What The Hell Wednesday

What The Hell Wednesday


..or late at night.

I want to start a feature called What The Hell Wednesday, where we marvel at the extraordinary things that happen – on a daily basis – in our lives.
Are you in?
Okay. I’ll start.

Over Thanksgiving weekend our old doggie had another seizure (two in ten days).

Since the vet was closed for the Holiday, and Dita seemed to recover in under ten minutes (tail wagging, ball in her mouth), we decided to forgo an emergency visit, observe, and wait until the vet re-opened.

On the outside that’s what it looked like we were doing, but on the inside we were freaking out, consumed with worry, thinking this could be “goodbye”.

You see, our previous dog had a seizure, followed by another every day, until we had to put her down. All within a week. My husband and I both have post traumatic seizure syndrome.

That night, while acting cool, calm and collected (for Dita), I laid in bed and awfulized, working myself into a tizzy (albeit a quiet one).
My thoughts were racing. Don’t kid yourself, you know how this ends was what that practical bastard in my head kept repeating over and over.

Fears greatest hits – on an endless loop.

My husband had anesthetized with pie. I was not so lucky.

I meditated. I listened to my tapes. Finally it got so bad I asked for help.

Please, you’ve gotta help me with this, I write about gaining control over fear, but I’m spiraling over here.

I must have pleaded for a minute or two when a very calm voice came through: It’s not like the other dog, they’ll be able to control it with medication.

Uh, okay. They can do that? With dogs I mean? They have meds for seizures?

It’s not like the other dog, they’ll be able to control it with medication.

But what if…

It’s not like the other dog, they’ll be able to control it with medication.

That’s all they said, exactly those words, over and over, until I calmed down and went to sleep.

A couple of days later, at the vet, after numerous blood tests and X-rays; as he brought the old girl back into the room, I KNEW what the Vet was going to say; I’d even told my husband.

“It’s not cancer like your other dog, we can control it with medication.”

I swear. Verbatim.

Asking for help, then listening for the answer=good.

Spiraling out of control=not so good.

AND even if things look the same, they are not!

What The Hell! I LOVE when that happens!

Now it’s YOUR turn. Please share your best WTH story in the comments below. I know everyone would love to read them – especially ME!

Big Love,

  • dominator says:

    A few years back, while putting away my motorcycle after a Sunday morning ride, I discovered that my wedding band was missing on my finger. After a quick glance inside the glove (always the first place to check), panic slowly crept in.
    Now understand, this is not just and ordinary ring, vows withstanding; it’s a very rare vintage, three types of gold, articulated little masterpiece made by “Bulgari” in limited production ( I believe 6 were made in the early 50’s) that my wife had found for me. She was in the jewelery business for 20 years and had never run across one like that.
    I immediately started a comprehensive search of the garage, the driveway, retraced my route of the day, the locations of my various stops, back to the driveway, the garage again, then the house.
    By nightfall (yes, I know: I spent all day!) I was resigned to admit that it was lost.
    My wife took it better than I and promptly got me a new replacement; a new platinum band. Simple, sober, generic, uncomfortable, just “blah”, but serving it’s purpose of being the undeniable mark of a husband.
    Imagine my surprise when a few month later, she came home with another one. I don’t mean another ordinary band but the matching twin to the original one.
    What the Hell!
    This could have been the end of a great story but the following spring while doing a thorough cleaning of the garage, I remembered the experience and THOUGHT how amazing it would be to find the ring again. And right THEN as I looked up from my broom, I saw it!
    Stuck against the wall in a corner that I swear I had already cleaned, laid the collapsed annulus.
    What the Hell!
    When I called my beloved, I could barely speak as I weepingly explained my discovery.
    I now own one third of “Bulgari” production.

My version of life. My stories. Told in my own words.

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