Worry Warts and Wounds

My mom always used to say that it was a good thing I never had kids because I would have made myself crazy with worry. Is that a headache or a brain tumor? Tummy ache or Ebola? And sure, this little sliver embedded in the thumb may appear inconsequential, but what if it travels through the bloodstream and pierces my baby's heart? 

I don't know how parents do it, I really don't. How can you love someone so much and not worry every single day over every single thing, like tainted spinach, mall shootings, school bullies, and falling meteorites?

See? I'm worrying on your behalf. 

So yeah, it's probably just as well I never had kids because I would have driven myself into an early grave and them into lifelong therapy. But Mom had a point because I have dogs, and I worry. Good God, how I worry. 

Like with Hazel, my nine-year old greyhound. It started when I took her to my back-up vet for what I thought was a broken toe (Worry #1). X-rays showed the toe wasn't broken, but maybe sprained because she yelped every time it was touched. And so, Dr. H. stabilized the paw with plenty of tape and gauze, and told me to remove the bandage in one week. 

When I did, the problem toe was fine. However, the paw had been wrapped without padding in between the toes, so a toenail had embedded itself into the toe next to it, creating a bloody gash (Worry #2). Back to see Dr. H. who cleaned it, this time remembered to insert padding in between the toes (uh, thank you), and wrapped the foot again. 

When we returned to my regular vet the following week to remove the bandages, the toe gash was starting to heal, except we found that the new bandages had created yet another problem (Worry #3): a bloody, dime-sized crater on the outside of Hazel's paw. The vet cleaned it, wrapped it again with extra padding, and told me to remove the bandage in one week. At my request, he also started Hazel on antibiotics, because, you know, flesh-eating disease and stuff like that (Worry #4). 

Well, I removed the bandage last night to find that the wound was now a bright pink, pulpy, oozing abscess. And Hazel was clearly not herself (Worry #5). No zoomies. No downward dogs or playful barks towards passing pups.

Maybe I was overreacting. After all, I recently had a blister the size of a grain of rice on the knuckle of my middle toe, and for days I limped like a failed Firewalker.  Maybe this was just the canine version of a blister. Maybe there was no need to worry and if we let nature take its course, everything would heal and my girl would be fine. 

Who was I kidding? I was worried. Back to the vet we went, where he took one look at Hazel's neon pink paw and confirmed a now-raging infection (Worry #6). He numbed the abscess. Cleaned it. Sutured it. Wrapped it with falsely cheerful green tape and sent us home with powerhouse drugs we hope will work.

Until then, I'll continue to worry, if not about sprained toes and infected wounds, but eventually over something else, because yeah, Mom was right: I'm on the road to crazy. 

With worry.