We are now back to “peak of summer” levels of daily COVID cases, hospitalizations, and deaths. Reported new cases hit over 13k two days in a row, and Governor Florida Man is getting sued for hiding reports on how bad it really is. I didn’t do Thanksgiving with my nearby family (not a big deal as I’m not a huge turkey fan), and now I’m thinking maybe Christmas should be a drive-by brunch with opening gifts on the balcony and finger foods, and then send them on their way. They can do their own big holiday dinner. I’ll take a nice long walk and binge on something on Netflix, or maybe the new season of The Mandelorian. Nothing says Christmas like a Space Western.
My daughter’s school has had a number of COVID cases among both staff and students, and we’re waiting for the mid-January spike when all these idiots planning big Christmas get togethers get back to school and infect each other. And we know these idiots are going to do this, we’ve heard them planning. I stopped in at Publix this evening and saw people pushing groaning grocery carts, obviously preparing for a huge event.
I hope they’re stocked up on dog worm medicine. (I still can’t wrap my brain around that one.)
So, what am I doing to stay sane lately? Besides wine, I mean?
I am late to the Her Royal Spyness series by Rhys Bowen. In fact, I’m late to Rhys Bowen’s books entirely, and I’m really, really enjoying devouring her work. I’m halfway through the Her Royal Spyness books and OMG, they’re just a blast! They’re not “serious” books, but very well written, and that’s hard to find.
I had never read any of Rhys Bowen’s work and for years was put off by the cover art, if you can believe it. It made me think of those gawdawful “cozy mysteries” that make me feel brain cells dying if I try to read them.
I was so very wrong. I’ve read two of her more serious stand alone novels, The Tuscan Child and In Farleigh Field, and 2020 has been basically the year of Rhys Bowen. I’m a huge fan now.
Sophie is doing better, but – there’s always a but. I can see she’s losing weight, though she’s also more perky and her appetite is great. We have a 9 a.m. blood test on Monday, to see if her protein level has come up and her platelets have come down. Basically, I’m in maintenance mode with her; if we can keep her feeling good with these basic meds and the special diet, yay! I can’t afford to do the specialists and stuff just to put a specific label on it. It’s a protein-losing enteropathy, there is no cure, you just treat symptoms, and there are a variety of causes, including basic human-like IBS. She’ll probably have to stay on a steroid and a special diet, and it may shorten her life expectancy, but who can say?
Murphy was diagnosed with lymphangiectasia at 9 years old. I remember reading the pathologist’s report and crying for hours, because his prognosis was “poor.” He battled it for the next six years, and finally lost his fight at 15.5, which is a respectable Yorkie lifespan.
I can see that while Sophie’s condition is similar, it’s not the same: her blood protein is very low, her platelets are high, while Murphy’s blood never got too out of whack through the course of his disease. So while there’s a sort of “You’ve got to be kidding me!” aspect to having two small dogs with similar intestinal conditions, one after the other, it’s not the same.
Sophie’s seems more serious, because it’s having an impact on her blood in a major way. Murphy’s never did.
And as I’m writing this, she’s dancing at my side, begging me to get OFF the COMPUTER NOW, MOM! A girl needs her bedtime treats and some couch time! I must obey.
More this weekend, I swear.