I fail as a stoic

You know she is getting better. It’s just hard to tell at 3 in the morning, when she’s woken you up again with her whimpering, her pacing, her panting. When she won’t take food in the morning and you have to shove a narcotic down her throat by force. It colors your whole day and every free moment you have you can hear the whining, the anxiety. But remember this; you come home and she is bright eyed and bushy-tailed, happy to take chicken, her treat roll, whatever. She makes a game of it now. When she goes on a walk sometimes it’s closer to her old, leisurely pace and she’s started noticing other dogs again. And she sleeps and rests more easily. The pacing and whining less frequent, less intense. Until 3 am of course.

But in the morning and at work when you’re fretting about expenses and carefully mentally totaling the appalling calculus of Quality of Life and Cost of Treatment remember the eating, the resting, the smiling and the wagging. And keep praying to St. Francis while using the words of Dame Julian of Norwich as a mantra.

All shall be well, and all shall be well,  and all manner of thing shall be well.


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