Yesterday, January 3rd, I celebrated 11 months of being alcohol free. A day I never thought I’d reach, one month closer to celebrating a full year of sobriety, one I’d hoped to write an upbeat post or brag about my success, only to be yet, once again, reeling with loss and utter despair.
Our pup, Whiskey Knasch, ended up in the vet ER on New Year’s day with what we suspected was bloat. It is a life threatening situation that is prevalent in large, deep-chested breeds, like German Shepherds. It often happens if they’ve eaten too much too fast. We were camping in Valley of Fire and fed him dinner, then all of a sudden he started showing classic signs. We loaded him up and rushed him into Las Vegas to the vet specialty ER where they x-rayed him and found him to have food bloat. They gave us some meds for nausea and vomiting and sent us on our way.
Two days later, he started showing signs again so we took him to our vet. He is now there and they are suspecting bloat and are pushing IV fluids to see if the gas and fluid build up in his stomach will pass. He is not out of the woods yet.
I cannot explain what happened to me inside yesterday at the vet. Something broke. As the vet is explaining what is going on, showing me the x-rays and discussing the treatment plan, I just couldn’t think anymore. Here we are again, giving authorization to do whatever it takes to save our dog. A dog who hasn’t even reached 2 years of age. How in the world is my heart going to survive another blow like this?
I feel like I’ve been set up. That these past two years, which started with inspiration from losing my poor Sabot to a heart condition. Inspiration to live my life better, healthier in his honor and in honor of all my pets that come into my life. My final plea to give up alcohol for good. Over the past 11 months I’ve grown and uncovered a more compassionate, giving person. Wanting to share my experiences with others in hopes of inspiring others. Unleashing my gift of writing and art. Looking forward to my 55th birthday in a few days, only to be followed by my 1 year mark of being alcohol free.
But, nope, I feel like a fucking punching bag. You know the ones. The ones that are planted to the ground, that you punch and they tip over, only to rise up again to take another blow. I feel like my entire life I fight to stand up straight only to be punched back down. From countless moves, loss of friendships, a back injury at a young age that led to a life of chronic pain, divorces, loss of my brother to suicide and subsequently his children, loss of jobs and sick pets. Just when I think things are smooth sailing, another storm comes along.
This past year apparently was a trial and training. To get me into great emotional strength to fight yet another battle. But I feel I will lose again. All my efforts made in hopes of good outputting more good, only to be punched again to see how far of a hole I can climb out of now. I am sick and tired of searching for signs of courage, strength, fortitude and of climbing out of the holes. I am exhausted from fighting the fight.
I threatened to start drinking again yesterday but in the end I didn’t. I am not feeling the strongest today or likely not by tomorrow or even the next. I’m sure I will rise again but today is not the day.
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