I really do keep intending to show up here more often, but I tend to underestimate the toll that existential dread takes on a person. (Or maybe not any person, but certainly on me.) I have half a dozen in-progress projects littered around the house, and nearly every day I look around at everything I should be doing, all the things I’ve started and failed to finish, and then I… continue not doing them. I wouldn’t recommend it as a solid life philosophy, but it seems to be where I am at the moment.

Conversely, I periodically decide to Do The Thing, spend an inordinate amount of time on said thing, and then realize it was The Wrong Thing. As you might imagine, this doesn’t tend to make me want to Do Another Thing, after, because: ARGH.

Here’s a fun example: A while back I thrifted a pair of pants I really, really like a lot. Like, a lot a lot! And this was a big deal because at the time of thrifting I was still drowning in unexplained weight gain and had very few bottoms that fit (and shopping was a great way to feel bad about my body). When I bought these pants, they were slightly too loose in the waist, and I successfully (if laboriously) managed to take them in so that they fit perfectly. Yay! Eventually I started losing weight and now these pants are too big again, but I love them, so I’ve had them on my sewing pile for months, because I could just take them in some more, if I could just get myself to Do The Thing. Yesterday I decided it was time, and I picked out all the previous stitches and measured and pinned and sewed (and this shouldn’t take long, but for me it does, because I am slow) and then triumphantly tried them on when I was done and… discovered that sure, they fit, but they are now lumpy and weird because my tailoring method works for small alterations but not larger ones. And somehow the combination of this failed project and the current dumpster fire of this country combines to render me a lump on the couch.

(I do stuff when I have to. I go to various appointments and meetings and do what I absolutely must. But no one will be accusing me of over-productivity any time soon, is my point.)

Anyway. I have three scintillating (maybe) stories for you, today!

My Veins, Continued

If you read my last post, you now know more about my venous insufficiency than even I wanted to know, so surely more than you wanted. But that won’t stop me from telling you even MORE!

After spending about six months getting the scan to determine if I’m a candidate for an iliac stent, and then finding out that I am, but also deciding that I am currently not interested in having surgery, the stent-evaluating doctor sent me for another scan* of my legs to see if I might qualify for insurance-covered treatment** there.

*Don’t worry, this one wasn’t a whole saga; I scheduled it at Emory and it happened as planned.
**Medical insurance has tables and standards for errrrrrrrrything, and although if I stand still for longer than a minute (yes, really) my legs begin turning purple from the knees down due to said venous insufficiency/blood pooling, the way they decide if they’ll pay for treatment has to do with the diameter of certain vessels and timing of valve closings, or something.

I had the scan; I had a telehealth appointment to go over the scan.

“So is it bad enough that insurance will pay for treatment?” I asked.

“I have no idea,” said the nurse. “When we do the scans here, we look up your carrier’s chart beforehand, and then notate where you’re over the limit in the report. They didn’t do that. But, I mean, it’s not good.”

Super useful! Thanks!!

I am supposed to find a local vein treatment place and give them my scan and ask them. Have I done this? I have not. Do I have a good reason for not having done it? I do not! I’m sure I’ll get around to it eventually.

Tails (actually mostly just one tail)

Turnip the Terrible, first of her name, the rottenest of all root vegetables, three parts anxiety and one part mayhem, has a very unusual tail for a Maltese. Observe:

This is the cover of their album, “Tiny Hypoallergenic Gang.”

(This is an old picture, but it’s the best one of both tails I have.) Goose has a prototypical tail of most Shih Tzus and Malteses—it curves up over the center of her back in a perfect arc, and the typical grooming style is to leave it longer so that she has a “tail fan” even when the rest of her body is clipped short.

Turnip, on the other hand, has a tail that is… kind of a sideways corkscrew. It curls much more tightly than expected for her breed, and it also curves distinctly to the left. We’ve never seen anything quite like it. In fact, back when she was still just my new foster, I asked the rescue’s vet about it, specifically, because I was worried there was something wrong with her, muskuloskeletal-wise. I was waved off—she’s fine, just a little different—and I figured I was overreacting. Okay.

Take a look at that picture again. Notice anything else about her tail? No fan. I don’t trim it. I don’t think I’ve ever trimmed her tail, come to think of it. No, Turnip’s favorite “nervous habit” is chewing on her tail, and without fail, the very moment I notice some “feathers” starting to come in, she will disappear for a while, returning with a sodden, close-cropped tail. She also chews along her rump, right at the base of her tail, and I usually realize she’s due for a groom because the hair on her hindquarters is markedly shorter than the rest of her. (Monkey’s favorite nickname for Turnip is Rat, as in “naked rat tail.”)

But she’s fine, and the tail-chewing is anxiety. Or so we’ve assumed. *insert haunting, foreshadowing music here*

A couple of weeks ago, Turnip disappeared one evening, as she does, and when we realized she was gone, we called her, and she immediately returned. But this time, in addition to her tail being soggy, she was bleeding. She had chewed open a gash at the base of her tail. I was horrified. I immediately put her into the Donut Of Shame (slightly less awful than the Cone Of Shame) and cleaned her up (while she growled and snapped at me, the little ingrate) and commenced treating the wound and watching it for signs of infection, etc.

A few days after that, I was volunteering at an event and it turned out, so was our vet. So we each did our assigned duties and then we were chatting and he asked how the dogs are and I told him about Turnip practically chewing her tail off. And he immediately started asking me questions (does she chew her feet? do I think she has any allergies? is it just her tail?) and then said “When I have an animal consistently chewing one spot, and there aren’t allergies or yeast or anything, I assume it’s because of pain.”

When I tell you that the noise around us dropped away and I was suddenly crushed under a tidal wave of guilt, I’m only exaggerating a tiny bit. “But… but… I asked the other vet! I told them I thought something was wrong and they said she’s fine! I thought it was anxiety!! You’re telling me this whole time I thought she was just an anxious asshole she’s actually been IN PAIN??”

To his credit, our vet was kind enough to assure me that she’s probably ALSO an asshole. But… did I want to call the office in the morning and see about bringing her in?

Long story only slightly shorter: He did a full neuro exam and a set of x-rays, and GUESS WHAT! Turnip has two fused vertebrae at the base of her spine, right before her tail. She also has a “wonky femur” on the side her tail curls on, and probably I should’ve asked more about that, but I really only had the presence of mind to ask if these defects were congenital or the result of injury (and he said there’s no way to tell).

We’ve always suspected Turnip was a puppy mill dump, but it had never really occurred to me that she might’ve been abused on top of being neglected. But I have plenty of guilty just from not realizing for OVER TWO YEARS that she’s been in pain, so no matter, I suppose.

Turnip is now receiving weekly laser treatments, which sounds very new-age-y and whatever, but she actually loves it and it seems to be helping.

Too cool for school. Or laser. Whatever.

The day she receives treatment, her tail is noticeably less curled for the rest of the day. Otto thinks it’s less curled in general, even between treatments, but I’m not sure, yet. It’s also unclear if she would need these treatments, say, for the rest of her life, or if the current course might give her enough relief to last a while. We’re also giving her gabapentin in the evenings, and that’s helping, too.

I still feel terrible that she was suffering all that time, but:
1) The vet was right; she’s still a jerk,
and
2) after just 2 weeks mostly in the neck donut (I take it off her when I can watch her, but she’s in it more often than not), she has a tiny little tail fan! I’m ridiculously excited for the whole thing to grow in. Er, I mean, for her to feel better. Yup.

The Power of Pork

This is just a thing that made me laugh really, REALLY hard (still does, every time I think about it) and maybe it’s only funny to me, but let’s find out.

I’ve been involved with our local theater for… ummmm… eight years now, I guess. People come and go, of course, but there’s a certain number of “core” folks, and now that I’ve been on the Board for years, there are plenty of people there I feel like I’ve known forever.

At some point recently, I helped a fellow Board member with something (and it was, like, absolutely no big deal at all), and this is a guy with a giant smoker who brings all manner of slow-smoked BBQ meats to every gathering we have, and so to my surprise, he said, “Thank you so much for this. I’m gonna smoke you a pork butt!” Fortunately I knew his culinary reputation (otherwise I guess that might’ve sounded weird), and of course I assured him that I was happy to help, he didn’t need to do that, but he said “Nope, I want to” and I figured okay, he’ll probably forget, it’s fine. And I completely forgot about it.

A little while after that, someone else I know from the theater sent me a script for a project she’s involved in with a different group. She asked if I would read it over to make sure the “Jewish parts” made sense. Turns out, the guy who wrote the script is not Jewish, but the plot is about a Jewish family with a daughter who wants to celebrate Christmas and a father who is very stereotypically freaking out about it.

The script was funny. But it also had what were—to me—some obvious signs that it was penned by someone who did not grow up with all of the Yiddish words and expressions that had been liberally sprinkled throughout. So I passed along my feedback to my friend, she gave it to the writer, and… I forgot about it.

Yesterday, I got a text from the Board member I’d helped, asking me if I had time for a call. Being me, I immediately called him and said, “A call? A CALL?? Am I dying? Are YOU dying? WHO IS DYING???” We laughed and then the weirdest conversation of my life commenced. I’m paraphrasing, but basically it was something like this:
Him: I just wanted to do this as a true talk, rather than over text, because I think it’s important.
Me: … okay…?
Him: I… I’m afraid I’ve been terribly insensitive and I just want to apologize to you, because I feel just awful.
Me: Um. What are we talking about?
Him: I didn’t know, and maybe I should’ve, and I never wanted to offend you in any way, I hope you know that—
Me: Wait. Stop. I’m confused. Seriously, I have NO idea what you’re talking about.
Him: I… I’m working on [writer’s] project with [other theater person I helped], and she JUST mentioned at rehearsal last night that you’d given some notes, and I asked why, because I didn’t know you were involved. And then [other theater person I helped] told me you’re Jewish, and I didn’t know.
Me: … okay…? I still don’t know what we’re talking about.
Him: And I just, when I offered to do a pork butt for you, it never even occurred to me that you probably don’t eat pork! I am SO SORRY!

At this point, I burst into hysterical laughter, which I think was very confusing for him.

Me: OHHHHHHH. Dude. No! You are fine! I’m not religious! And that’s only for people who keep kosher, which I have literally never done! I love pork! Bacon is my favorite thing in the world!
Him: Oh good, phew, I was so afraid I’d really stepped in it with you.

At which point I started laughing, again.

I mean, SO SWEET, that he was so worried. Truly. But also there’s so much to unpack, here. First of all, I realize I’m in the deep south, but are there so few Jews here that a middle-aged dude really just assumes that to be Jewish = keeping kosher? Second, does anyone who’s spent more than 5 minutes with me think that if someone offers me something I literally cannot have I wouldn’t just SAY SO? Third, even if I DID keep kosher, what sort of jerk would be offended by the offer of free food?

He’s a very kind soul and once I stopped giggling I was able to reassure him that his concerns were unnecessary. And then he told me I’m getting 8 pounds of pork butt next weekend, sooooo… worth it, I guess.

Other stuff happened in the last month, but that’s all I’ve got, for now. There’s something else I should be doing, I think. Let me go sit on the couch and be anxious and think about it but not actually do it; I’m sure that will help.