Information is Key

I had planned to write today's blog post on my experiences while traveling in Cambodia last summer, but the events of my last fifteen hours or so have pointed me in another direction.

While working diligently yesterday afternoon on my homework for the awesome business-building course I'm taking, my elder dog, Kelly, was out back suffering from the sudden onset of what I believe to be Vestibular Disease. My focus was on myself and my work and I hadn't noticed how quiet my dogs were being as I plugged away happily, feeling quite content with my progress. You can imagine my dismay and gut-wrenching sadness when I went to let the girls in and found our dear Kelly seemingly unable to sense the location of the Earth beneath her, a dribble of saliva dangling from her typically dainty muzzle. I stood stricken, at first wanting to blame myself for putting her outside to begin with, then shaking with fear, almost paralyzed at the thought that I, we, might be losing her. I remained immersed in this sense of impending loss, sadness and fear for a few moments as I did a quick scan of the yard. Yes, there it was -- further evidence that she had been suffering for a while -- vomit, times five. Now, about ready to hurl, not at finding the puke, but because the fear and impending loss were twisting my stomach around their fingers. Then, as Kelly stood there, unafraid, yet a bit confused, I knew what to do. Seek more information!

I opened my senses and observed her movements while stroking her fur to soothe her. She melted into my care and took comfort in lying down as I coaxed her into her bed. Next, I called the vet to get a sanity check on what was going on... "Is she having a stroke?" I asked. "Not likely," the doc responded. "It's highly unusual for dogs to have strokes or other vascular episodes. It's tough to know what's going on without seeing her," she offered. "I understand, and thank you, but I feel as if I need to keep her here at home, at least for the evening, so I can be with her and get a better sense of what's going on." The doctor graciously gave me a few more minutes of her time as I shared more of Kelly's symptoms: nausea, drooling, refusing water and food, and a disoriented presence, paddling her legs about as if she were unsure how to use them. She agreed that it wasn't unreasonable for Kelly to stay at home tonight, then she provided me with a clue. "It could be something called Old Dog Vestibular Disease. This is a condition where they become suddenly dizzy, which would be in line with the symptoms that you're describing. You can treat the dizziness with Bonine to see if that helps." Wow! Okay, a new direction. I felt the grip on my stomach loosen a bit as I thanked the doctor, hung up the phone, and took a few deep breaths.

Now, as the details of Kelly's condition are still unfolding, I'll have to ask you to check back with me to see how things progress. Meanwhile, to share a bit more about how all this applies to my bigger story...

I'm beginning to see a pattern. The discovery of my dog in this state led me to open up my senses, look for clues not only in the physical landscape, but within my emotional body. My gut literally convinced me to seek out enough information to get very clear on the right thing to do. Being very present to the situation, to my dog, and to myself helped me to navigate the information that was coming in and to know, really know, what to do next. Without my presence, I could very well have spent the whole night fretting on the uncertainty of Kelly's lifespan, spinning tales of my own ineptitude at caring for my pets, or some other unproductive crazy-making activity. If information is key, perhaps presence is the hand that turns it.