I once had a great opportunity, an opportunity, that if properly approached and taken advantage of, my life could have changed. My sleep could have been deep and healing, 8-9 hours each night. Stress could have rolled off my shoulders like raindrops off the surface of a freshly waxed car. Days could have passed without instance, whatever that may mean, and time would have worked according to my schedule, if only I had taken advantage of that one missed opportunity.

I’m speaking of ACL 2008. Vampire Weekend was set to play around 2 in the afternoon. I was done with class at 11. So, what’s the dilemma? Well, I’ll tell you the dilemma. It was other people. For some reason or another, not really looking to place any blame on any specific person, mostly because I already know who that person is, we didn’t make it on time. I don’t want to dwell on who misplaced what ticket, or who lost what set of keys, or who needed to eat a sit-down lunch half an hour before leaving; there’s just no need for that. What I want to focus on is my deep seeded remorse and sense of dishevelment that is with me everyday like a parasite attached to my temporal lobe. I sit here now, listening to Vampire Weekend, only being able to wonder at how amazing they might have been to hear live. I think to myself: Wow, I bet they can really mix some things up on stage. Not to mention, they are beginning the tour of their new album, Contra. This could be my one shot at redemption, at least until they release a third album.

Slowly, they’ve been dropping hints, releasing new songs.

If that doesn’t make you burn for Christmas and Horchata, then I can’t say what would. I actually bought and tried Horchata for the first time because of this. Sure, I probably would have come across it at some other time in my life, without this song, but who’s to say when that would have been?

They’re also bustin’ out songs that won’t even be on the album, like California English.

This one isn’t even going to be a part of the album. They probably just cooked this up in one of their jam sessions, all casual-like, the singer just awoke from his massive hangover, the keyboardist still recovering from a battle with the flu, the drummer in the middle of finishing his research on ethical neuro-chemistry. They just said, “Hey, if you’ve got a few minutes to spare, I’m thinking we could just throw out some beats and see where it takes us.” BOOM. California English. At least, that is how I imagine it to have happened.

Anyway, as I’ve almost forgotten where I was going with this, I simply dig the band. I don’t jam to them all the time and I occasionally check their tour schedule, but if one of their songs happens to come on, I’ll strum the air guitar and pop one on the dashboard, and if they happen to be playing inside the continental US, then I will consider going. That is the case now. They will be playing in the US, East and West coast, for only 11 days. I figure that of course, they will probably come back again after that, but who’s willing to risk that? So, California or New York, here I come.

The end of another semester has finally arrived. My blood pressure is gradually returning to its normal state. I no longer need a scoop of NO Shotgun dumped dryly in mouth, only to be gurgled in the shower with scalding tap water to aid in my morning cram session. Now that there is no need to memorize the process of cell division or the intricacies of Kleinfelter Syndrome, I am once again able to obtain the erections that come with being twenty years old, body still in the reconstruction process from the hormonal ravages of puberty, my brain no longer clouded with the images of ambiguous genitalia or the paralyzed cilia of smoker’s lung from my textbook. Life is returning to me and I can feel it. Food tastes fresher. I’m no longer a victim of stress induced weight loss, and best of all, my bowel movements are so predictable that you could set the clock with them. My last final exam was today, and I must say that I felt exhilarated, for a few seconds. That was followed by a moment of brief and intense exhaustion. It was like my body and my brain finally had an epiphany and realized that it was all over. They didn’t need to hold up the facade anymore, the mask of dedication and effort. It was simply time to relax. If only that were the case.

I am not sure about whether or not I have mentioned this before, but my tuition is expensive. The last thing I need while in college is another expense. Of course though, that is just not a feasible request. At the beginning of this semester, I spent about $400 at the campus bookstore. It would have been closer to $650 if I hadn’t ordered a few of the books online. Anyway, the end of the semester always means the chance to sell back your books, for half of the original price. Lets do the math.

I paid close to $400 for about ten books, six of which were all for my ethics class, written by philosophers who tended to use a lot of circular rhetoric that never really went anywhere without first branching off into a couple hundred tangents all with their own back story and book jacket; in modern times referred to as stoner talk. So, out of these ten books, they bought back eight. Keep track of these numbers. Eight books! WOW! That’s got to be close to $200 back in my pocket. No. I came away from that bookstore with $18. They bought back every single one of those philosophy books, for an average of $0.75 a piece. That’s probably about the same amount of money someone would pay for me to smoke a blunt with the girth of a baseball bat and then lecture for an hour on the meaning of ambiguity and prudence. Here is where it gets really good.

The only two books I couldn’t return were my Spanish books. These were about $150 a piece. The reason for not buying back either of them: the professor had ordered a new edition. The worst part of it was that I ended dropping both of those Spanish classes. In fact, I missed the return deadline by one day at the beginning of the semester, so I was told to hold on to the book and sell it back at the end. They think they’re so clever. That’s another huge problem with book buybacks; professors are constantly writing unnecessary new editions. For instance, it was suggested that for this semester in Biology, we should buy the 5th edition of Human Biology: Concepts and Current Issues. This book was close to $200 at the book store. I bought the 4th edition on Amazon for $26, shipping included. Basically, professors need the money, so they throw in a few revisions here in there, change the word skinny to thin, flat to compressed, scrotum to gonads, and they’ve got a new edition ready to hit the printing press. People. Call me when someone finally figures out how to spice up a text. Instead of the professor writing in a stuffy and awkward jargon that he/she considers to be “easy-to-read” and “friendly”, how about shooting for all out raunchy. Why not just give in and make chapters on reproduction and digestion as hilarious and straightforward as we found them to be when we were in 6th grade health class giggling every time the professor said testicles or anus? Lets cut flatulence and move to farts. Penis? Screw it. I’m thinking either dong or cockmeat. Vagina? I think we can all agree on that special four letter word…Not really though. I know that word is going to be off limits for a long time to come. Still, what guy do you know that actually ejaculates sperm? Not literally of course. Bustin’ a nut just rolls right off the tongue, and it’s fun to say. Sure, it’s good for everyone to know about the scientific process of it all; I couldn’t agree more with that. But if we’re going to pay so much for it, then the text could include a little more zest and modernity. I mean, don’t get me wrong. I love knowing that the sperm fertilizes the egg to create a zygote that will need a great deal of cytoplasm and nourishment to stay alive. That doesn’t mean you can’t also call it planting the seed or making a baby that will lead to kankles and midnight Dairy Queen cravings for mommy. I’m not talking about full-on erotica in college biology textbooks, just a quick translation.

Who knows? Maybe I wouldn’t feel so ripped off about having to keep my Spanish books if there were a few authentic recipes or tequila recommendation at the end of each chapter. At least then it would still be relevant.

My Thanksgiving Break took an unexpected turn on Thanksgiving Day. We brought my 15 week old puppy out to the country to celebrate Thanksgiving at my aunt and uncle’s new place. Now normally, my puppy, Bagheera, a black chow/lab/German shepherd mix (so we’ve heard), is quite an excited dog. However, on that particular day, he seemed fairly well behaved and calm, or so we thought.
I’ll start from the very beginning.
Thanksgiving Morning: He had thrown up once in the morning bu seemed fairly normal on the drive down there, a little over an hour. Overall, he seemed okay and walked around the property as he might normally, but the firs sign was that he did not drink any water. Out of the four hours or so that we were there, he maybe only took a few small sips.
Thanksgiving-Late Afternoon: He threw up twice, and I’m talking huge, heaping piles of chunky mess before we left. This happened once more in my car on the way home. It looked like everything he had ever eaten, ever, came out of him. So, we got home and he went straight to my room. I assumed that being in a new environment had worn him out, so I let him rest.
Thanksgiving night: I started to worry around 7 or 8 o’clock. Whenever I went to play with him or pet him, he could only stare up at me. I tried to stand him up and he simply fell back on his side and shied away from me. This is when I truly became worried. I had him in the Emergency vet clinic by 9:30.
Now, I must warn that the emergency clinic is much more expensive that your average family veterinarian’s office. But, it was Thanksgiving, and it was all that was open. We later discovered that our local pet hospital wouldn’t even have vets in the office for the rest of the weekend. Anyway, a vet and a vet tech examined him and mentioned 3 possibilities: 1. Intestinal worms 2. Parvovirus 3. Intestinal obstruction. They took some tests. He had number 1 and 2.
Honestly, I felt completely devastated upon hearing my puppy, of which I had only had for a little over a month and a half, had parvovirus. I could hardly hold back my sadness in front of the vet tech. I started feeling guilty and blaming myself for not getting his vaccinations sooner. I pretty much felt hopeless from all of the previous horror stories I had heard about puppies contracting parvo. Still, the vet informed me that my puppy could have been carrying it for weeks already and that there was no way of knowing when the vaccinations took effect (puppies can catch parvo during their round of parvo vaccinations or, rarely, catch the virus from the vaccinations themselves). No matter what they told me though, I still felt completely responsible for the pain he was feeling.
The vet worked up an expense sheet for two treatment options, either in-patient or out-patient. In-patient hovered somewhere around $400 and out-patient breached the $2000 mark and kept climbing until $3000. Our decisions was made to go with the more affordable option. The vet stated that the in-patient is usually more effective, but the chances of a puppy surviving parvo depended mostly on the strength and immune defenses of the puppy.
This is important. To anyone who faces the trials of having an animal with parvo, do not feel down about having to take the out-patient option. Sure, in-patient gives them a constant iv drip of fluids while in the hospital, but it does not guarantee them love, support, or human contact around the clock. Plus, Bagheera was given a 40 % chance if we treated him at home, only a small step down from a 50 % chance of in hospital treatment. Remember, constant monitoring and nurturing will most definitely help a puppy with parvo, but the chance of survival is largely dependent on the strength of the puppy.
So, that night, Thanksgiving night, he was given a bag of IV fluids, anti-nausea medication, and antibiotics, to ward off secondary infections. This was repeated the next three nights at the emergency clinic. We took him back about once every 20 or 24 hours, the last night being Sunday. Also, the vet told us that if he could make it, could avoid dying, until Monday, then our chances would drastically improve. Here is what happened between those days:
Friday: His condition wasn’t horrible yet, and we slightly fooled ourselves that this was as bad as it would get. He drank water with bacon bits in it, but not water by itself. He also ate leftover turkey and ham in small amounts. He even managed to play with the other dogs and walk around the house. Meanwhile, I spent hours, on and off, reading forums and stories about people who had past experiences with parvo, both successful and unsuccessful. The were equal parts encouraging and discouraging. He had some diarrhea, but that was all. I went to bed that night thinking that he would probably be fine.
Saturday: This was essentially the beginning of a plateau, the first day of his sickest peak. He couldn’t even look at food or water. All he did was lay around and look at people hopelessly. I have to tell you, seeing that look in a dog’s eyes is enough to send you into tears. I know that I could hardly hold back most of the time. This was the first day that we started giving him water and pedialyte through syringes supplied by the vet’s office. Overall, we gave him about 5 full 60cc syringes that day. He threw up maybe once or twice. This was also the day of yellow diarrhea. It is the most wretched foul smelling liquid that has ever made passage into my nostrils, like mustard gas curb stomping my olfactory receptors. He was very lethargic all day and slept most of the time, except for when we had to force feed him. *They will hate you for shooting water and pedialyte down their throats, but it is necessary to help keep them alive. Each day, Bagheera grew more wary of us when we would approach him, using the energy he had to scurry away from us and hide under a table or chair. We took him back to the vet that night for his daily injection of fluid and medicine. By this time, he was weak enough to the point where he didn’t bark, yelp, or even squirm through anal thermometer penetration or syringe injections of anti-nausea medication (they say this stuff burns like crazy).
Sunday: This day was basically a repeat of Saturday, except with more puke and diarrhea. At this point, his poop was dark brown and as foul as ever. That was the only time he ever moved by himself, when he needed to go to the bathroom. However, he rarely ever made it to the backyard and there was plenty of clean up to be done in the living room at 3 AM. By the way, you can expect to lose a lot of sleep during an ordeal with parvo. Often, I found myself waking up in 30 minute intervals to lay a hand on his side, keenly tuning in to the rise and fall of his chest or some shallow heartbeat. Sometimes I even ruffled his fur lightly, just to see him open his eyes so I could go back to sleep for another half hour. We took him to the vet for his fluids again and not much changed.
Monday: He had made it to Monday. I was hopeful, but still skeptical. The diarrhea still kept coming and he hadn’t eaten since Friday. I decided to put off gonig back to school until Tuesday morning. I knew there was no point in going to class or work because I wouldn’t be able to concentrate. This was the first day we took him to our family vet and received the best news of all. He said that he had rarely ever seen a dog make it as long as Bagheera had and die. Also, he said that the diarrhea was a good sign, meaning that he was still expelling the virus from his system. So, they filled him up with fluids and we took him home. The vet said we could expect a full recovery by Thursday.
Tuesday: I had to drive back to school because finals were coming up and left early that morning. I remember getting out of bed that morning to the best thing I had seen in days. When I walked out of my room, Bagheera stood up on the couch and wagged his tail. Later that night, my dad texted me a video of him eating dog food, and even later, playing with his bone.
Now: He is fully recovered. By that Thursday, he was running around, pulling food off the table, and chewing on everything from rocks to plant pots just like his old self. I can definitely and wholeheartedly say that the fight against parvo was one of the most emotionally draining things I have ever been through. There were times where I tried to imagine what life would be like if we lost him, and I simply couldn’t without tears streaming down my cheeks. There were times during his sickness where I would go for runs at the track and completely lose myself, stopping with weak legs and sweat pouring from the cuffs of my shirt, wondering how long I had been running. It was an extremely depressing time and I am so thankful, can’t say to who though, that he survived and has recovered.
For anyone else who finds themselves facing a puppy with parvo, never give up. If you notice any signs in your dog, whether lethargy or diarrhea, a lack of appetite for food or water, don’t hesitate to get them checked out.