A post should appear every Sunday

Sunday February 4th 2024

Praying for rain? Not quite, but hoping big time.

On Monday we have an emergency. Human goes for her annual eye-test; she’s very apprehensive as there is definitely something wrong with her left eye.

Naturally, there are obstacles to overcome: Human has double booked, forgetting that she is expecting a food delivery which Sod’s Law decrees will coincide with the appointment. As will the arrival of Adopted Niece Kym, who is coming to stay over until Tuesday evening.

I ask my over the road neighbours at Woodthorpe Provisions if they will accept the food delivery, and they kindly say they will. I WhatsApp Kym, tell her that I’ll probably not be back until after she arrives, and off I go.

I explain to Jo the optician, that there is something not quite right with my left eye. I am hoping against hope that she will not refer me to the Eye Centre. (The specialists there are excellent, but it’s the other side of town, and you usually have to wait hours to be seen.)

After a very thorough examination, Jo tells me that it looks as though I have a slipped lens, I must go to the Eye Centre, and I need to go immediately. She writes a referral letter for me to give to the triage team.

About ten minutes after I return home, Kym arrives. I try to persuade her to stay and have a rest, but she will not be persuaded. She’s taking me, and that’s that.

Off we go.

When we arrive, we see a notice giving waiting times. The expected wait is eight hours.  Our hearts sink. I keep telling Kym to go back to the house and have a rest and a snack. No, she insists, she’s staying.

We are directed to the orange seats near to reception. We pick up some snacks from the coffee bar, and begin our wait. Apparently, we are told by a fellow patient, there are so many emergency surgeries and complex cases today, that no doctors will be free until after five.

There are a few distractions to break up the time: after about an hour, I am called in for an eye test, then, later, for a scan.

I wonder if these events are organised in order to preempt the waiting crowd attempting mass suicide.

Kym, recognising that apprehension has rendered Adopted Auntie even less competent than usual, accompanies her to both scan and test. Just as well, for there’s another shock to come. To my horror, I can’t read any of the letters on the chart.

My Dog! My eyesight has deteriorated horrifyingly rapidly.

“Are you wearing the right glasses”, enquires Kym, sensibly.

No, actually. I have on my reading glasses instead of the distance ones. Unsurprisingly, I do much better when I swap glasses.

After almost six hours – which, let’s face it – is better than eight hours, I see the surgeon, who confirms that the lens has indeed slipped. They see about one case like this every week, he explains cheerily, they will be able to sort it, and I should be called into clinic in two to three weeks. It’s usually an outpatient procedure, he tells me, but as we get older, we don’t cope so well with general anaesthetic, so I should be prepared for an overnight stay.

And I shouldn’t drive until after the surgery.

Oh dear. Poor Isis.

Although she has been left on her own for seven hours, without any dinner, she is her usual calm self when we arrive home. There is no pee, no poop, no destruction. Although, of course, she has rarely been left alone for more than four hours, she just goes to sleep and waits patiently. She isn’t usually a demanding dog.

She is today though. I haven’t been able to drive her to the park, and she, of course, refuses to walk along the pavement. She wants to go to the park. She tries desperately to tell me this.

Every day this week, she is as excited as ever when I get out her harness and lead. Putting on her harness is no longer an ordeal. She is a quick learner, and knows that if she growls, Human will drop the harness, and we’ll have to begin again, so she keeps each front paw nicely limp, and waits for me to insert them into the leg holes, then, she knows, she’s allowed to leap up and down, growl, yip, emit a long podengo howl, duck, dive and bark as much as she likes.

Every day she walks the few feet to the grass verge and obligingly poops.

Every day I encourage her to walk up the road.

Every day she refuses to walk, and sits down. Then she stands by the car, beseeching me to let her onto her back seat and take her to the park.

Poor Isis.

It’s heartbreaking.

Bev offers to pick us up to go to Highbury, but then she develops an inner ear infection which causes severe dizziness and she, too, is told not to drive until she has recovered!

Isis, although cooped up in the house, has been as good as gold.

Today, though, she is an extremely unhappy dog.

She is very restless, gives several series of protesting barks, and wants to be paid attention. To distract her, I fill her green feeding puzzle with tiny treats, but, although I seldom use it, she remembers the most efficient way to dislodge and retrieve them, so that task only occupies her for about two minutes.

Sigh.

Later on, I think I’ll make some cheese trails in the hall, and train her to follow them.

Rain, her favourite weather, is forecast for most of next week, so perhaps she’ll agree to road walks within the next day or two.

Fingers crossed.

Then there’s the possible overnight hospital stay. I’ll have to book poor Isis into Holly Trees, and force her into a taxi for the journeys there and back.

That’ll be a whole load of fun, because, as I’ve mentioned before, she now has a phobia of travelling in other people’s cars.

And I have no idea how long it will be after the surgery before I can drive.

Oh well, “Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof,” as they say.

Isis came from Aeza cat and dog rescue in Aljezur, Portugal. For information about adopting an animal from the centre, contact kerry@azea.org or go to http://www.dogwatch.co.uk.