–noun

1. Pathology. a quantitative deficiency of the hemoglobin, often accompanied by a reduced number of red blood cells and causing pallor, weakness, and breathlessness.

2. a lack of power, vigor, vitality, or colorfulness: His writing suffers from anemia…

Rrrrrrrrrrrrrrroad trip!!!

The car is tuned. It’s got new tires and is loaded down with jackets and maps and food for doggie and me and of course my camera and the tripod I always take and hardly ever use. The back seat’s converted into Otto’s Command Center so da pooch can survey the world from the comfort of his traveling bed. And we are driving down Highway 101 through the ridiculously green hills of an El Nino winter California listening to Roseanne Cash and Michelle Shocked on our way south to visit family and friends…

That’s what was supposed to happen.

Instead, Thursday I wound up in Moffitt Hospital a few pints of blood short of a six-pack, getting a transfusion while the docs scoped me out from both ends (yes: exactly that) trying to find the leak while I, delirious from lack of oxygen, a triple-whammy sedative of demerol, percocet and benadryl, and most of all too too too many medical procedures for any one lifetime, howled at the injustice of it all like a fourteen-year old grounded for a month.

Twenty-four hours later, my fluids topped up like a nursed engine with a cracked block, I walked out of the hospital with the hangover from hell and returned to my day life.

Huh?

If you cut a leg artery or your jugular or remove the tip of your finger you are immediately aware you have a problem. If you spring a leak internally however, not so much. Especially when you are in denial about any new medical problems because you’re feeling a wee bit put-upon after four years’ state-of-art medical S&M.

If you want to know how you know you have an inner leak look up melena, I’m not going to blog the details. I should’ve done something sooner: this isn’t my first internal bleed – not even my second or third. But I’m rationalizing maybe it’s the cherries I ate or maybe it’s the iron I’m taking or maybe it’s anything other than some damn disaster that will send me back to the hospital.

It was only a day or two before departure that I realized the trip was no-go. When you have no blood you have a hard time concentrating on a C.S.I. episode and you drive like a stoned alcoholic texting your next order to the bar you just left. 500 miles behind a wheel down California’s coast with no oxygen in your brain is not a good idea.

So instead of Rrrrrroad trip! I now sit at home while Otto goes on adventures with the dog walker, waiting for my hemoglobin to creep up to a functional level. Good news is, the top-up they gave me at Moffitt kicked in quick enough so I can actually read a book and do some stuff, if not exactly what I planned. Other good news is, the leak’s stopped. And it’s sunny for a change here in the Bay Area.

So: lemons, lemonade. Whatever.

–––

There has got to be an upper limit to how many procedures, transplants, runnings-out-of-blood, medically called-for cavity invasions, viruses and auto-immune diseases one body can handle. You think?

I’ve always been intrigued by ravens.

I’ve got pictures of them on my bedroom walls; behind one
is feather a raven tossed to the ground near me when grooming.
The Haida story of trickster raven creating the world and
dumping humankind into it just to amuse himself
has always seemed a more realistic description
of our condition than any offered by organized religions.

This one was hovering over Otto, her spread wings twice Otto’s size.
Fortunately she decided Otto wasn’t a threat (0r qualified as dinner)
and left him alone. I do wonder if any chihuahuas or yorkies
went missing that day at Fort Funston.

The blue eye isn’t a photoshop add-on, it’s a reflection of the sky.

People leave all sorts of stuff on city streets.
Sometimes you just can’t resist a sit.

Ok, I’m getting sentimental here. But I’ve opened yet another door of the Medical Winchester Mystery House – an autoimmune condition this time – and I’m in need a bit of sentiment. I’ll write the gloomy stuff later, but right now…

I’ve posted (and posted and posted) about Otto, my dog. I’ve said less about my ex-cat (ex-mine that is, not ex-feline), Orion. Orion now lives with a dear friend, partially due to my medical adventures, but he’s still a frequent visitor.

More important, Orion and Otto are… well, it’s kind of hard to say what they are to each other: lets just call it a really really strong bond. Orion was here first, and when Otto arrived as a 7 week old puppy they fast became inseprable. Breaking them up was one of the sadder things I’ve ever had to do. It’s been sadder yet for the two critters.

During Orion’s last couple of stay-overs, I started taking notes on life with a cat and dog. Anyone who lives with both knows that the usual cat rules and dog rules – and your life – change erratically.

So here are the notes. And please: send along your own observations. No doubt we can come up with a book.

Life with a cat and a dog, in no particular order…

• It is difficult to do yoga or any other floor exercises if a dog is around. It is beyond impossible if a cat AND a dog are around.

• Cats are fast, but they’re not nearly fast enough to stop a dog from stealing from their food bowl.

• 1 cat + 1 dog = 4(x) mischief.

• A cat can wake up a sleeping dog – and a sleeping human – simply by walking silently through a room.

Corollary 1: A cat can suddenly appear right before your eyes – if it wants to.
Corollary 2: A cat can disappear right before your eyes. Same “if”.
Corollary 3: A cat can hide from a dog too, but it takes more effort than fooling the human (that canine nose).

• A cat will con a dog into doing things that the cat knows the dog isn’t supposed to do.

Corollary 1: The cat will walk away.
Corollary 2: The dog will play on the human’s sympathy and blame it on the cat.

• Cats don’t do rules.

Corollary 1: Dogs happily do rules, but not if a cat’s around.

• When the two of them decide that you’re to be “it”, you’re hosed. You might as well stop what you’re doing and join in the fun.

Corollary 1: Dogs and cats agree on one thing: they positively hate having their humans sit in front of a computer. When they decide to work together to remedy the situation, give up.

• If a cat likes (tolerates?) a dog, he’ll put up with a lot of canine roughhousing. Up to a point. Then the cat either a) runs off, or b) goes straight for the dog’s jugular. Orion did this to Otto to quiet him down one recent night. The night before, I saw a lion kill a donkey (on TV!) using the exact same technique.

Corollary 1: The dog instantly calms down when teeth are lodged in his throat.

Corollary 2: This technique is scarier to humans than to the dog.

• Life with a dog and a cat is very challenging because together they’re way smarter than we are. And a whole lot more fun.