I took Clea to the doctor today. She was scheduled to get 2 vaccinations so she doesn’t get sick, or get anyone in her playgroup sick. Whenever I take her in, something, well usually more than one thing, happens that gives me that sinking feeling in my gut that I, in fact, am a bad mother. Today was no exception.
First, we were 10 minutes late. Anyone that knows me knows that that’s par for the course with me. It’s not out of disrespect or anything…my brain is just scattered at times and I always think I have more time than I really do. Plus, it runs in my family. There was not one single doctor’s appointment, tap lesson, gymnastics practice, or CCD class I was on time for growing up. So, I’m continuing the family tradition of tardiness. Anyway, my guilt button was pressed at Clea’s appointment when the receptionist said, “You’re 10 minutes late. I’ll have to page Dr. M to see if she can still see you.” I then had to stand there at the reception desk with Clea in hand, instead of nonchalantly sauntering to the waiting area, until Dr. M called back. Why did I feel guilty? Because I knew that if she couldn’t see Clea, it’s because I was late and her health shouldn’t have to suffer because of my actions. I also knew that my being late affects the rest of Dr. M’s schedule. So, I was relieved when Dr. M could see her and I was allowed to leave the reception desk. Whew.
That sense of relief lasted all of about 2 minutes, since as we walked into the waiting area, a little ’scuffle’ ensued between Clea and a fellow patient, which I was able to quickly diffuse. The other patient’s mother held her little one protectively (understandably so), and I brought Clea behind a small wall so she could only see me…and I mumbled something about her being ‘afraid,’ and that I was sorry, to which the other mother answered in that I’m-not-really-joking-but-I’m-uncomfortably-chuckling-cuz-I-don’t-want-to-sound-too-judgemental way…’that was afraid??’ I guess a play date is out of the question. My guilt-o-meter was again raised. I wanted to say “I know Clea shouldn’t react this way, and I know it’s scary. It’s a behavior issue that I’m working on with her. She’s really a sweetheart!!” But I also knew an explanation didn’t matter.
Ahhhh….Dr. M’s assistant came out to take us in the office. “Thank you,” I thought. “You saved me from the ‘everyone-look-at-the-bad-parent gauntlet that is the waiting area after a ’scuffle.’”
This appointment was a follow-up to her check-up of a few weeks ago, since Clea needed 4 shots and the doc wanted to spread them out. No behavior problems here…she’s all smiles now. As Dr. M did a quick check with her stethoscope, she asked me some questions. Yes, her ears are doing better. She’s letting me clean them. Yes, she’s also letting me clean her teeth, although neither one of us likes doing either. Everything is fine, I thought. Then…’has this been bothering her?’ The doc shows me a growth that’s pretty swollen and irritated. ummmmm…..honestly, I hadn’t noticed that. Now, my guilt level goes to the Red zone. I’m thinking…’how did I miss THAT???’ Yes, yes…take some cells…send them to the path lab. Give me the topical antibiotic ointment…three times a day. Got it. Of course I’ll keep my eye on it….SEE?? I’M NOT NEGLECTFUL. I LOVE HER. I TAKE VERY GOOD CARE OF HER. HOW THE F*CK DID I NOT SEE THAT???
Of course…this is true. I’m not neglectful. I do love her, and I do take very good care of her. I just can’t catch everything and forsee every problem. I do my absolute best, and she knows that she is loved…adored even. And I know that she adores me back. And when she looks at me with her gorgeous brown eyes and smiles, I just melt…and when we cuddle together in bed, all is right in both of our worlds.
Oh…I should mention. Clea is my 2 1/2 year old pit bull-lab-boxer mix I adopted last year from a high kill shelter in Louisiana. She had been a stray, and had been abused. She has scars, and is shy at first with people. And she has gotten protective of me with other dogs (thus the behavior problem I’m working on). But once you give her a treat, and she knows that I like you…she’s your best friend. And luckily, she really does have a playgroup that she goes out with every day. I know that my guilt and fear are just my insecurities and aren’t based on reality, which is why I’m able to write about it. My insecurities actually make me laugh at myself.
Clea and I left Angell Animal Medical Center, ointment in hand, without another ’scuffle.’ Everyone told me…’getting a dog is a lot like having a baby. It’s good practice’ Perhaps I should stop with the dog.
~MST
My baby, Clea.
Today, I was able to start with those manifestations and get to what was underneath, have a good cathartic cry (something I couldn’t do for a long time), and even though I’m not “all better,” I know I’m moving through it and not avoiding things. And again, my GF was and is amazing in it…I feel safe enough to let her in, and she just loves me through it without taking it on. She didn’t run for the hills, nor did she react in a codependent way. Pretty great.
Penny for your thoughts