Dogs do it…

I’m very nervous this week. I’m going on a trip to spend time getting to know someone I don’t know well but like so far and while I’ve got a week and a day or two to go before I actually see him, so about a week before I should really be nervous, I am already working myself up into a nauseous ball of anxiety jusssssst about every morning.

And then a good 6-11 times throughout the day after that.

My parents (who I’m living with temporarily) have this rescue dog that was abused as a puppy and then turned out on the street. He was wild and absolutely TERRIFIED of people. As it turns out, that’s a horrible combo and he drove them nearly insane for the first year and a half or so of owning him.

He’s still difficult.

But he doesn’t cower when we pass strangers on the street anymore.

My mom doesn’t like walking him because he pulls, but I love running him around the block. He likes to stretch his legs and I like feeling safe in going outside with him by my side. We make a good team.

He wags his tail now. He never used to.

He’s also more receptive to my anxiety than any other animal I’ve every met.

Even when I’m outwardly perfectly fine. Even before the heart starts racing, and things start to feel off-kilter, he will come running and just delicately, like he’s afraid to touch me or doesn’t want to scare me off, leans in and sniffs my skin: in the bend of my arm, my wrist, behind my ears, along my hairline.

Then he’ll gently lick my face.

This is the only time this dog is slow or gentle about anything. He’s usually just a careening ball of energy.

Today I was starting to feel the nerves and he did this. When he licked my face I burst into tears (which he then licked up too).

He let me hug his neck for a bit (again, it’s rare to get him to hold still for a second, we can’t keep ANY weight on him at all).

He wagged his tail.

Without thinking I said, “How do you do it?”

And he looked at me because he doesn’t speak Human, and then ran to get his tennis ball.

I don’t understand. He had such a hard life before he came to live with us. His skull was fractured and he had stitches and scars when they adopted him.

Yet he wags his tail and loves on me and trusts me not to hurt him. I can’t do that.

I can’t do that.

I WANT that kind of starry-eyed cheer. I want to be able to look forward to spending time with someone great without automatically wondering how I’ll mess things up, or if they’ll hurt me.  Worrying I might be wasting time or doing something wrong.

My mom likes to watch The Dog Whisperer and after a bit, I remembered a segment of him saying that “dogs live in the now.”

That explains how Crazy (who I call Froedrick, or Frisky, or Friendly, or Dog-Dog because I find the name just a touch sad and offensive) lives the way he does.

I guess by that logic, he’s not living in the days his skull was fractured. He’s not worried about being on the street and finding food for himself. He’s not thinking about the man that hurt him whenever I pet his ears.

He’s thinking about the tennis ball in the yard waiting for him, how nice the sunshine feels at nap time on the porch, what I smell like and how it sounds when I say nice things to him.

I guess if I want to be like him, I need to stop dwelling on what could happen and what did happen and think about what is happening.

Which is really NOT going to help me when I get on a plane next week, but for the time being I guess I can think of the now instead of hyperventilating about “the next Friday.”

Oh, look, I’ve been Impaled

Is it too much to ask, that I be warned when someone’s planning on sticking something in my vagina??

Sorry, too much, too fast (that’s what he said…. I’ll let myself out… Sorry again) but REALLY. I feel like every time I go to the doctor for something innocuous I somehow wind up in one of those awkward gowns that don’t cover anything, with my feet in the stirrups, and someone prodding my organs around from the inside!

I had an ultrasound scheduled this morning and before you ask, no, not pregnant, but my lady garden may be killing me slowly, or trying to fuse itself to other organs. Given the choice, I’d almost rather be pregnant.

Now they gave me all my appointment info, the nurse explained I’d need to come with an empty bladder, it wasn’t like we didn’t have some conversation beforehand and this appointment was scheduled 2 weeks in advance. There was time!

I get there for my ultrasound, still nothing is said until I get into the room and then this very nice lady I’ve never met before hands me a robe and tells me my ultrasound will be of the internal variety, so to get naked and hop into the stirrups.

WHAT?

I don’t think this is okay. When I was told ultrasound, I figured goo on the belly, sticky for the next few hours, wear a cotton tea shirt, good to go. I was already anxious about having the test done anyway, since, y’know, I MIGHT HAVE AN ACTUAL MEDICAL PROBLEM. Then they wait until I’m in the room and have no mental prep time before they tell me I’m going to have a piece of machinery shoved up inside me.

I feel that as women, having been told since we were little that no one should see you naked and no one should touch your ‘private parts’ that laying back with your legs wide open and someone probing around inside you with a lubed-up speaker on a stick is uncomfortable at the very least.

Then add in all the sh!t we develop growing up into women, in my case general anxiety over anything outside my door and medical settings in particular as well as a history of moderate sexual trauma, surprise penetration is not welcome!

But where is the line? Who do I complain to? It’s not the doctor’s fault, it’s not really anyone’s fault. Anyone in that office is going to tell me that the ultrasound was standard for the sort of problems I’m having. If my lady garden is the problem, I should expect to have it prodded at from all angles. My anxiety and my mental health are a good half of the reason that such an apparently routine medical procedure has me fighting off tears and a full blown anxiety attack.  Any doctor is going to tell me that my physical health needs supersede mental health.

I don’t know what the big picture is here, but small picture, as far as I’m concerned, I need advanced notice if you expect me to take off my panties.

Come to think of it, that’s probably a good policy for most real-life settings.

Have you ever…

Have  you ever dreamed you were performing a strip tease to weird warped versions of stuff you listen to in real life for someone with no face, just a body and eyes? But not in a horror kind of way, just in a not-recognizable as one person or another kind of way?

But you still have a sneaking suspicion who they are?

And you wake up and are like “damn, I’m hot” abut then realize you’re wearing a 3XL batman tee shirt you stole from your brother and your morning breath may be the reason the cat is under the bed instead of in it?

And then you wonder what you must have looked like dreaming that dream.

And then that sneaking suspicion from your dream comes back and you think you know those eyes and you’re all I’M DREAMING OF HIM??? WHYYYYYYYY???? 

And you replay the whole thing anyway because you WERE actually kind of hot?

No?

 

Cool, great, me neither.