To say this has been the week from hell would be an understatement. Seriously. I can't even begin to do it justice, but let me try and explain the best I can.
A week ago Monday Jeff came home from a long weekend in Indiana playing golf and "drafting" his fantasy football teams. I know more about the NFL than would be considered normal or acceptable for a heterosexual woman my age...but I digress...
He had mentioned on his trip that his leg was sore, and by the time we settled in for the evening it was killing him. His calf was sore to the touch and he could barely walk on it. Something just didn't feel right. Very easy to dismiss it as pain associated with being an old guy trying to train for a marathon, but again, it just didn't feel right. I called a good friend and she had the same feeling I did. By this point, I'm pretty concerned so I called the ER and told them his symptoms and the doctor suggested we get in the car and head over right away. Uh oh. Four hours later (2:00 am) we leave the ER with a temporary diagnosis of DVT, deep vein thrombosis. Not good. A blood clot with potentially life threatening consequences. Here we go. THANK GOD, the DVT was ruled out the next morning and diagnosed as a more benign clot. But still a clot. Yuck. So Jeff has been taking it easy this week, but he's still swelling and is in quite a bit of pain. Yuck.
Fast forward to this Monday. Hartee decided to spend a few days with DeeDee (to escape the triplets), you know, a little vacation at the lake. Well, Monday night I get a call from mom and she's absolutely hysterical. I've never heard her like that before. She could only get a few words out and the only thing I could decifer was that she didn't know what to do, and it had to do with Hartwell. Oh, and something about a racoon. Uh Oh. Here we go again...
After everyone calmed down, here's what transpired...
Mom let the dogs out and decided to grab a coke and sit on the front porch with them. By the time she got to the kitchen she heard Hartwell "screaming" bloody murder. First thought...he's been hit by a car...second thought...he's too slow to have made it up the hill...third thought...I'll just open the door and see what's going on...fourth thought...is that a cat attached to his stomach?...next thought...no, that "cat" has a striped tail...IT'S A RACOON AND IT'S ATTACHED TO HARTWELL'S STOMACH...final rational thought...IT'S A RACOON AND IT'S ATTACHED TO HARTWELL'S STOMACH AND HARTWELL JUST RAN PAST ME INTO MY HOUSE!!!!!!!!!!
OK...can you imagine the insanity that ensued? It had something to do with Hartwell screaming and thrashing on the floor with said racoon attached to his underside, mom running to the garage to get a broom, mom running back to Hartwell and beginning to hit the racoon. Ok, let's be honest. I'm quite positive she was screaming and beating the #$*^ out of the racoon like a woman possessed. Racoon finally decides this woman is seriously going to kill him, so he let's go and decides mom's bedroom looks like a nice place to run and hide. Yep. Dog is bleeding in the family room and injured racoon is in the bedroom. Run to the back sliding doors (oh yeah, stop and open the gate in case the racoon wants to take the stairs on his way out), open the doors and swing like a monkey in one motion to the barstools on the deck. No racoon. Crap. Run back to the bedroom and slam the door to scare the racoon. Run back to the deck and jump on the barstool. Racoon finally stumbles out of the bedroom and falls two stories below and runs away. Whew. Run back inside and see if Hartwell is still breathing. Yep, but he's bleeding. Call Jennifer in hysterics. Take Hartwell to 24 hour clinic. There was a run-in with a police officer on the way, but you'll have to ask her about that! Is your heart pounding?
Fast forward to today. I took Hartwell to our vet to make sure he's ok. Ended up with the Department of Health sitting in our living room explaining that Hartwell needs to be quarantined for 45 days. They are assuming the racoon had rabies since mom wasn't "man" enough to wrangle it and have it tested. Seriously? Even with the rabies vaccine AND a booster at the ER? Yep. So now Hartwell has been officially labeled a "Menace To Society" and can no longer linger in the back yard on his own. I figure as long as he's not foaming at the mouth, I'll let him out on his own, but the first sign of frothing and we'll just have to leave him in the house with the kids.
So that's been our week. Thank God, Haley, Elli and Tyler have been great! I just can't seem to keep the old men in my life straight!
Here are a few photos I took recently...aren't they growing up SO much?!
