Emotional support…

You can never say never; in my case, that saying is 100% true. I got a puppy last night, and her name is Nelly. 

It’s been a rough six months for me. In October, I got hit by a dipshit vendor’s tent at the farmers market that wasn’t secured, was airlifted, and hit me in my left side, back, leg, and hip. I was pissed. She or the owner of the business never apologized.

I saw it coming from across the street and ran as fast as possible, but I couldn’t outrun it. I was injured for three months. I didn’t write about it; I try to stay positive on my blog as much as possible. 

In November, my sweet boy Otto got sick and died at the beginning of December, leaving me completely heartbroken. That month Sam moved to Essex Jct, VT, to work in the ER department at UVM. 

We are very close, and while I was proud and happy for him, I was sad. I knew how much I would miss him and his silly antics. 

January ended with good news, Noah and his girlfriend, Aja, moved to Salem, NY, and moved in together. 

I was so happy for them that they found each other after both of them patiently waiting to meet that special someone. 

February started and ended with me having a severe case of pneumonia. I didn’t share how sick I was, but it was scary for us.

March brought the news of a cat scan results revealing I had pulmonary fibrosis. I read a little about it but was still sick, so I didn’t dig too deep. 

Last Friday night, after Marty went to bed, I played the game Dr. Google and discovered that the prognosis for pulmonary fibrosis is 3-5 years to live. 

Don’t play Dr. Google; trust me, what you find is never a happy ending, so don’t do it.

I lost my shit. I mean all of it. I went over the deep end. I had a nervous breakdown; I was exhausted from crying and went to bed.

The second I got into bed, I started to cry, lying next to Marty. I was thinking about all the things we still wanted to do. All the things we wanted to see and places to go. 

I wouldn’t get to play with grandchildren and would die with a broken heart. My heart was an empty void after Otto died. I realized I hadn’t been happy since the summertime. Marty woke up, and we talked for a long time while I ugly cried. 

In the morning, after he went to the farmers market, I called my dance sister, Kathleen, because she knew a lot of medical stuff and knew she would say something smart to calm me down. 

Smart she was. She asked me when I was playing Dr. Google in the studies I read, if they were done on men, how old, did they get it from inhaling asbestos or industrial dust.

Did they smoke, or were they fat and out of shape? She continued and asked if I had read a study that included patients who got pulmonary fibrosis from a medication. Um, no.

We talked for a long time, and I realized that that wasn’t my prognosis by that evening. I was referred to a pulmonologist and wouldn’t know anything until I saw her. 

I put the cart before the horse big time. I was so scared I wasn’t living my life to the fullest, not doing the things I kept putting off. 

I was a horrible emotional mess over everything that had happened since the summertime; this was not just about another chronic disease, even though I struggled with others. 

My attachment disorder was out of control again, and I realized how sad I’d been. Even though I have Marty, my sons, and friends, I was in a lonely, dark place again. 

I’ve wanted a female French bulldog for a couple of years but knew it wasn’t a good time since we already had hands full with two dogs. 

Marty asked me on Saturday when he got home from the farmers market if it was time to get that little Frenchie girl. My response was typical for me. For those who know me, you will be able to imagine this. 

I asked, “really?” He said, “yes.”’I started skipping and jumping around the house the best I could with my shortness of breath and singing about getting my little Frenchie puppy. I was so excited I couldn’t believe he had suggested it.

Marty started looking for a breeder while I spoke with my friend Jon Katz and his wife Maria and asked for advice since he knew a few things about dogs. 😂 

Jon is an expert on dogs and has written many books on the subject. I listened to his advice and shared it with Marty. 

After finding out quickly how many fucking scumbag scammers are out there, our street sense kicked in, and we followed what Jon told us. 

It took a lot of searching, but Marty found an AKC-recommended breeder of Frenchies. They were located in Ohio and had an excellent reputation as one of the best. 

It happened quickly, we found a puppy, and Marty put down a deposit. Bright and early the following day, the breeder called us, and we chatted for a long time. 

We asked questions about them, and he answered everything. I told him what I needed in a dog, and he assured me, speaking to me all about her personality and how she would fulfill my wishes. 

Jacob, the breeder, is a very trusting man. You don’t have to pay the balance of the puppy until they are delivered, and you meet them. The second I held her, I knew she was the right puppy for me!

Nelly is playful, intelligent, and laid back. She likes cuddling and being a couch potato, the breeder said. I wanted a low-key snuggle bug, a puppy who loved me as much as I loved her. 

Nelly is a literal lifesaver for me. While with her, I feel all my stress, anxiety, worries, and sadness go away. 

My primary provider is writing a letter recommending or “prescribing” her as my emotional support animal so she can always be with me. 

I’ll have proper documentation and a tag on her as an ESA, an emotional support animal. Under federal law, she can’t be denied entry anywhere I go. 

I think I got some good news yesterday, the pulmonologist’s office called to make an appointment for me on April 26. 

That’s over a month away, so I can’t be in that bad a shape; I guess Kathleen was right. 

Today, I can go up and down the stairs without shortness of breath, even carrying Nelly. Thank goodness my coughing is only occasional now. I heard Marty tell Sam he hasn’t seen me smile this much or happy for a long time. It’s true.💗

As I write this, Nelly has been on my lap the entire time. I started to cry when I wrote about my crack-up on Friday night, and she looked up at me with those blue eyes and melted my heart. 

I’m crying again; they are tears of joy and happiness. I feel like George Bailey again; I want to live again.