I’m back to fearing the unknown again and while a tiny portion of this fear may have to do with Covid-19, the majority of the story has nothing to do with the global coronavirus pandemic. Yes, I’m sheltering in place in Denver. I wear a mask and gloves on weekly grocery store runs. I wash my hands while singing for 30 seconds straight.
My fear isn’t really about the virus — although I definitely wouldn’t want to accidentally spread it to anyone should I be asymptomatic — but I’m not worrying non stop about contracting it or dealing with a loved one who is sick. Covid-19 is like the B-story line in my main tale, which at this point revolves solely around Bobbi and what they found growing on her kidney last week.
I took her in for a sonogram with a board certified radiologist and her vet. Well I waited in the car while they carried her in (she did not want to go) since we can’t accompany our pets inside anymore. Her liver numbers had been a little off the week before although her kidney values had improved and the vet wanted to make sure they weren’t missing anything.
Nobody was expecting to find a mass growing on her kidney. Especially not me. I didn’t find out until a few hours later when I was back home and on a Zoom Happy Hour with some of my travel industry colleagues. Pretty much just lost it. I was plunging back into the void of the unknown and that damn C word I don’t like to say. This was what happened with Duke all over again but set to a pandemic backdrop felt that much harder to deal with.
It’s like you almost end up feeling guilty for worrying so much about your dog or your mental health when so many people around the world are losing parents or husbands or wives or children. Granted to me, my dogs are my children, and Bobbi is more than just a dog. She is my security system. She helps me on a daily basis cope with my anxiety disorder. She alerts me before I have a panic attack. Replacing her is pretty impossible.
And so the panic attacks just keep on rolling through. I try to breath but it isn’t easy. What is insane is I would think I’d be panicking that I can’t draw a breathe and think it is coronavirus but that is literally the last thing on my mind.
Poor Bobbi she still alerts me when she is sick. She sits with me and gives me her paw and takes care of me and that alone breaks my heart and gives me faith. And so I dial up my intentions and manifestations and prayers and anything else I can do to help her and heal her.
We still don’t know what the mass is. To find out requires a biopsy and to do that requires a blood test to check her clotting function because the ehrlichia she lives with is not friends with clotting and we don’t want her to bleed out during a needle biopsy. The vet also wants to check her lungs to see if there are any tumors there. That part is absolutely terrifying to me.
So I’m going to take it one step at a time. First the blood work. If her blood clots then I’ll do the x-ray. I’ve learned I cope best with small parcels of news. Some people like to know everything up front but when it comes to disease I like the unknown better than the scientific fact that seems much harder to pray away.
We are also back on the magic biscuits. The ones I watched eat Duke’s tumors away for eight years. I have faith in the right strains of cannabis and what it appears to do to make cancer cells, especially in organs, commit suicide. Apoptosis is the medical term.
I found one of my favorite strain concoctions with a good bit of CBD and lower THC in a full plant live resin. I bake a tiny portion on a biscuit, Rick Simpson Oil style, and pray for the best. Because at this point hope is all any of us have. The unknown is getting greater with every day we live in this brave new world.
And the good news is Bobbi isn’t acting sick. She is still like her old potcake self. Hungry, wanting to play ball, pissed she is traveling. A month into this saga that has to count for something.
Never would I ever have believed the 2020s would roar in this direction. Stay safe friends.
May The Odds Be Ever in Your Favor.