Bad Juju

Shortly before her 7^th birthday, our daughter started to press her case for having a puppy because she knew a sibling was out of the question. I was 100 percent in support of the idea and my wonderful husband, who loves dogs but doesn't love walking them, caved in to his women and found an adorable, award-worthy, blue blooded Shit-Zhu for our family.

Her parents were champions, but Shasha was barely a pound of hair and scaredy-cat love:  She shivered and shook when we peeled her away from her guardian breeders and brought her home, thinking she could walk on a little leash, but quickly learning that this girl was for carrying. 

One year in, we had her spayed along with a little nip and tuck on a tiny hernia that is common with little dogs.   

Six months later, we had the “bad juju” event. 

It was early June and one day Shasha just stopped walking.  And peeing and pooping.  We raced her to the vet and numerous tests later, we learned that she had a crimped bowel, that a necrosis was setting in, and that she could die if we didn’t have immediate open-dog surgery.  Because with little dogs, it’s all or nothing. 

And then , there was the discussion of the bill.  $2000 for the tests.  Nearly $6000 for the surgery.  Ugh.

But of course, she was family.  We did what we needed to do.  I handed our puppy over to the godlike young vet who would cut her open.  And he found…. 

NOTHING.  Not a crimp.  Not a necrosis.  Nada.  Zip.  Zero. 

But she miraculously FELT BETTER.  Of course, she needed lots of expensive drugs to get over the trauma to her system and she had to wear that crazy cone to keep from licking and chewing at her stiches, but she was our Shasha – a little older, a little wiser perhaps, but still our fur-ball of unconditional love. 

After a week of recovery, I took her to the vet for her post-op exam and he  confessed his surprise at finding her organs and intestines as they should be. And he said, “Sometimes you just have to open them up and get out the bad juju.” 

There's a life lesson in that statement:  While it may seem easier to carry on with a bad situation, nasty old stuff only gets worse. Confronting demons doesn't make them disappear, but staring them in the face usually produces some small amount of closure, some decision-making, some peace of mind.  

At this stage of life that just feels right to me. I see friends grappling with the changes that seem to come with turning 60 - in relationships with spouses or kids, or with their jobs, their finances or their own health - and it's hard to change. But I also see them solving problems instead of whining about them, putting one foot in front of the other, making plans, leaning forward.  

They're opening themselves up and clearing out the bad juju. And that's a beautiful thing.