She had seemed a bit subdued, our Miss Jones. But I was a hormonal wreck, so how could I judge, really. Then I realised her mammary glands were swollen. And leaking colostrum. Did you know they give female dogs cabergoline to stop them lactating? I took this after Fang died (it did not stop me lactating. I proceeded to lactate another 10 years, pregnant, breastfeeding or not), and the only thing it did was make me manic. So, I hope we don't have to go that route for the houndling. I think she's verklempt enough.
Immediately upon realizing I wasn't imagining it, I began to worry she had breast cancer. By the time we got to the vet at 4pm for our appointment, I waa almost sick with the fewr she was dying and then a bit annoyed that she wasn't. I got all keyed up for nothing?! SHOCKING, I KNOW!
The terror that kept into my chest was intense and immediate, which is how I am still a bit too keyed up for general consumption. I mean, I just spent an evening in an auditorium with a room full of parents tonight and I could barely get out before the shaking jitteriness set in. I don't hate my life, the other people, the pace. I like my life, the textures and layers that are emerging. I love my work, I love my friends. Even the crappy parts of my life, like picking up the actual dog crap, I perversely enjoy it, a teensy bit. I love being that teacher's pet, my dad's favourite. This could be because I have a bit of a thing...there is a huge part of me that likes being dependable, competent, the one people call on in a crisis. I also get off a little on constantly worrying about falling out of favour. Because that's just how life works out, the kinky twisted universe we live and love in.
There is genuinely a part of me that likes to sigh and huff in frustration at being so put upon. 'Whoa is me, look at how hard a slog.' we used to tease my grandmother that all she was missing was a cross to nail herself upon in self-righteousness. And now, I am going to own it and say I have a more than a bit of that running through me. Of course, it is also probably why I am such a bratty sub/domme switch in other areas of my life.
But back to the anxiety. I'm 44 now. When the panic attacks became a weekly thing six weeks ago, I pulled no punches. I reached out to the GP and when she said 'beta blockers, ' I was a bit outraged. But I gave them a try, in addition to my mediation work, the breathing, the actual slowing of all the flucks down. Also, I had to take a beat. I'm 44 now. I'm getting older. That line between a panic attack and a heart attack? Not the wide swathe it used to be.
Life really is so peculiae, including when it rains.
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