Saturday, November 20, 2010

Lemonade




themacinator believes that we all have a theme song. Mine, according to my coworkers, is "Follow the yellow brick road." I prefer to sing a little "doo dee doo" song and call it a day. Sort of like a little bit out of it, a little bit cheerful, but just putting one foot in front of the other. Not super ambitious, but optimistic and somewhat grounded. Mac sings a similar doodee doo, but with a dumber, thicker, oh, there's a road? quality.

Lately, themacinator's sound was a little more like when the hurricane picks Dorothy up then when she's cheerfully following any yellow brick road. I don't like it like that. Sometimes it feels like one thing after another- I know everyone knows that story. Through it all, there was Mac, comforting me from his therapist chair, or at least the bed under my desk, or from his/my brown blanket on the bed.

My grandmother had the ugliest poster on the door of her art-room: a cartoon man with his head sawed open and a bunch of lemons in there. I don't remember how the lemonade came out of him, a spigot nose, maybe, but the old cliche "when life gives you lemons, make lemonade," was the moral of the poster. Lately, my friend and I have been using the code word "lemonade" to each other to remind ourselves that there *is* a nice sweet/sour juice if you look for it, or work for it.

Even though Mac has been part of my Kansas hurricane, (how many metaphors can themacinator use in one short blog post?!) he's also been the lemonade. I've been hesitating to post this, but he is doing a lot better. I'm cautiously optimistic. I weaned him of the prednisone and he's been fully off of it for almost a week. His personality is back to normal, which is a huge relief. The stressed out, amped up Mac is gone, replacing him with therapist Mac, chill Mac, dodeedo Mac. His pain level seems decreased and I've walked him a few times where I stop him before he tells me he's done because I don't want to push it.

This is lemonade- I never thought watching Mac walk 6 blocks would be a relief. For awhile, coming home to Mac was stressful and scary, which would make me guilty and worry about quality of life. It's back to a wonderful thing to see my dorky, beautiful veteran dog now when I open the door. He sleeps under the covers again, just in time for some cooler Oakland weather. He's even a little chunky from all the peanut butter he's getting with his treats, and I'm letting him keep his extra pound- normally I'm compulsive about his weight (never mine!).

I'll leave you with a recent-ish picture of Mac, having a blast on the beach, right before he hurt his back. I'm still not 100% sure I can let him do this again, but I know that happiness is back for him. Lemonade.

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