I grew up watching those dramatic TV movies with the happy ending. You know the ones, where someone is dying of a horrible disease or some catastrophe has struck. At the end of the movie there's a dramatic moment where somehow it all has meaning. The music comes up and you're left with the idea that all the hurt was part of some greater scheme and everything is now going to be alright. I understand why those movies are made and why we want to believe. The idea that there's some greater purpose to tragedy and pain allows us to deny our powerlessness.I know that life is unfair. Bad things happen without plan or purpose. Death more often brings fear and pain, then nobility. The people I admire most in the world are people who know and accept those realities and yet still have hope and the ability to inspire. People who strive to do what they believe is right, with no certainty of success. I hope that I can be like that. I don't aspire to greatness. I live my life on a very small scale. I work, write, spend time outdoors and care for the animals that share my life.
I've wanted to write about Schmoozer the Wonder Mutt for months. He is severely epileptic. I've been blocked because I thought I was supposed to create something incredibly positive that turns his epilepsy into a life lesson that makes everything ok. Schmoo is so much more then his epilepsy. He is a silly, smart, loving, friendly and dramatic dog. I will not make him into a poster child for canine epilepsy. People often want to symbolize and nobilize disease and disability. I have known many disabled people and doing that is a disservice to individuals who have stories, pain, joys and hopes just like anyone else. I understand it's a hard balance. It would be just as wrong to ignore the significance of the struggles as it is make them become the overriding theme.
Of course, I am learning from the experience of dealing with his epilepsy, just as I learned some valuable life lessons from my leaking water heater last week. When things first became serious I was convinced that I wasn't capable of taking care of him. I made mistakes. I was scared and overwhelmed. I still make mistakes. I still spend time afraid for him and overwhelmed. Life continues on and I also have hope and ordinary days. Schmoo goes to work with me, plays, eats, goes on daily walks and has both human and doggy friends.
I think I need to write about his epilepsy. Writing seems to be how I process my experiences. However, I don't need to come to any great understanding or allow the epilepsy to become the defining narrative. This week has been good for Schmoo. He's losing weight. Actually, he doesn't consider that good. He tells me he's starving and practices his sad expressions as his energy level increases. We've had some good play sessions and spent several hours today at the big dog park. Wednesday was day thirteen, which is a significant point. We can't seem to go fourteen days seizure-free. His seizures are usually violent grand-mals that last several minutes. This time he started to go into a seizure, but never lost consciousness and in less then 30 seconds had pulled out of it. He's never done that before and I am thrilled. However, what stands out for me this week is a different moment. Wednesday also brought over 4 inches of rain and Schmoo silliness. In the midst of the rain the Wonder Mutt dashed away from me into the creek. This was not my plan and I was annoyed. I'm not sure why it mattered since it was raining so hard we were both soaked. I found him, not only standing in the middle of the stream, but positioned under a mini waterfall the excessive rain has caused. The water was crashing onto his head and splashing everywhere. I have no idea how he could breathe but he was biting at the torrent of water and radiating sheer joy. I can still feel that joy and it will carry me forward into the weeks to come.
This photo taken by Alan Winston:
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