I’ve ground to a halt. Those of you who read my newsletter will have seen on Tuesday that Morris the Dachsund was very unwell. He injured his back a fortnight ago, we think jumping off the compost heap after a rabbit or a rat. He was improving, with rest. And then on Monday, he jumped off the sofa rather than using his steps and he damaged his back so severely he paralysed his hind legs.
We took the decision to have him put to sleep on Wednesday morning. He was four.
Also on Wednesday, Littlest had an appointment about her tendon-transfer. We have been talking about this for two years now…she needs it to hopefully correct the posture of her feet and get her standing again. COVID has meant everything has been on pause, but now we’re looking at the procedure happening in the spring. It involves a general anaesthetic, which is tricky for her, given her condition. However, although this is so-say ‘elective’ surgery, if it’s not done and she doesn’t resume standing transfers etc, it means she’s more likely to develop lung problems and scoliosis later on. So ‘elective’ is a matter of gradient, really.
And then, finally, for reasons, Talking Child has been in trouble at school and been excluded for a day. The reasons are completely reasonable and Mr AL and I are mortified and furious. We have to do the Parent Walk of Shame on Monday morning to discuss what happens next with her head of year. We’ll obviously also be addressing the atmosphere of identity-based harassment she’s dealing with as well–school are tackling it and we’re all working as a team; so in a way it’s positive to have this opportunity to talk things through. TC is mortified she’s let herself down and is currently cracking on with the work school have assigned her. She’s grounded for a month.
I’m done with this week. Just, completely and utterly done. I was going to write a Halloween short story and have it out before the end of the month…in time for Halloween in fact, quelle surprise. However, that’s gone by the board and in between crying about the dog, managing Littlest’s birthday yesterday–she was thirteen and god knows, we never thought she’d get this far when she was born with pneumonia–managing hospital appointment and vaccination bookings and dealing with Talking Child’s misdemeanours I’m not doing author-things at all.
That’s it. That’s where I am.