Yesterday I ran out of Synthroid and neglected to pick it up before the pharmacy closed. And because I go to work before the pharmacy OPENS, I didn't take it today.
It turns out missing a dose of Synthroid when you're grieving is a bad fucking idea, almost on par with "getting married in Vegas" (yes, I've done that, and what happens in Vegas DOES NOT STAY IN VEGAS, as it turns out, no, it follows you home, knocks you up repeatedly, and ruins your credit rating).
I just keep thinking about how she went and greeted every single person who came into the room to help euthanize her with love, from the vet tech who is violently allergic to pitbulls (and got down and let Isis lick her face anyway, even though we all knew it would give her hives), to the vet, to the new vet tech she'd never met (who had huge muscles and, I'm guessing, got saddled with the task of moving her afterward). Even drugged to the gills on doggy morphine and acepromazine, she lurched from person to person, tail wagging, ears back, so happy to see them all. That's the kind of dog she was. She never met a stranger, never once showed any aggression toward anyone. When you put a dog to sleep in this state, you have to sign an affidavit stating that "to the best of my knowledge, my dog has not bitten anyone in the past fifteen days." I wanted to write in "has never bitten anyone, EVER, is a big ball of love."
It may sound strange coming from someone who butchers chickens and rabbits, but I am terrified of dead bodies. I refuse to go to open-casket funerals. I've been known to run screaming from a dead wormsnake, a dead mouse, MANY DEAD HUMAN BEINGS...Isis though? I held her face while the vet gave her the shot and told her what a good girl she was, and she sank down onto the blanket beneath her, and the vet reached under her with the stethoscope and listened, and said "she's gone," and I didn't let go. It was still Isis. I kept petting her, and holding her, and the vet said she'd take care of her, and then when I didn't move to go anywhere said to take as long as we needed and turn the light off when we were done. That damn dog was my fourth child, and I didn't want to leave her there. I even convinced myself that maybe the vet had made a mistake, and she wasn't quite dead, and told Hotter I didn't want to leave her alone just in case. Finally when her ears started to get cold even I had to admit she was gone. So I wrapped her up, and positioned her so that she looked comfortable, and closed her eyes, and turned the light off on my way out.
I think if Hotter hadn't made me leave I'd still be sitting there with her head in my lap.
On the way out, with the empty harness and leash in my hand, I heard the receptionist, who was the happy recipient of many loving maulings from Isis, gasp and say "oh no, Isis!"