Our dogs become “Lassie-esque” when mom's in trouble.
As I laid on the kitchen floor, clutching my right wrist, I found it hard to breath. There was no respiratory issue – other than the fact I had a Jack Russell terrier licking my face.
Buddy had turned into my own canine EMT, giving what I assume was his version of CPR. It was only appropriate that he responded – he was the reason I was down there.
My husband had been fixing dinner, and mentioned the dogs hadn't been out.
My response; “First I need to – (insert scream and thump here). Apparently, Buddy had needed to go out. He had an accident on the kitchen floor, leaving an impressive puddle.
A puddle I didn't see. Even with my thick-soled flip flops, my feet flew out from under me.
Kodi, was backup canine EMT, sniffing and doing triage on the rest of my sprawled-out body.
Dogs are very sensitive to our needs, often staying close, when we are injured or sick. I think Buddy might have been downright scared. He didn't leave my side the rest of the night.
I wasn't angry with him. Honestly, I was in too much pain. So I sat and tried to watch TV, with an ice pack on my arm, refusing my husband's offer of transport to the ER, and hoping my wrist wasn't broken.
In my head, I began devising ways that I would be able to get my articles typed, and get to my scheduled interviews on Monday and Tuesday.
A simple Velcro support, from a past injury, was wrapped around my wrist to prevent me from twisting it in the night. Surely, I would be all better by morning.
It wasn't to be. I tried to convince myself that there couldn't be anything really wrong since I could wiggle my fingers. Couldn't bend my wrist, or clench a fist, but wiggling – that's good, right?
I Googled my symptoms, looking for one simple sentence to confirm I didn't need medical care. No dice.
So we headed off to Florida Hospital Urgent Care in Daytona Beach, where I got to tell the nurse that I slipped on my dog's piddle. An x-ray was ordered – Hurray! No broken bones. A sprain, maybe some stretched ligaments, but nothing more than a splint was required. A pain, but far better than six weeks in a cast – although I had already picked out my color -- turquoise.
So what have I learned this weekend?
When Buddy has to go – he has to go. Check for “water” hazards, and most importantly – If I ever have an ailment that requires my face being licked furiously – my dogs are on call.
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