I’m very depressed today. In fact, I’ve been depressed for weeks. I’ve been waiting for the usual release and often subsequent high, but it’s not happening.
Maybe I’m in the dumps because my sweet doggie is slated to have a very major surgery this coming Tuesday. She has to be completely opened up for a kidney biopsy. In humans, a kidney biopsy is not such a huge deal, but dogs are made differently and it’s harder to get at their kidneys. Also, the sample has to be a pie shaped wedge, rather than a simple needle biopsy.
There’s a 3% chance that the biopsy may turn out to be a necropsy, which is veterinary-speak for autopsy. If I didn’t have to prove that her kidney failure is not due to anything I did, I would not subject her and myself to this ordeal.
But since the (fill in the expletive) woman who sold me this dog cooked up the outlandish tale that I somehow caused this dog to become mortally ill within hours of my acquiring her, when actually a couple of hours of observation were all that it took to come to a reasonable list of possible diagnoses, she asserts that I invalidated her contract and her obligation to make things right.
My loyal regular readers, to whom I am incredibly grateful, know that in addition to my bipolar disorder, I have ASD, Autistic Spectrum Disorder. Now, in most respects I don’t consider being on the Spectrum a disorder. It gives me many of my special talents, especially the ability to analyze things minutely and precisely, which is what makes me a superb clinician.
What I lack, though, is the ability to read people. I read animals, because they are direct and transparent. They are generally (with some notable exceptions) incapable of deviousness and deceit.
The human animal sometimes specializes in this. There is a subspecies of homo sapiens called the “confidence man/woman,” whose talent is to appear so incredibly honest and empathetic that the person who is being duped places their confidence in this person, despite mountains of evidence that this person is a fake.
That is why I rely on a service dog to sniff out evil people. They are very good at that.
This time, however, the very service dog I thought I was buying, with money I cashed in from my life insurance policy, turned out to be a very sick dog, which I should have noticed due to her extreme emaciation. I forget what the seller’s excuse for that was. Oh right, there was no excuse. I thought it was because the poor dog was loaded with worms that she looked so pitiful. This I also found out after I had shelled out $12,000 for a “fully trained” dog. OK, she knows “down, sit, heel, come,” and a couple of other useful commands, all of which I am capable of training, myself. Pretty basic. I could go on about this, but that’s not the point of this particular post.
So the long and the short of it is that I am now, after a month of test after test, facing a major surgery on my dog, who has no idea what lies ahead for her.
She looks much better now than when I bought her.
Her coat is glossy, her body responded well to plenty of high quality food and water. She is still weak, and I have to watch her carefully when we play her favorite game: frisbee. She leaps joyfully into the air to snatch the flying disc, and comes tearing back with it like a little kid: “Again! Again!”
Anyone watching her would say, “Look at that happy, healthy dog!”
But after a few throws her hind end tires out, and I have to be careful to stop before she gets injured. She would go after that frisbee till she collapsed, if I let her. I don’t let her.
The whole thing seems like an impossible task. I feel like I’m slogging through a lake of molasses.
So when this Ted Talk showed up in my email I thought, there’s nothing random. Here it is.