I wrote it off to stress. We are two weeks into a new apartment and I just wrote it off as part of the adjustment period. That theory, however, went out the window when I woke up Wednesday morning. I made my way into the living room and found it odd that Andy, who sleeps at the end of my bed, had not followed me. As he had always done for two years.

I went back into the bedroom and Andy was standing near the edge of the bed whimpering. He reminded me of a castaway on a sinking ship – wanting to get off but afraid to jump. I called to him a few times yet he would not come down. When he didn’t respond to, “Wanna go for a walk?” I knew something was wrong.

I grabbed him by the collar and attempted to pull him down but he resisted. So I wrapped my arms around him, lifted and set him on the ground. As soon as his legs hit the floor he crumbled to the ground in a heap. He grunted a few times and lifted himself up and began to limp toward me.

The life was immediately sucked out of me. My heart began to pound and I felt sick to my stomach. Something was seriously wrong with my dog.

It appeared that his legs hurt and he couldn’t walk because of it. So, like anyone who needs immediate answers I went to Google. All signs pointed to Lyme disease. Apparently a dog’s joints become inflamed as a result of the disease and it impacts their ability to walk. I then called Keely, his former owner. She explained how Andy has suffered from the disease when he was two and he was showing the same symptoms.

We contacted the vet who said it sounded like Lyme Disease but wanted to see him to be sure. Unfortunately we couldn’t get an appointment until the next day.

I carried Andy outside so he could go to the bathroom. He couldn’t even lift his leg to pee. I brought him back inside and set him on the couch. I brought his food to him and thankfully he ate.

I explained the situation to my mother who agreed to check on him periodically through out the day while I was at work. She would later tell me that each time she arrived at my apartment to check on him he seemed happy but would not leave the couch. She covered him with his favorite blanket and let him be.

I arrived home 8 hours later and for the first time in the two years of owning Andy, the trusted Puggle was not there to greet me when I opened the door.

I instantly walked over to the couch where he was still laying where I left him earlier in the day. He was alert and seemed happy to see me. He was barely moving but his tail was thumping madly against the couch cushions. The sight was just too much for me to take. I sat down beside him as a wave of emotion splashed over me. I buried my face in my hands and began to sob as Andy struggled to put his head in my lap.

I eventually composed myself and made some calls to fellow dog owners who I know have dealt with Lyme disease before. They all spoke of similar symptoms and the agony of seeing their pet in pain. In made me feel a bit better knowing that although Lyme Disease is a serious thing, it is in fact common and more importantly, treatable.

At 9 a.m. this morning Andy and I were off to the vet. After a short examination we were on our way home with a prescription for doxycycline, aka, the Lyme Disease antibiotic. As I type this Andy is already showing improvement. He can walk again and his old wild self is starting to shine through.

Thanks to Sherry, Ashlie and Jamie for their doggie advice. Thanks to Mom and Keely for help with the vet stuff.

Andy is a pain in my ass but I don’t know what I’d do without him.

The price I pay for that however, is a steep one. When I do get sick, I GET SICK.

It’s been a week and I think I can finally speak of it. It started off last Tuesday night with a stomach ache. I was sitting in my favorite chair watching Conan and I just didn’t feel right. I had eaten a big dinner and attributed my queasy stomach to that. So I went to bed.

A half hour after falling asleep my eyes popped open. I was gonna puke. I raced to the bathroom, didn’t bother turning any lights on and as soon as I got the toilet seat up I launched a batch of foulness into the bowl that you couldn’t imagine. Or maybe I just don’t want you too.

Five minutes later I was on my hands and knees cleaning puke off the floor but I felt like a million bucks. Don’t you always after throwing up?

I trudged back to my room and flopped onto my bed like a giant fish onto a row boat. I was asleep before my head hit the pillow. 20 minutes later my eyes popped open and the whole process began again. Only this time I had nothing left to throw up so I just heaved and heaved making some noises I didn’t know my 33-year-old diaphragm was capable of. Andy, who must have been confused as hell, paced anxiously outside the bathroom door, whimpering.

Thankfully I was done throwing up for the night but lets just say I made about 15 more trips to the bathroom before sunrise. Those of you who have suffered from a stomach bug know what I’m talking about. And we’ll just leave it at that.

The next day was spent in agonizing pain. My head ached from being dehydrated. My chest ached from heaving and my stomach just felt empty. I spent the day on the couch in and out of consciousness. Watching TV made my head hurt. Talking on the phone made  my head hurt. So basically, if I couldn’t fall asleep I just laid there with my thoughts and that my friend can be a scary thing.

I thought about everything that day. My childhood, my future, what the dog must be thinking, how long I would last in bed with Kristen Bell.

I think I fell into a pretty deep sleep around 6 p.m. When I woke around 9 I felt much better. I don’t know what it was about that three-hour block but it appeared that I had finally beaten this thing. I even had a bit of an appetite.

I made myself a piece of toast and ate half of it. For the first time all day I actually finished a glass of water instead of a couple of sips. I propped myself up in my chair where this whole thing began 24 hours earlier. I managed to watch about an hours worth of TV before I decided I’d had enough.

I got up and walked to the bedroom at a zombie’s pace and eventually fell into what would be 8 hours of uninterrupted sleep.

As soon as I woke up the next morning I knew it was all over. My head and body no longer ached and best of all I was starving.

Andy watched as I got dressed, his tail thumping against the floor. He had been a loyal friend over the last day. He never left my side and I’m sure the whole thing confused the hell out of him.

The virus I had can be traced back to my 7-month old niece, Bella. She spent Sunday night throwing up. By Monday night her father was sick. Tuesday I stopped by my mother’s to visit Bella who was watching her while my sister was at work. By Tuesday night mom was sick along with me. My father, who I had seen for maybe 10 minutes Tuesday night, caught the sickness on Thursday and spent the day in bed. It all started with a stomach ache and ended with us in the bathroom praying to the porcelain god.

They say kids carry more germs than any adult and boy do I believe it. Especially if a stomach virus that whacked an entire family started with a 7-month old kid.

When I saw Bella a week later it was no surprise to anyone when I pinched her arm and flicked her on the cheek. Actually, judging by the laughter, I’d say it was expected.

It started two weeks ago on a Friday, the worst day of the week for bad luck. I was on my way home from work. It was about 6p.m. I was a bit pissy because I was stuck in major traffic and the Yankees/Sox game started in one hour.

As traffic started to move again (after about 30 minutes) my steering wheel started to pull to the right. Then I heard that all familiar sound coming from the front of the car: bump bump bump bump bump.

I pulled off the exit and into the first gas station I saw. My fears were confirmed as soon as I got out of the car. Flat tire. Front passenger side.

I opened my trunk. Spare tire: Check. Lug wrench: Check. Jack: Uh, nowhere in sight.

Thankfully, I have AAA. Within an hour, with the assistance of a big scary Mexican who spoke no english and smelled of beer, my spare tire was on and I was on my way home to the Yankees and the weekend.

That weekend, not only did the Yankees lose 2 outta 3 to the sox, I spent most of the weekend with a migraine. Luckily the headache killed my appetite because my cupboards were low on food and I was still a week away from payday.

Five days later, after nearly a week of driving to and from work in terrible rain, things got worse. As I left the office and walked into the parking lot, ready to drive home, wouldn’t ya know it: Another flat tire. This time, front drivers side. Called AAA, stood outside in the rain, spent $65 on a new tire. Awesome.

That night I called my mother, who had extended me an invitation for Sunday dinner in three days. I left her a message, complaining about my rotten luck as of late but assuring her I’d be there Sunday for a FREE home cooked meal. Afterall, if it’s free it’s for me!!

The next day (which was 4 days ago) when i arrived home from work I was greeted by the smell of cleaning products in my hall. As I walked up the stairs I wondered why things smelled so lemony.

When I walked into my apartment I could only compare it to Dorothy when she lands in OZ and exits her broken home into a brand new colorful world.

My house had been cleaned spotless from top to bottom. Floors swept and mopped. My cabinets and fridge were suddenly flush with food. And the kicker, the icing on the cake, the gift beyond gifts awaited me in my living room.

There I found a 50 inch flat screen TV, complete with surround sound and matching DVD player!!

My mother and step father had upgraded to a 60 inch TV. And, because they knew I loved it, they gave me their old TV.

My mom and sister showed up at my house Friday while I was at work and set up the TV. They also noticed that my house was a bit on the messy side and my cabinets were bare. So, they took it upon themselves to clean and load me up with food. I suppose such a beautiful TV wouldn’t look right in a dirty house with no food.

I stood in the apartment for a few minutes trying to wrap my head around the wonderful unexpected gift I’d received.

In just one week things had gone from super shitty to top of the world awesome.

I swear, nothing chases the blues away like a flat screen TV and a cabinet full of Cheeze-its and Cookie Crisp Cereal.

Eventually I ran into a bondsman who I consider a friend. Before we could even exchange ‘hellos’ he broke the news.

“Reggie died,” he said, with tears in his eyes.

Reggie is a judicial marshal. He worked at the courthouse in Middletown for nearly 20 years. The rumor going around was that Reggie passed away from a heart attack Wednesday morning. He was 45.

I saw Reggie almost everyday over the past year. We didn’t talk much but when he saw me he would always say, “Hello.”

As I was talking to people about his death word had made its way to the press. My bosses sensed that Reggie was popular and his death was noteworthy. I was assigned the story.

The staff at Middletown Superior Court was more than cooperative. They loved Reggie and wanted to get the word out about what a great guy he was. I set up shop in the conference room at the courthouse. Reggie’s co-workers came in and shared wonderful stories about the man many called “A Gentle Giant.”

People cried and laughed as they recalled the man they had come to respect and love. There were a few times listening to various stories that I almost lost it but a voice in my head kept telling me to be professional. I’m only human and I wasn’t getting choked up about Reggie. I was getting choked up watching his friends try their hardest to be strong. Trying hard to emphasis what Reggie meant to them without breaking down in tears. Which would have been perfectly acceptable as far as I’m concerned.

Listening to one man speak was especially hard. Dee was Reggie’s best friend. Godfather to Reggie’s son. Dee always came off as a tough man. A judicial marshal who was all business. He rarely smiled and just seemed like the type of guy you wouldn’t want to fuck with. I saw a different Dee Thursday. A broken man. Shocked by the death of his best friend. My heart broke for Dee because I could see it all over his face. He was a changed man. Different now and he would never see the world the same again. That too is a tragedy.

I’ve been lucky and I wont ever pretend for a second that I haven’t been. Other than my grandparents Ive never lost anyone close to me.

God forbid, If I ever do, I hope I can carry myself with half the strength that Reggie’s friends displayed today.

RIP

http://www.middletownpress.com/articles/2010/09/23/news/doc4c9bbd73d707d780105880.txt

His grandmother, Christine Keating, lost a brave battle with cancer on Thursday night. She was 76.

She was a wonderful woman, both compassionate and feisty.  She was a woman of deep faith who is surely in a better place now.

May she Rest In Peace.

Ok, it’s been a week since the unfortunate passing of The King of Pop. I’ve held these back long enough:

While responding to a 911 call, EMT’s were dumbfounded upon walking into Michael Jackson’s home and seeing two five year old boys sitting on a block of ice.

“What’s up with that,” the EMT asked Jackson’s bodyguard, to which he responded: “Eh, Mike likes to have a couple of cold ones in the afternoon.”

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What’s the difference between Michael Jackson and Farrah Fawcett?

Nothing

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Why is Michael Jackson white?

Because he’s dead

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In honor of The King of Pop McDonald’s has created The McJackson Burger, composed of 50 year old meat between 8 year old buns.

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Upon her arrival in Heaven God told Farrah Fawcett she had lived a great life and fought bravely until the end. Therefore he was granting her one wish.

“I wish all the children of the world peace and safety,” Fawcett said.

Two hours later Michael Jackson arrived in Heaven.

……………………………………………………..

Results of the autopsy have revealed that Michael Jackson died from food poisoning.

The night before he died Jackson reportedly ate a 12 year old wiener and 8 year old nuts.