Stayin' Alive

The sun is shining, we stand (or, in my case, sit) on the precipice of June -- and America's favorite dog blogger devoted to politics, pop culture, and basketball is, emphatically,

not dead yet!

So crank up the volume, and put on your white suits, kids. Disco down with us for the song of the day in Roxie's World:



Am I experiencing a miraculous recovery or a momentary reprieve? Haven't a clue, and Dr. House is not in the house to investigate my extraordinary case. Here's what the doctors of philosophy of Roxie's World can tell you based on their observations.

Up to Monday (Memorial Day), I was taking the following medications, as prescribed by my primary vet and my sweet-as-pie Portuguese cardiologist, who I saw for my annual check-up two weeks ago Tuesday:

• Proin (for urinary incontinence)

• Enalapril (an ACE inhibitor, used to treat high blood pressure and congestive heart failure)

• Hydralazine (also used to treat high blood pressure)

• Pimobendan (used to manage heart failure secondary to mitral valve prolapse in dogs)

• Tramadol (an analgesic, used to treat severe pain)

• Metacam (an NSAID, used to relieve symptoms of arthritis)

• Pepcid (used to treat peptic ulcer disease, perhaps caused by prolonged use of an NSAID)

As of Monday, when I resolutely refused to take any of my meds, despite Goose's repeated attempts to get me to swallow previously irresistible wads of pills wrapped in liverwurst, I have been taking:

• Nothing
• Nada
• Bupkis
• Nuttin', honey
• Diddly squat
• Jack s_it
• Zilch
  

On Tuesday, you may recall, my primary vet took a blood test and declared me to be in liver failure. She predicted I would be dead in two weeks without treatment. Since that time, the moms have declared our house a Hospice for Dogs (H/T: the Shy One), with Moose making a series of snide remarks about the pharmaceutical industry, high-end veterinary care, and the virtues of Christian Science, except for, you know, the whole Christian part.

Meantime, here on the floor, I am comfortable and content. My back legs still aren't working, though I have made valiant efforts in the past couple of days to stand. I eat, drink, and potty, with varying degrees of assistance. My coat is soft and smooth again, though earlier this week it was stiff and dry. New daily rituals of hot compresses and artificial tears have alleviated the icky crusting around my eyes that had briefly left me functionally blind. Moose has gotten all poetic about my patience during these tender ministrations, telling a friend that I sit in complete stillness, like some grateful, canine Buddha, even as she takes the flea comb to dislodge the schmutz that has gotten stuck in my eyelashes.

For once, Moose's metaphor may not be wide of the mark. There is a bit of the Buddha in this old dog as I make my way through however much time I have left in this body, this state of being. On Wednesday, I told you I was dying. Today, I would like to rephrase that. Let us say instead that,

I am living -- for how long, who knows, but what mortal creature knows the answer to that question, my philosophical friends?

The mood here in Roxie's World has shifted from sorrow to gratitude, the mode from vigil to celebration. Every moment now feels like an unexpected gift, which is arguably how all of our moments should always feel, but even a dog can struggle to sustain an absolute commitment to being in the present. For you hyper-active, hugely self-important humans, such a commitment is even harder to maintain, and so you add yoga and meditation to your to-do lists.

Go outside and play, little Buddhas. Hold your face up to the sun and bask in its warmth. Feel the city breakin' and everybody shakin'. Feel the deep rhythms of your own and everyone else's stayin' alive. Our good friend Julie has a beautiful piece up today, addressed to yours truly and aimed at helping me make the best of heaven when I get there. It's full of excellent advice (e.g., "Look for the Jew part of heaven. You'll know you're there because everyone will say, I don't really believe in any of this, but you look swell, Sol.") and good suggestions on who I should hang out with. (Gert, Alice, and Virginia were already on my list, Jules, but I would also like to add Galileo and Gilda Radner to your suggestions. Plus maybe Abe Lincoln and a couple of musicians. How 'bout Mozart and John Lennon?) We are extremely grateful to Julie for her thoughtful consideration of how I should negotiate my next phase, but I am sure she won't mind if we say that for now, for this moment and perhaps the next few, the consensus in Roxie's World is -- you guessed it -- that heaven can wait. We've still got some livin' to do.

Peace out, beloveds, and thanks for holding us in the light.