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Communicable stress has gnawing symptom
(by Christine Thome - October 01, 2008)
BEYOND MY CONTROL, BY CHRISTINE THOME
Communicable stress has gnawing symptom
After making the pediatrician's office my second home for so many years, I have probably absorbed enough knowledge to earn a medical degree from some third-world college like Honduras State University. But the best piece of knowledge I have come to realize over the years is that most ailments, whether they're ear aches, headaches, jammed fingers or coughs, tend to cure themselves, if you just give it enough time.
That will be $65, please.
Like our grandmothers, who self-prescribed castor oil for every ache and pain, I administer Motrin.
"Mom! My big toe hurts! My head hurts! I twisted my ankle!"
"Take a Motrin! Take a Motrin! Take a Motrin!" I always say.
"Mom! I have gum stuck in my hair!"
"Take a Motrin!"
"How is Motrin going to help get the gum out of my hair?"
"I don't know, but at least you're doing something and not bothering me," I respond.
My laid-back attitude about medical treatment applies to my dogs too. So when one of my daughters showed me where our wonderful golden retriever, Josie, had chewed away the fur on her front leg, I began my home remedies.
"Are you going to give her a Motrin?" she asked.
"Good thought, honey, but I don't think Motrin will help her. Let's try some allergy cream first."
A few days later I noticed that, although not worse, the raw patch of skin on her leg had not gotten any better, so I scheduled an appointment with our vet.
"Hmm," he said after a brief examination. "It could very well be allergies, and I'll give her a shot of cortisone and send you home with more cortisone to apply directly to the sore area.
"However, if it doesn't get better in a week or so, we need to consider that she may be mentally stressed, and you'll have to determine her stress factors and change them."
I gave Josie a quizzical look, and she responded with a big, wet doggy kiss.
"What kind of stress could this dog possibly have?" I asked.
"Have you rearranged the furniture or changed her diet or had a lot of visitors lately? All those can be very stressful situations," he said.
I thought about it for a moment and must of uttered, "Now it makes sense," loud enough for him to hear.
"Yes?"
"Oh, not Josie, but now I know why my husband is so stressed. I bought a new chair for the bedroom, and he keeps stubbing his toe on it in the middle of the night. And then I made meatloaf twice this week. He hates meatloaf. And then I told him this morning that my sister may be visiting this weekend. He hasn't started to chew on his body parts yet, but I'm sure it's just a matter of time," I said.
At dinner that night, John asked about the vet appointment.
"He said, if it's not allergies, then it's stress," I said.
"Stress? She doesn't look stressed; she looks dead!" he shouted, pointing at Josie as she lay stretched out on her plush and padded dog bed, surrounded by numerous dog toys.
"She's not dead; she's sleeping. Can't you hear her snoring?"
"That's her snoring? I thought it was the ice machine kicking on," he said.
"I think she needs a Dog Whisperer to figure out what's wrong. I saw one on the Animal Planet," our daughter said as she got up from the table and laid her body next to Josie's.
"Joosssiieee," she booed softly in Josie's ear. "Whaaattss the maaatter? Why are you stresssssed, Joosssiieee?"
"You're haunting, her not helping her, you idiot," our son said.
As I began to clear the dinner dishes from the table, I noticed that John was studying the vet bill very closely. A strange silence came over the table, and, as I returned, I found the kids staring at their father, who was beginning to gnaw at his hand.
"Honey," I asked quietly. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing," he mumbled, "I'm just a little stressed."
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