There are times in life when it feels like the world is plotting against you.
I had a fairly mild cold last week, more uncomfortable than anything else, but being prone to yucky chest infections in colder weather, I saw my GP. She didn’t think there was much to worry about, did a couple of swabs to rule out any nasties, set me up with a nasal spray and some antibiotics and sent me on my way.
Have you ever had a nasal swab?
The pain. My god, the discomfort.
It’s exactly what it sounds like. A bit swab type thing straight up the nostril. In fact the GP warned me by suggesting it was essentially nasal rape and there was not one word of a lie. The involuntary tears! The swearing!
And then, a couple of days later, the result:
Now, I’ve been vaccinated against this monster so I can only put it down to having a dodgey immune system post surgery. But the thing is, it’s combined with asthma, so I am one miserable little bear at the moment. Add to it the headache, the sore chest and back from coughing, the trembling from the amped up asthma meds and the still a bit ouchy post op leg, and well. There is a lack of happy face atop my neck.
I had a lot on this week. Assessment stuff at Tafe, First Aid course on Friday, visiting my family this weekend for my sister’s first mother’s day as a mummy, and just to be with them for what is traditionally a pretty shitty time of year. Starting hydrotherapy again. Meeting an old friend of my beloved’s. All cancelled now, as I spend my time sucking on the nebuliser.
And then. Then.
My dear Mrs Cuppy rang last night. You see, when I was getting myself organised to move in with three dogs and a cat, it became very apparent that my Stevie bunny wouldn’t really deal with the move well. So, she was taken in by the Cuppy family. They loved her and fed her and were scared of her, just like I was. But then the phone call. At the age of 5, Stevie had taken herself to the quietest corner of her hutch and curled up and died, hopping away to greener pastures where she will terrorise my mum and whomever else pauses long enough to scratch behind the ears of a blue eyed bunny. She was very loved by many people, feared by most, and creator of noise enough to keep the occupants of the duplex I lived in awake all night long.
So you see, I’m a little bit over it today.
I did attempt to start the day well. Thought I’d sneak Harry inside to wake up my beloved with snuggles that only a hairy white fluffy dog can offer. And he is extremely hairy at the moment. Well overdue for a haircut. But still very lovely. I plopped him onto the bed and he looked around in a very pleased manner. Then he had a shake, and began the walk towards my beloved.
And as he moved, I was confused.
Because when he shook, a shower of brown confetti had scattered across the doona.
I said the fateful words: “Something has gone terribly wrong!” while Harry took a careful seat on the sheet. He then stood up and sat on my special pillow. On both, he left a Seal of Harry Approval.
You see, when you are a fluffy white dog, in desperate need of a hair cut, you tend to get dags. And if you have a fresh dag, and then shake with great vigour, said dag will spray across a radius that is approximately queen bed sized.
And so, I’ve done endless loads of washing today. Rescheduled Harry’s groomer. Cancelled first aid, my weekend with the fam, tafe, hydro. Sucked on the nebulizer, made beanies. Grieved a small white rabbit. And while generally I am pretty adept at finding a bright side to situations, tonight I just want it all to go away and for it all to be made magically better.
But at least now, the doona is now clean.
Rest well, Stevie.