the previous snowfall. A trip to the vet the next day ended with minor surgery on his foot to repair the damage, which included clearing away dead skin and intricate suturing techniques (since greyhound skin is like that of a 90 year old woman's). Layers and layers of bandages were applied, and we were warned to keep them completely dry until they were removed...in about 17 days.
Over the years people have told me I should have gone into the veterinarian field (because of my love for animals). These same people did not realize that I am THE MOST squeamish, stressed-out individual on the face of the earth when it comes to sick animals. Last week I was literally having chest pains as I worried and fretted over Chase's injury. I took Monday off of work to monitor him continually; every few hours I felt and sniffed his bandages for any signs of wetness or odor (which might signal infection); and I became nearly apoplectic when he stepped into a huge snow bank to potty and snow gushed into the plastic IV bag the vet gave us to put over his bandaging to keep it dry. Frantic use of the hairdrier ensued as I attempted to dry the tiny corner of his bandage that got a little bit damp.
After that, I pulled out the big guns. I bought press and seal cling wrap, found a heavy-duty grocery bag and reinforced the inside with the press and seal, and pulled out a trash bag sized for kitchen use. The grocery bag with reinforcements was applied first followed by a swath of press and seal. This was followed by the IV bag boot and another application of press and seal. Finally the garbage bag, which I had to tie off where his leg meets his body and two more reams of press and seal were applied. I bit my fist the whole time we were out in the six to eight inches of snow, gasping at each incident of Chase stepping into un-shoveled areas, so worried was I that some layer of the body armor would come off. When we returned inside, and I stripped off nine layers of waterproofing, I found that his foot was clean and dry. Huge sigh of relief. All my work paid off. And then I had to do it all over again about two hours later, and I've had to continue doing it for each subsequent bathroom break to maintain peace of mind about that bandage.
Through it all, Chase has been tolerant and patient with me, although his expression seems to say, "Really, Mom? Must we go through this every time I need to pee?" My husband, also, has been extremely tolerant of my neurosis, patiently enduring my overly excited preludes into walks and bathroom breaks punctuated by frantic strips of press and seal. "Honey, you need to relax and have a little faith," he finally told me. "The vet said the stitches are healing better than they even expected."
This is true. At a bandage-change visit the other day, the vet confirmed that everything is healing perfectly and more quickly than they expected. (Praise for that, as I'd been praying that it would heal faster than they thought it would).
Over all of my desperate and frenzied preparations I imagine God looking down and shaking his head at my all-too-human need to stress over something that I don't have ultimate control. He's the great healer and protector, and all my panic is futile at the end of the day. Nevertheless, I also imagine He, too, might be slightly amused and even chuckle a little at the press and seal overkill.
(Chase sleeping comfortably with bandages)
God made the wild animals according to their kinds, the livestock according to their kinds, and all the creatures that move along the ground according to their kinds. And God saw that it was good. --Genesis 1:25
