23 August 2011

My Friday or How I Learned to Stop Sleeping and Watch Something Die

For most people Friday is Friday, a day to look forward to the prospect of not working for the next couple days and just relax or do some menial housework. But for me, Friday, in the traditional sense, is Wednesday. And that makes Sunday Friday since my "weekend" is Monday and Tuesday. But add to that that the work week is recognized as Sunday through Saturday instead of Monday through Sunday and then Sunday-Friday becomes Sunday-Monday-Friday and my days off turn into Monday-Tuesday and Tuesday-Wednesday and I get paid on Friday-Saturday-Wednesday. It's a ridiculous semantics nightmare, but for purpose of this post you only need to know that Sunday is my working Friday.

Right, so Sunday night, a time when I am often at home relaxing with sporting events, beer, and Xbox gaming, I receive a text from an acquaintance. She had gotten a dog, a puppy, a few weeks back. I know this because unnecessarily she sent me a picture of said beast and I cared nothing for it. Well, the text Sunday was a frantic, misspelled lump of poor grammar and insanely unnecessary emotional overuse of the exclamation point. Within said text, there was one word that I keyed on and that was 'seizure.' Once I was able to cipher the rest of the nonsense, I figured out that her dog was having them and she was flipped out because she had no idea what to do. So, being the nice epileptic person that I am, I agreed to come over and sit around like an idiot so she could calm the hell down, thinking at best I would be there for a couple hours.

Upon arrival, I was given a very awkward hug. Not awkward because it was too long or I was inappropriately groped (it was those also) but I just dislike hugs from people that I really have no desire to be connected to, it's fucking weird. After the physical assault, I get the full story that the dog has not been eating, drinking, etc and that the vet thinks the dog might have distemper. I think to myself, why the fuck don't you leave the dog with the vet then? That would make sense, right? Leaving a sick animal with an animal doctor...hmmm.

I sat silently for the first hour, reading a Vince Flynn novel to keep from having unnecessary and idle chat about whatever stupid thing it is that 21 year old girls babble about. And then the dog went into another seizure, sitting bolt upright and convulsing, slobber and foamy drool coming out of its' mouth for the better part of two minutes. After it was over, I went back to reading my book and the girl started whimpering and crying and asking why I hadn't done anything. What the fuck was I supposed to do?! You can't stop a seizure, you don't DO anything it has to run it's course. And besides that, I'm not a neurosurgeon so even after it was over I couldn't have done anything.

More minutes drag by, and the girl decides she is too tired to stay up anymore. "Thank God," I think, "I'm going to sneak out while she is unconscious." Unfortunately, right before she passed out she asked me to stay a while and make sure the dog didn't seize again and since I know what it's like for people to see a seizure and cope with it, I decided to stay. 

I stayed all night. Until Monday-Saturday morning. During the night, I attempted to waken my acquaintance when the dog had a seizure the first couple times but that didn't work. So I gave that up and just started playing count the seizures. Around 5AM, the dog had a string of 4 seizures back to back totaling 20 minutes in duration. I checked on it at the end of the spree and it was barely breathing, not moving, not responding to anything (and I had done everything short of pick up the crate and drop it upside down). Then, about a half hour later (give or take, by this time I was delirious and unaware of what time was anymore), I heard the tell-tale sound. The shaking and clawing of another, bigger, grand mal seizure. It was bad, and it lasted for nearly 3 minutes. After it was over, I waited a little bit to check the dog again (I needed to finish the chapter I was on, lots of action). No movement, no response, no breathing. I knew it was coming, I could feel it well before it happened. And so, I left quickly....

Okay, not really. I'm heartless, but that bad. I waited around until my acquaintance woke up around 7 or something and I told her what happened. I was again inappropriately hugged but I sort of let it slide cause, hell, there was dead dog 3 feet away. And then, after an appropriate amount of time (15 minutes) I took off. I was tired, I hate emotions, and I really had no desire to watch someone cry and whine about the death of her pet. Was it sad? I guess, but not for me. Should I have stayed through the emotional crap? Not a chance.

So, how was your Friday?

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