I'm so sorry.

This is my entry in the December Blogging for Books contest, currently hosted by Joshilyn Jackson. I meant to write about something else entirely but then this happened.


Last night I intended to bake cookies and write Christmas cards. Instead I spent the evening at the emergency vet.

I'm so sorry.

Everything is fine. That's what I keep telling myself. But what I keep hearing is that I fucked up. I could have killed my dog tonight. I would be wholly responsible if things had gone just slightly differently. I keep telling Ben and Wilbert that I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, and Ben keeps telling me that it's okay, everything's fine, there's nothing to apologize for, and Wilbert keeps sleeping at the foot of the bed like nothing happened, but I know differently.

I'm so sorry.

We went out to dinner. We left Wilbert inside – the day was nice but it gets so cold once it's dark and we wanted him to be comfortable. When we got home, we found that he'd chewed up a Christmas present for my mother that I'd left under the Christmas tree. I should have known better, he gets anxious when he's alone and he chews on anything handy. Tonight it was this book. Just the spine a bit, not enough to actually destroy the book but enough so that it doesn't make a very nice Christmas present anymore. I was angry – with Wilbert for chewing on it, with myself for leaving it under the tree, even unfairly with Ben for not suggesting I move it. I yelled at Wilbert and went off to sulk. The book was all I noticed.

I'm so sorry.

Half an hour later, Ben found our pincushion with toothmarks in it. And pins scattered all around it. And I started to cry and didn't stop for a while.

Please be okay.

Ben called the emergency vet and they said to bring him in right away. We hustled him into the car, which Wilbert thought was swell because he loves car rides, and raced to the vet. I kept whispering “please be okay” over and over, like it would help. In the reception area, we waited for a tech to come check him. One did, and brought us back into an exam room to wait for the vet.

Please be okay.

When the vet came in, he checked Wilbert's gums and haunches and felt along his abdomen. He advised x-rays. We agreed. The tech came back and gave Wilbert a sedative so that he'd hold still for radiology. Wilbert wiggled and jerked enough that they couldn't get the needle in so I held his head and whispered to him about what a good boy he was and he calmed down enough to take the injection.

Please be okay.

He got woozy right away and threw up, which they'd warned us about, then pretty much collapsed. Ben and I sat by him and petted him while we waited for the techs to come take him. They did. We waited again.

Please be okay.

The vet brought Wilbert back and told us he had good news – the x-rays looked good, no pins in sight. We have to keep an eye on him for the next few days, but he's okay. He's okay. We paid and came home. All night I kept waking up to make sure he was still breathing. Every time he was.

I'm so sorry.

It's my fault. Yesterday morning I noticed the pincushion sitting on a chair, and I thought, huh, that's not where that goes, and I made a mental note to move it when Wilbert and I got back from our walk. But I forgot. I didn't move it. And he got it. And it was my fault.

I'm so sorry.

I don't know how bad it could have been. I don't know if he actually could have died or just been in a lot of pain or needed surgery or been permanently disabled. No option was good. But Ben didn't blame me. While I was panicking and sobbing, Ben kept calm and looked up the vet and called them and drove there. Every time I started to get weepy again, Ben talked to me about something else, something to distract me from my guilt and keep me together.

I'm so sorry.

And Wilbert didn't care at all. Wilbert thought the car ride was great, and the new smells and people at the vet were exciting, and all the nice pets he got from us were fantastic. He calmed down when he needed to for the injection because he trusted me to not hurt him when strangers' hands were clutching him. And he's okay.

I'm so sorry.

This is my family. This is a family I chose, a family I built. And maybe one member of it is a dog, just a dog, but he's my family. And I almost hurt him, but I didn't. I didn't. And the other member forgives me for my carelessness, or actually insists that there's nothing to forgive. I think there is, but I am so grateful that Ben doesn't. I am so grateful for both of them, so grateful to have them in my life and in my heart, to live with them and love them and laugh with them and be consoled by them.

This is my family.

I'm so lucky.