rachelmankowitz

            We don’t know what set it off, but Tzipporah was sick for a week. One afternoon she had a loose poop, and the next poop was even more liquidy, and the next was all liquid, and then she was vomiting, in her bed. Right away, I was having flashbacks to the last few months of Cricket’s life, when she was suffering from kidney disease and we had to spread wee wee pads everywhere. But I tried to stay calm, and when I gave Tzipporah her first bath-at-home, and she hated it, the energy with which she fought off the washcloth and the water made me hopeful. And then we gave her some Pepto Bismol, enrobed in peanut butter, to see if we could stop the flow in its tracks, and she ate the newly crunchy peanut butter gleefully, and then threw it all up. The next morning, she didn’t eat her breakfast at all, so we called the animal shelter’s clinic and they gave us an emergency appointment. Tzipporah needed to have her butt washed one more time before her appointment, which she hated, again, and then we wrapped her in a towel and brought her to the car.  

She sat shaking in my arms in the waiting room at the clinic, leaning her head under my chin to hide. When we were called into the examination room, she let me place her on the exam table, but she stayed as close to me as possible, and then, when the vet came in to examine her, she tried to climb me like a tree. But she survived, and even let me hand her off to the vet tech, who took her away for blood tests and an x-ray, and then brought her out to us in the waiting room wrapped in a wee wee pad, because she’d had another accident during the x-ray.

I held her close and whispered to her and scratched her ears, and she started to relax. And I realized that somewhere along the way Tzipporah has decided that I am her Mommy. There was no one moment that clinched it for her, as far as I could tell, it was just a gradual realization that I can be trusted to feed her, and wash her, and comb her hair, and to comfort her when things go wrong.

When we were called back into the exam room, the vet told us that there was nothing in the blood tests to worry about, except some small elevations caused by stress, but the x-ray showed that Tzipporah’s large intestine was swollen, which could be a sign of a blockage, or not. The vet wanted us to come back the next day for a follow up x-ray, hopefully to find that the swelling had reduced, but if not, she said, we might need to think about surgery. She sent us home with a few medications (all in liquid form, in case Tzipporah still wasn’t up to eating solid food), and a lot of anxiety.

When we got home, I gave Tzipporah yet another bath while Mom cooked up her newly prescribed bland diet (boiled chicken and rice), and then we gave her the prescribed appetite stimulant and she gobbled up her lunch and even let me give her the rest of her meds, sort of. And then she and Mom rested while I went out to teach.

Tzipporah happily ate her dinner later that night, and there was no more vomiting, but she did continue to have diarrhea overnight. The next morning, we were only allowed to give her a little bit of food to go with her meds, because the doctor wanted the second x-ray to be as clear as possible. And then I gave her yet another half-bath and we were off to the vet again.

These visits to the animal shelter clinic, the same one where we used to take Butterfly (our first puppy mill mama), were bringing up a lot of grief and fear, and it was hard to remember that this was probably just a blip, not an illness, yet, and not fatal. When Butterfly came to us, she was eight years old and had significant health issues, so we spent a lot of time in and out of that clinic, especially towards the end of her life, almost five years later. That clinic was a god-send, honestly, and helped us keep Butterfly for much longer than we’d ever have expected, but the grief has never really faded. And watching Tzipporah, another puppy mill mama, going into those same exam rooms, was a lot.

Tzipporah’s second x-ray was better than the first one, with signs that the inflammation was passing, but the vet said to keep an eye out and if she vomited again, we should take her to the emergency vet for an ultra-sound, all of which sounded terrifying and expensive. Thank God, Mom had thought ahead and bought health insurance for Tzipporah the day we adopted her, which, after a deductible, would give us 80% of the cost back.

Before we left the clinic for the day, two vet techs gave Tzipporah subcutaneous fluids and a B12 shot (which also reminded me way too much of Cricket’s final months), and the doctor prescribed another medication to add to her cocktail, and we went home.

I spent the rest of that day doing laundry (both dog beds, a whole pile of towels and blankets and toys, and all of the clothes I’d worn to the vet and while giving Tzipporah her many baths), and Tzipporah spent the rest of the day eating and sleeping.

By the next day, there were no more signs of diarrhea or vomiting. It still took her a few more days for her to get back to normal (AKA running down the hall to beg Grandma for chicken treats), and even longer for us to stop watching her anxiously, but we eventually began to add some kibble back into her diet, and she had the energy and presence of mind to toss the kibble out of the bowl and focus in on the chicken and rice.

The whole experience was overwhelming, especially because of the memories it brought up, but something good came out of it too: when Tzipporah was sick and needed help, I had to help her, whether she liked it or not. I’d been so careful with her through her first few months with us, because I didn’t want to re-traumatize her, and I wanted to give her time to acclimate to life with people, and because I was afraid of making mistakes. But when she was sick, I stopped worrying about all of that and gave her the care she needed, and she responded by leaning on me, and asking to be picked up, and looking to me for reassurance. She’s still suspicious of me, of course, but she seems to understand that I can be trusted. I’m also realizing that I was probably too careful, worried that she would reject me or worried that I would love her and lose her too soon. Cricket and Ellie’s deaths last year, within months of each other, left a deep mark on me, and I think some part of me was holding Tzipporah at arm’s length, just like she was holding me at paw’s length for her own reasons.

But she looks at me now, and communicates in her own unique way, and even recognizes me as a particular person, who she might even like. We still don’t know what set all of this in motion, maybe a stray piece of chocolate or a dropped pill or something else she managed to find on the floor during her nightly wanderings. But whatever it was, it passed, and she seems more confident in the aftermath. And I think we’re more confident too, and willing to be more proactive with her, even when she looks at us with suspicion. It’s still a work in progress, and we still have a long way to go, but we’re finally getting somewhere, and she even seems to be a little bit happy to be here. Sometimes.  

If you haven’t had a chance yet, please check out my novel, Yeshiva Girl, on Amazon. And if you feel called to write a review of the book, on Amazon, or anywhere else, I’d be honored.

            Yeshiva Girl is about a Jewish teenager on Long Island, named Isabel, though her father calls her Jezebel. Her father has been accused of inappropriate sexual behavior with one of his students, which he denies, but Izzy implicitly believes it’s true. As a result of his problems, her father sends her to a co-ed Orthodox yeshiva for tenth grade, out of the blue, and Izzy and her mother can’t figure out how to prevent it. At Yeshiva, though, Izzy finds that religious people are much more complicated than she had expected. Some, like her father, may use religion as a place to hide, but others search for and find comfort, and community, and even enlightenment. The question is, what will Izzy find?