The First Day of Being 44
I won’t forget my first day of being 44.
Michael’s baking a cheesecake. I can smell it in the oven from the couch where I’m sitting with Lucy, our now only dog. One of our cats, Pete (she/her/hers) is sitting on the windowsill of the big front window, grooming herself. Norah Jones is playing on my computer - her first album. I haven’t listened to it all the way through in years. On this “Super Deluxe” edition, there’s a really great demo recording of Spring Can Really Hang You Up the Most. You should look for it if you’ve never heard it.
We just had a terrible fright. I was in the bedroom, where I spend most of my time for some reason, and Lucy was under the covers. I noticed her stir and held up the sheets and blankets so she could find her way out. But she didn’t really. I guided her out. She got up and stated walking very tentatively around the bed - like she wasn’t sure where the edge was. I got up from where I sat and talked to her. She wouldn’t look at me but she was trying to find out where my voice was coming from.
“Jesus Christ,” I said outloud, “Please no. Not today. Not today."
I brought her out to the living room and I called for Michael, who was downstairs. He heard the fear in my voice and came directly upstairs. I told him what I thought was going on, that Lucy wasn’t able to see out of her good eye, and he agreed. And then I broke down. Like, I had a complete meltdown. I cried like I’ve rarely cried before. Shaking. Hitting the couch with my fists. Scratching my leg compulsively, asking why. Why now? Why today? Why was she fine 10 minutes ago and now she can’t see? Why on my birthday? My dog loses her sight? Well happy fucking birthday to me.
It felt like my brain was tying itself into a big, wet-roped knot, wringing itself out. A wet knot, squeezing and constricting the more I tried to untie it. My body was completely stiff and I was forgetting to breathe, except for the gasps I took without realizing it between loud sobs and shouts and cries out to Michael asking why.
I started picturing all of the things we’d have to do to take care of her. I felt her confusion while she tried to sniff her way around the living room, disoriented but still wagging her Good Girl beagle tail. Carrying her outside to go to the bathroom, not being able to take her to the doggie daycare we just signed up for, worrying all the time that she might fall or hurt herself.
This did not help anyone.
Michael, god bless him, kept his cool entirely. He was looking up a doggie gate for the top of the stairs using his iPhone in one hand, and comforting me with the other. He couldn’t reassure me that everything was going to be ok, and I think it bothered him. He said wise things. He told me to let it out. I did.
By this time I had Lucy up on the couch with me and was petting her. I was starting to calm down a little bit, but not really. I had to blow my nose and wipe my red, bloodshot eyes. I stood and asked Michael if he’d keep an eye on Lucy, and of course he said he would. I went into the bathroom just a few feet away. While I was cleaning up, I heard Lucy jump down off of the couch.
And then a day-after-Christmas miracle occurred.
We still aren’t sure what happened. She was completely back to normal. She looked at me when I talked to her, and walked around without trying to feel her way. She wagged her tail. I thought, “Thank you, God,” even though I’m firm in my atheist beliefs. I guess it’s just what you say when you think you’re losing your dog and it turns out you might not be after all. I gave Lucy a big chewy treat.
I called the vet and left a message about what had just happened, without the personal commentary of course. They just called back and we’ve got an appointment this week. They cleared her for doggie daycare tomorrow, too. This makes me feel very relieved.
I told Michael I hadn’t felt the way I did - the amount of pain and despair that was coursing through me - since high school when I was a near suicidal teen. I haven’t come close to those feelings since about that time, and it scared me. It still scares me. It felt like I was breaking. Or already broken. On reflection, I’m not sure which scared me more: Lucy losing her sight or me having a mental breakdown and sobbing for like 45-minutes straight.
When I was thinking about writing this post, I picked the title intentionally. You see, I used to write a “The last day of being…” post each year on Facebook on Christmas Day - the day before my birthday. I’d take a selfie and post it with some reflections on the previous year. I enjoyed writing them. It’s good to reflect.
But this year, I decided I wanted to write a “The first day of being…” post. I planned to write while looking forward to some of the things I hope I get to accomplish this year. Hobbies and habits I want to form. People I want to see and why. How to spend more time being present with Michael. Saving Lucy’s sight (again) was not on the list.
I won’t forget my first day of being 44.
