ch.12, v.31-50 (power outage)

Alas, my fair city, your lot was cast into calamity,
And conflagration did beset your highways and pathways,
Did envelope in chaos the orderly procession of your nervous system,
Did upset the routes of your messengers and caravans
With a force like unto that of a sirocco of spaniels and terriers, in-bred and trained not well.

What confusion of your own vital spark, this incendiary eruption?
Wherefore the servant Energy became the Tyrant Disruption, all consuming?
Yea, we stood upon the forest hills of the Jamaica plain and did lick our paws in worry
As your citizens wandered aimlessly, hounds with no scent to guide their way,
Or sat still upon their haunches, bereft of your gentle guidance and motivation.

Alas, I know your calamity too well,
For also the conflagration did visit the electrical system of my neurons and synapses,
Did banish the relay of the sight of my eye and the scent of my nose
To the upright and goodly step of my muscled frame.



















Nea, my frame and step were neither upright nor good.
I was as an invertebrate creature of the sea,
Cast from my element and splayed upon the polishedness of these wooden boards,
Perambulating only as my companions did lift me up upon the puppet strings
And did walk me fore and aft, carry me aloft and below,
With this rig of harness and buckles, making their muscle as mine.

Karen demos the new harness contraption for getting Frida up and down stairs post seizure.  I can do this now, too, thanks to the personal trainer at my gym who has been getting me into squats, deadlifts, etc.

ch.12, v.1-30 (the epilepsy)

Tho' the hairs of gray that advance upon my head
Now do reach even to the brow above my eye,
Yea, tho' the striped hairs of my youth retreat before this advance,
Still the torment of my puppyhood returns upon the gray matter of my brain.

What figures shall I use to tell you of this catastrophe?
What form and coat does it assume?
Nay, even the cat is not a visitor so fearsome as this.



For it is a force of oblivion that seizes upon me,
Like a boulder dropped of a sudden upon the entrance to a den,
Sealing out even the sliveriest sliver of light from its residents within.

It is a seizure that makes oblivious all that is frida,
Seizing the pathways of the messengers called Synapses
Who would carry the orders of orderliness throughout this organism.
And bereft of their messages the muscles of these limbs
Know no order and do act and contract in calamity
Neither walking nor making any motion that is useful,
And the eyes of this head stare with a bold staring
That sees no thing, fixing it not upon the tablet of my brain.

O my companion, how do we banish this my greatest tormenter?
How build round about the quiet organismation of frida
A wall of sturdy unbreachableness that shall hold off the oblivion
And keep the movement of these muscles
And, yea, also the perceptions of these senses in useful accord?

Nay, this fearsome horde of Nothing
It neither flees before the resounding bark of my voice box
Nor does it cower beneath the solemn command of yours.



Behold, the truest arrow in our quiver,
The butter from peanuts called "pill."
This we shall whet and nock afresh
And let fly against the thief in my night.




Exegesis and Commentary

So just about the same time, last fall, that we were trying to figure out why Nadja couldn't walk anymore, Frida also began having seizures again after a good five-year hiatus. This isn't unusual, since as effective as her medication--phenobarbitol--was, it is also something the nervous system adapts to very well over time. Adapts to so well that at some point the seizure disorder will typically reemerge.

So it did with Frida, always coming in the wee hours of the night and coming out a bit differently than the standard grand mal seizures of her youth. She seemed to stay in the seizure longer, passing from the usual paddling limbs and snapping jaw to a kind of frozen staring that lasted far too long. She also seems now more prone to cluster seizures: two or more in a short time frame.

In the past, vets have said that if the seizures are less frequent than once a month, that's pretty good, but seizures like this even once every couple of months are pretty devastating, since it can be hard to tell if she's going to come back from it. A new medication added to her phenobarb seems to help--now it's maybe about seven to nine weeks between episodes--and we have a supply of vallium on hand that seems to break the seizure's hold on her, but it's pretty challenging, for her and for us.

ch. 2, v.1-15 (fears)

Lo, tho' I walk through the hall of the house of alone-ness
I shall not panic.
I shall neither raid the storehouses of kibble nor
pull down the vaults of my companion's sustenance.
Tho' I may scatter the treasures and linens of my companion
I shall chew the recesses of her raiment only a little bit.

I find my comfort in the treasures and linens of my companion
and eat just this one pocket and a few tissues.
My companion returns, calling to me with words of praise
"Good dog" and rewards me for the many adornments unchewed
and storehouses unmolested.

Yay, tho' the fear of abandonment rises about me
like unto concrete walls and chainlink fences,
tho' it gape before me an abyss as dark as an empty stomach,
I shall know that I am in the denning place of my pack and fear not.

Exegesis and Commentary
Although these verses articulate, for the first time here, the tremendous separation anxiety that has attended Frida all through these nine years, they actually testify to her growing ability to face down that fear. Even just a few years ago, as she suggests here, being alone in the house with access to all its rooms would have led to considerable destruction: food bins overturned, evidence of panic overeating (a hugely bloated stomach and food regurgitated), human food spread all about (including, more than once, a bottle of olive oil carried into the living room and allowed to pour out all over the floor), private parts of my clothing consumed, and many different kinds of objects chewed.



That history has led to a variety of stratagems for giving Frida less space to worry about in my absence: she was initially crate trained and now is kept in the living room when alone. She also gets her frozen kong, filled with carrots, cream cheese, and peanut butter, whenever I leave, a ritual that occupies her attention and seems to comfort her.

So the miraculous thing, a few weeks ago, was that I forgot to secure the living room door, and Frida had access to the kitchen, the bathroom, the bedroom, several trash cans and several laundry baskets, and she ate only one pocket out of one pair of shorts. Even tho' she carried other items of clothing into the living room, she didn't actually chew them. Is it a miracle if the saint changes her own behavior?



(Note the dog food bins, trash cans, completely untouched. This is beyond my ability to fathom. I can comprehend it only through an effort of faith.)

The realistic question, tho', is what is it that actually changed in Frida's life? I can identify a few key things (poodle company, getting older, etc.), but I think the most important thing is that she has been weaned off of the potassium bromide, an anti-seizure medication she's been on for over eight years. I had never been fond of it--it barely controlled her seizures and had nasty side effects--but the vets eight years ago seemed to love it (no danger of liver damage, which is the risk with the barbituate). So b/c apparently her body was no longer absorbing it well, and it was making her sick, a good neurologist at Angell suggested taking her off of it (veeeerrrry gradually), and not only did it solve the problems we had begun to notice (wobbly legs, accidents in the house, etc.), but it has generally made her more confident: more playful with other dogs again, less destructive when left alone in the house, less barky, so on. It's been great. I wish it had happened years ago. (Don't worry--she still has many of the neurotic, woebegone, and generally long-suffering behaviors that make her our saint.)


(No, we don't make Frida lie in this seemingly sterile and uncomfortable spot. She frequently chooses to lie here; she would actually get in the tub if she could.)