Just got back a bit ago from 3.5 hours at the ER. After a disagreement, my heart rate had flown up to 115 bpm, & I soaked the sheets like I'd just gotten out of the shower w/no towel. Chest 'pings' (1 or so on 10-scale for pain) and another 6 or 8 symptoms of varying significance.
Did an EKG ($$$$$$), chest x-ray, and enough blood samples that I thought we might be needing a transfusion (sarcasm), and the end result, aside from likely blowing our medical budget out of the water, was the residents I spoke with near the end, seemed to think it was anxiety; it wasn't....trust me. Just cause something can't be better identified, doesn't mean it's not real or there. The search may go on, or not.
Back at the room now, and depending on what happens with insurance, I'm pretty certain we racked up $1,000's in bills tonight alone.
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Cudme, we'd been heading down the Alaska Hwy (a friend & I) in my '64 Ford short-bed step-side, and around -55 (55 below 0) south of Watson Lake, Yukon Territory, the heat/defrost fan in my truck went belly up, so we put some -40 sleeping bags over our laps, with the pups underneath in the middle, and put on our extreme gear, rolling down the windows to keep the windshield free of frost from our breath.
Down near Coal River, south of Fireside, B.C. we pulled in, my friend snagged a pending ride with a guy who was holed up there waiting for an axle he'd broken on a pot hole, and I got connected with the son of an older Brit pensioner, who had a cabin behind the old Fireside Inn lodge, that had burned down the year before; they agreed to help me out until I could get back up to Watson Lake, Y.T. for either a new fan motor, or one from a wrecking yard. (Found one at the wrecking yard, and made my way up there a day or so before Christmas).
I was at the old gent's cabin, and had replaced the fan motor, when I made the ignorant choice to stick in a new distributor I had brought w/me (piece of shit was non-functional right out of the box), and while I was dinking with that job, I had let Missy out of the truck to run a bit; Elkhounds are hard-wired hunters. She'd spent a couple nights in the truck there, and I'd pondered whether or not she was upset, and there'd been and old, lone, black wolf, hanging out down on the river, below the old fellow's cabin, that a local trapper seemed to think might've gotten to her, as a result of her getting into a trap he'd left for the aging lone wolf, but I didn't buy it; there was no collar or tags to be found among the carnage there, and wolves don't typically eat metal, whether buckles or tags. The old trapper's story conflicted with the evidence, as well as conflicting with others' reports, so I called BS. Not out of optimistic delusion or oppositional attitude, but due to the issues referenced.
She disliked uniform cops, bears, and any other perceived threats I encountered; not because I'd trained her to, but experiential reality, closer to home. When we hitch-hiked N America together, many times, my harmonica tickled her ears, and despite her size, she would drag a 70-lb. pack on a choke collar to get away from the toe of a Hohner Melody harp in G, or to get AT a uniform cop. The dryer valve/fan that releases pressure in a semi-truck also drove her bonkers, and I'd cradle her in a basket-hold, when we caught rides in such vehicles, in anticipation of that pressured hissing sound. If she growled at occupants of a potential ride, we didn't get in. She read people better than I do, and that's saying something. She was a good dog, a good friend, and more. We saw tens of thousands of miles together. And I had to leave w/o her. Shameful moments that fucked me up bigly.
Thank you for your optimism re. better endings to her story. One of those 'hope moments.'
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Thanks, Weez. I get tangential at times, and focus on minute details, but when things connect with past or current adventures, I often add them. My bet is there'll be some more coming..
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Etta James, Live, Montreux Jazz Fest, 1975
'I'd Rather Go Blind'
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uZt1xKtPbUQ