A few times lately, I've tweeted links to this blog, along with the hashtag "lupushurts." That particular hashtag doesn't have a whole lot of activity, and I can't quite figure out why. I would think that people in my situation would say that phrase a whole lot more often. I've said it out loud a couple or three times so far tonight. And it is the awful truth. I tried to return to a vaguely normal routine today, and I failed miserably. I had a rough morning, I had to struggle to get myself in gear to drive over half an hour to get a haircut, and just sitting in the chair talking to the wonderful stylist was an ordeal. I looked a whole lot better, but I came home tired and out of spoons. I lay down for a nap, and just after I woke, I heard the Mr running around and swearing. (More on that later.) We spent the dark part of the night trying again to figure out which circuit breakers cut off which lights and plugs, and that took all of my reserve energy. By the time we were done, I was huddled under a blanket, crying about how my chest hurts too much even to want to finish the bowl of Braum's peppermint ice cream that he had brought me. (I am specific as to brand and flavor to convey just how extreme this breakdown has been, if I had to struggle with eating the best flavor of the best brand in the US, that I had to haul home in a cooler from Oklahoma, then you know it was bad.) I've had increasing problems with breathing for the last fifteen-plus years. I remember clearly a long period where I would lie on the couch and complain about the feeling of concrete in my lungs on a daily basis. But I never really communicated just how bad this all freaking hurts. I don't want to end up taking daily painkillers. I certainly don't want to take opioids (with their side effects). But I need to find a way to make the horrors of breathing ease off. I have tried doing breathing exercises to stretch out my lungs, hoping to get even to half of my former capacity. All I end up doing is making my heart race and my lungs hurt, and I stop and feel sorry for myself. So when I say #lupushurts, this is the main thing I'm talking about. It's convincing myself to take another breath, every single time, even when it hurts.
So, you wondered, why was the man swearing? Why is tonight's song "Run Runaway?" Because, while I was napping, gardening was happening. We bought three big tomato plants at Costco, and the man took the risk of putting them in the ground now, two weeks before it is classically safe to do so in Colorado. And while he was doing that, bringing the tomatoes around from the front porch where we'd left them yesterday, he failed to latch the side gate properly. He heard dogs bark at someone driving down the alley, but he realized there were only two voices defending our back yard. One was missing. Murray had seen a breach in the stockade perimeter, and taken advantage. He decided to wander down to the park by himself, without telling anyone. And by the time his absence was noted, he was nowhere to be seen. The man hopped in his truck and started driving in circles while I walked the alley and the street in front of our house. On one of the passes, I jumped into the truck and joined forces in the search. The man called animal control to see whether any officers had gotten a call about a dog in a wheelchair. The dispatch had not heard, but took our number to call if anyone let her know. We drove and panicked for another 20-25 minutes, before she called back to say someone had dropped him off at an emergency vet downtown. I called the vet while we raced downtown. "I believe you have our dog Murray. Murray is in a wheelchair." That's all the description I needed. He was there, with a bandage on the toe he scraped walking along the sidewalk and street by himself, enjoying the treats that the woman at the vet desk was popping into his mouth. The panic, subsequent drive in the strong afternoon sun, squinting down every alley, between every house, and the relief of finding him unscathed just wore me out. I tried to participate in life after that, but I didn't get very far.
Murray has his own Facebook page, Murray Undaunted. I suspect that today's adventure will end up there sooner or later, along with all his videos and musings. We might have to settle down a bit after the worry before the man posts Murray's review of his adventure. It's not easy keeping up with a fearless dog.
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