This sounds really dumb but I really freaking wish tough decisions weren’t so freaking tough. Wes and I spent all weekend discussing what to do with our beloved Doc Holliday and are no closer to a decision today than we were last week when I wrote about it.
You all wrote in with some lovely comments about how he’ll let us know when he’s ready to go, and how I shouldn’t make any big decisions while insane pregnant. All valid points, but that doesn’t make the situation any more bearable.
He’s still the same old Doc, but he’s shown us twice in the last two weeks how this injury is different. He’s re-injured his leg twice and each time sets him right back to where he started, obliterating any and all progress he may have made toward healing.
Wes and I are handling the situation as best we can, though in diametrically opposite ways. Doc’s injuries seem to draw Wes closer to the dog, giving him a desire to spend time with Doc. My heart, however, bruised and battered as it is, seems to have shut itself off from the dog. Kind of like an emotional circuit breaker has been thrown and my brain has taken my mind out of the running.
It’s un-nerving. I feel a vague numbness toward the dog now. When he falls, where my heart used to wrench painfully I can no longer feel anything. I still feed him, and I’ll pet him if he asks me to, and continue to fulfill all my pet owner responsibilities, but my heart has decided it’s had enough.
It leaves Wes and I in a curious place. He knows all about this of course, and while he doesn’t understand it he doesn’t think I’m a horrible person because of it. We all have our breaking points, and I suppose losing my Dad while pregnant and then watching my dog slowly fall to pieces is mine.
Everyone handles the breaking point differently. When I used to feel the numbness as a teenager, my reaction was often to cut myself or partake in something similarly self-destructive (I had a particular affinity for cigarettes). Now, I see it for what it is and I know it won’t last (meaning no cutting or cigarettes or anything self-destructive).
It’s a focalized numbness. I grow more in love with my son every day, and my love for Wes continues to burn bright and steady like a lighthouse. It’s just my feelings toward the dog, this dog who has brought us laughter and light and heartbreak and gigantic vet bills, those have changed.
We still don’t know what we’re going to do about him. Wes has given himself a self-imposed deadline of one week to make a decision. In all likelihood we’ll wind up keeping him around until he outlives us all, and I’ll just have to break out all the nifty tools I picked up in therapy to cope with my emotions.
I’m just tired. Very, very tired. Tired, and heart-sore, and weary of crying about my dog.