A Day in the Life . . .

I seem to have taken a long sabbatical from blogging. And, I noticed that I was eating for no-good-reason and also exercising less, ditto. It occurred to me that maybe the eating was to replace the writing I wasn’t doing, and that I need to get back into a weekly rhythm of blogging, which requires an introspection of the mind, rather than a stuffing of the body.

Recently on NPR, Scott Detrow interviewed Kenn Adams, a playwright, who has developed an 8-sentence narrative device he calls Story Spine. So, how about if we start that way:

1. Once upon a time there was a woman who lived contentedly with her wonderful husband and their loving dog.
2. Everyday, her husband prepared the dog meals and they divided the dog walks between them; and, as he slipped deeper and deeper into dementia, he maintained those daily rhythms.
3. But one day, he took the dog for a walk and didn’t come home.
4. Suddenly, the whole neighborhood and the police were looking for him, until hours later she got a call saying the two had been found.
5. Because of that, she took charge of his meds, saw to it that he took them on time, and monitored his movements more closely.
6. Because of that, she took on more and more of the daily duties.
7. Until finally, he stopped eating and told her that he was ready — no, that he insisted (with a thump of his fist to his knee) on dying and within a few days he was gone.
8. And ever since then she has lived with both a sorrow and a great gratitude for having had 34 years of contentment with such a wonderful man.

Two years later

1. Once upon a time, a woman had a small dog, the last living (aside from friends) remnant of her life with her husband, dead these two years and four months.
2. Every day, she fed and walked the sweet dog who rewarded her by staying close and by sleeping beside her at night.
3. But one day, the dog got diarrhea and was taken to the vet for treatment; but a change of diet with added probiotics and psyllium fiber didn’t seem to help.
4. Suddenly, the dog stopped eating.

With Sophie’s refusal to eat, I experienced PTSD. A deep sense of grief washed through me.  Been there, done that—but was this the same as before? After waiting to hear from the vet, I called them again. This time we got an appointment for emergency care. 

All Sophie’s vitals checked out. She was treated for nausea, received hydration, and is back home with an antibiotic. 

So not this time, no new loss. Sophie is going to get better.