Out Of Control
I woke up to my phone ringing, not my usual alarm, but my special Lord of the Rings ringtone. It usually puts a smile on my face, but when I picked up the phone this time, I knew right away that something was wrong.
It was both of my parents, calling from the car, and I could hear my family dog breathing heavily in the back seat. They were at the vet because he had gotten sick all of a sudden, and the more information I got, the worse it sounded.
He wouldn’t eat, which is one of his favorite things in the world. He threw up. He was panting very heavily. His gums were pale, which a hastily-conducted Google search told me was a dangerous symptom that could lead to many possible things. Add all of that onto the fact that he recently turned 15 years old and is a cancer survivor, and it sounded like a recipe for disaster.
When my parents had to hang up the phone as the vet tech took him inside, I hung up the phone feeling utterly helpless. I could do little more than text my boss to let him know that I needed to have the day off work, and then I collapsed into my big squashy armchair with my Gandalf Build-a-Bear.
My mom sounded wild with anxiety and grief, my dad seemed subdued, and I felt numb. I just stared off into the distance, not sure what to do, and acutely aware that even though I am quite the “control freak” in my everyday life, this is a situation I had absolutely no control over.
My dog was 800 miles away, in the vet’s office. My parents couldn’t even go in with him because of the pandemic, so even though they were nearby, they couldn’t do anything either. Whatever was going to happen was going to happen regardless of what any of us said or did or wished or prayed. Everything was out of control.
Usually, when I feel like that, I panic. But this time, I was just numb, curled up in the chair, only able to concentrate on the soft texture of the teddy bear I was hugging and the slight rock of the chair as it tilted back and forth.
Like many times when things go wrong in my life, I reached out to friends for help, and one of my close friends immediately volunteered to come over. I thought I might be bothering her at first, but she set my fear aside and said she would come over right away. It occurred to me, as I tilted the chair back to an upright position, that I was still in my pajamas.
There was one thing I could control: I could choose what to wear.
I peeled myself out of the chair, shuffled into my room, and picked out a black t-shirt with a white and yellow outline of Pikachu. I didn’t bother changing the earrings I slept in, but I brushed my hair, and when I looked in the mirror, I at least looked a little more like myself.
My friend arrived shortly after, sweeping me up in a big hug the likes of which I haven’t really done with anyone besides my family since the pandemic started. I caught her up on everything that was happening and she told me about some of her previous pets and their health problems, and how she’d learned to deal with what happened to them. As someone who also has a lot of anxiety, her insights were very valuable.
Then, I took a dive into happier memories, like the giant picture on my wall of when I read him the entire first chapter of Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets as a bedtime story. I showed off his special bow tie I got him at a convention and three neckties he got from his groomer. I showed my friend the tallit he wore at his bark mitzvah two years ago, and in showing off some of my favorite photos and telling stories, I felt like I had at least a little control over how I was thinking of him in the moment.
My friend ended up staying for several hours. In that time, we processed the news we learned about the ultrasound showing lesions on his liver and the blood test with elevated liver values. Then, the news that his current problem is pancreatitis that came on suddenly, and he needed an IV and several shots. We tried to think through different alternatives, including the painful thought of saying goodbye to my dog over Zoom.
By the time she left to go to the dentist, I felt more like a human again, and I decided to take charge of the little things I could do. I organized some playing cards. I picked up a prescription and bought some ingredients for a salad. I started packing for my upcoming visit home. And I stayed in touch with my family throughout the day, doing my best to get information
As I write this, he is at home, resting with my mom. She’s trying to get him to eat and drink without much success. He’s still fighting the medicine to not sleep. I have no idea if he’ll be better or worse by the time this blog post goes live in a few days, and I have absolutely no control over the outcome.
In the meantime, I am going to remain as mentally healthy as possible by retaining control over the things I can do. I can focus on the little daily choices in my life, whether that means picking what to wear, what to eat, which assignment at work to tackle first, whether to play a video game or read a book, or which route to take on my daily walk.
Even though the bigger things were - and remain - out of my control, I still have the option of making things easier on myself by controlling what I can, and in doing that, pushing at least some of the anxiety away.
Ellie, a writer in the Chicago area, was diagnosed with OCD at age 3. She hopes to educate others about her condition and end the stigma against mental illness.