Today my mom was still out running errands when I needed to have a bath and then go to physio, so I took Pounce upstairs to the bathroom with me, then shut the door. I didn't think my mom wanted Pounce to be downstairs without supervision. I wasn't totally comfortable with the idea either. Then I realized I'd forgotten my shampoo, towel and toothbrush from my washroom. Yes, I have my very own. It's private and can only be accessed through my bedroom. Please don't think my house is big.
Anyway, I figured Pounce would try to run away when I opened the door to go get my things, but when I firmly said, "Stay," he didn't budge! I shut the door behind me. He cried for a couple of seconds. It was hard to come back and see his black nose poking under the door. I opened the door and he didn't try to get out! Good boy! I shut the door then I ran the water and brushed my teeth. He lied down. I guess he's gotten over his anxiety about closed doors. I got into the tub saying "Good boy!" He was pretty good, despite trying to chew the paint off the floor a few times.
I'd been feeling sick and it had gotten worse, so I got out of the tub and cancelled my physio appointment. Like I was going to do cardio while I was nauseous, dazed and a bit weak! Pounce rushed out before me, so I put him in his crate. I figured he'd be more comfortable there and I wouldn't have to watch him. Then I called Mom to tell her I'd cancelled, in case she wondered why I was still in the tub when she got home. I told her I crated Pounce and she said to just let him hang out downstairs alone.
It did seem appropriate to let him do that. Because he had just been so well behaved, I was comfortable with it. I guess it was just instinct for me to keep him in the bathroom and crate him. I walked upstairs realizing he has grown up. He's over a year old now. This is why I've referred to him as a dog in this entry, not a puppy.
My mom arrived home while I was washing. After my bath, I barely dried all of myself off and just went straight to bed. Mom came in and asked me why I didn't tell her earlier that I wasn't feeling well, so she could come home and look after the dog. Aw! I assured her that wasn't necessary. Pounce is a dog now. He's hardly a hassle! Besides, I wasn't that sick. And I'm tough. I can function pretty well when I don't feel well.
She brought me the glass of water I requested. I lied there thinking about how lucky I was to have the luxury -- and it really is a luxury -- to be able to go to bed whenever I need to and not worry about anything and to have a great mom who takes care of me. I thought about how much I love Pounce. I usually can't look at him without smiling and feeling very happy. He's also a great comfort to me.
I napped for about three hours. Then my mom came to ask me if I wanted something. She came back with a glass of ginger ale and strawberries and a doughnut she had bought me while she was out. Pounce followed her in. Then she put him on my bed and came and lied beside my chest. Aw! I pet him and remembered how much I had wanted an animal to cuddle last June, the beginning of my illness, when I was feeling insane nausea and I kept projectile vomiting. Pounce didn't stay for long because he wanted to be with my mom, but it was so nice while it lasted. Then I ate my donut and some strawberries. I particularly enjoyed them because they made me even more grateful I wasn't nauseous anymore.
I've been feeling good for a few hours now. Phew! I kept thinking these past few days that I've been doing exceptionally well. That may be true, at least on my terms, but I was feeling sick for at least part of the day, for most days this week. I think I'm just used to this being a part of my life and I'm so glad that I can be happy, not despite it, but because I've accepted it. Whatever happens happens. I can live well no matter how I'm feeling.