This is Fredd

He needs your help!

Fredd came to Young At Heart from an open admission shelter where he was to be euthanized because of his age. When Fredd arrived to YAH, we were amazed at his wonderful personality and temperament. He was always eager to meet new people, kiss kids that came to pet him, and was just a happy-go-lucky little guy. As Fredd spent more time in his foster home, it became apparent that Fredd was having trouble getting his back end in gear- he would drag his toes and sometimes even have to pull his back end up by dragging it forward with his front end. So Fredd was off to a Neurological consult. MRI results showed that Fredd’s problem was not neurological, but a trauma-induced injury. Two of Fredd’s discs were crushed, putting pressure on Fredd’s spinal cord and causing atrophy beyond the injury site. If we didn’t do something fast, Fredd would lose the use of his back legs completely!

Of course, we agreed to immediate surgery!

After the surgeon operated on Fredd, he told us that Fredd had to have been in excruciating pain. We were shocked and saddened to hear that, because Fredd acted happy and sweet the entire time, never once letting on the level of pain he was actually in. The even sadder part is that vet said that, without a doubt, Fredd’s injury was caused by someone kicking him. For a dog to have been abused to that level and still love people so much is amazing to us, though we witness it again and again. Fredd went through surgery beautifully, and within days had full use of his back legs. It looked like Fredd was in the clear!

Last week, however, Fredd had a setback, and had to undergo a second surgery. The bone that had started to die off in Fredd’s backbone before his initial surgery had caused an infection in his spinal cord post-surgery, re-paralyzing Fredd’s back legs. Fredd underwent surgery as second time to remove the infected tissue and to stop a small bleed. He is now in recovery, and we hope after his follow-up appointment on November 7th, he can being his water therapy to regain the strength in his back legs. Fredd may never walk like a “normal” dog again, but he will now be pain-free and able to live day to day without suffering. He’s not out of the woods yet, but now he has every chance to live a life of comfort.

Young At Heart has spent over $4500 getting Fredd back on the road to being pain-free, and we could really use your help! We are currently in the process of applying for grants to help with Fredd’s surgery and therapy costs, but Fredd could use your support, too! As most of you know, we’ll do anything for the dogs and cats in our care, and the only reason we can do that is because of wonderful supporters like you!

Please consider sponsoring Fredd today. Any amount helps and goes directly to Fredd’s veterinary bills. And we’ll tell Fredd about each and every generous sponsor to give him reason to work even harder on wagging his tail!

To make a donation via e-check, credit or debit card, please click here:

I WANT TO SPONSOR FREDD!

To make a donation via check or money order, please send it to:
 Young at Heart, PO Box 1293, Palatine IL 60078.

If you cannot sponsor Fredd today, please say a prayer, make a wish, and think good thoughts for a speedy recovery for him.

Thank you!

If you have any questions, please email us at info@yahpetrescue.com or call us at 847-529-2025.

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We had one of those moments on Friday, Peeps.  One of those moments (and we’ve been having a lot of them lately) where I suddenly realize that my little guy is slowly morphing into a less little guy.  Four years old seems very young, unless you’re used to a three year old, after which time it seems positively adult.

On Friday I picked up Wallace from school early.  One of the nice things about school (as much as it is killing me) is the ability to get Wallace early on Thursdays and Fridays.  Not too early, but early enough that he leaves before the rest of his kids.  I think it makes him feel special.  This year has been a good year.

Anyway, rambling, sorry, anyway, I picked him up and he was dawdling, because if there’s anything better than being at school with your friends while your parents look on admiringly, Wallace doesn’t know what it is.  I said to him, chivvying him along for the thousandth time, “Okay, Bubba.  Put your train in the bin.  We have to go.”

One of his very good friends’ head whipped around with an accompanying “crack” and he said, loudly and incredulously, “BUBBLES?”  *crack* *crack* *crack* went the other little heads in the room.

*sigh*

Awkward moment there.  I kind of waved my hand innefectually off to the side and mumbled something while Wallace tried hard not to look embarassed and said, “No, Bubba.  It’s a…. name”.  He doesn’t know what nicknames are yet.

I have called him Bubba from the moment I realized that the name “Chubba” (which it would be hard to argue was not accurate at the time) might have long-lasting effects on his psyche.  He’s Bubba pretty much exclusively at home.  And now his schoolmates know that he’s “Bubba” at home, and since they are all just learning how to make fun of one another in that weird psycho social experiment thing that all of them get into, I’m sure it will come up in class.

The sad thing is that, up until that moment, I called Wallace “Bubba” with zero thought at all, and he responded with as much.  From now on I’m going to be aware of when I call him “Bubba” in public, and he will probably be aware as well.

It’s not the end of the world.  It’s normal and good to be aware of your social setting and social rules.  I went to elementary school with a kid nicknamed “Weasel” for pete’s sake.  He had it rough.  Bubba, if it stops in pre-K, is recoverable.

Still, I think that Bubba is not going to appear at school again.  He’ll always be Wallace there.

Kinda sad.

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TT: Wallace, my love? 

W: Yes?

TT: Is the water staying in the bath?

 W:…. *cheerfully*  MAYBE!

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Had today’s monumental difficult-to-breathe, total-panic breakdown.

Did some reading.  Now will study for midterm on Thursday.

Didn’t understand Neurology at all today.  Considering quitting and being professional hermit.

Upon reflection, now wishing to be a professional Kermit.

Wallaceism:

Upon farting:  “I have wheeshed steam out of my BUTT!”

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Thanks!

I’m glad I sound so together.  In real life, much of the time I feel like someone bailing out a boat that keeps springing leaks. 

You know that dream, where you meet your supervisor and she tells you that you need a math class in order to graduate?  And that you should have known that because it was on your schedule?  And the class has been in session for ten weeks and the final is today? And you don’t know where the class is or ever met the teacher, but you have to go sit for the test?

Yeah, it’s kind of like that every day, only I’ve been to every single class.  I’ve taken notes and paid attention in every single class.  I’ve done the work and (until recently when it just got totally overwhelming) I did careful reading before every class and reviewed after every class.  And when I sit for the tests, I swear to god it’s that exact same sinking dream feeling of having never been here before.

I am working at maximum capacity and one of my coping mechanisms is daily breakdown.  I have one crying, hysterical breakdown per day, minimum.  If I even tried to describe to you what the classloads are like, I don’t think I could.  I have 300+ flash cards for the midterm on Monday.  It took TT and I three hours to go through them all tonight, which, I think, totally belittles the term “flash card”.  We had three of those lectures within a week and I took detailed notes and have a great teacher and still there is a maximum capacity the brain can hold.  Particularly a 33 year old brain.

By the time the test comes around I will have been studying, hard, for four solid days, including the aforemention attending of every class and note-taking and book reading and lecture reviewing, and I swear to God I will walk into that test feeling like I just crammed last night for two hours after an Apartment 3 party.

I do not understand how I can work this hard and be praying, PRAYING, to fall somewhere in the middle of the pack.  I enter every situation with my heart in my throat, convinced that today is the day I flunk out.  And the crazy ass thing is, with the level I’m at and with the kind of brains that surround me, it is (for the first time in my life) not a generalized fear of failure, but a very, very real risk.  Tomorrow could be the day that I cannot hold it together.  The next test could be the one where I get the F and am asked to leave.

Remember that bint whining about her online Astronomy course?  God, do I want to smack the shit out of her.

I have never, ever done anything like this before and I’m glad I sound so together because I’m currently being held that way with spit and hope.

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COPYING SPECKBLOG ON AN EMAIL SENT TO MAYHEM TO FOLLOW UP ON HER NOTE:

Hey!

I’m alive, but just barely. I’m currently taking a 10 minute break from studying. I’m making note cards as fast as I can because we have an Anatomy midterm on Monday. I just finished the Artic and Phono disorder midterm yesterday and I don’t know how I did. So far I’ve gotten three out of three Bs for all my tests and quizzes, but I’m working as hard as I possibly can for those Bs. I have never in my life worked harder for Bs.  I’m so grateful when teachers curve. I am running myself into the ground and I have ZERO wiggle room to ever stop.

Believe it or not, Neurology is my best class, the one I’m enjoying most! It turns out my undergrad was just really, really hard and prepared me well. Unfortunately the same cannot be said of my speech science course which is my most focused point of concern about failure.

I have hundreds of pages of reading every night, many papers to write and labs to do, and tests almost every week. I’m so behind on reading I’m not sure if I will ever catch up and I vascilate wildly from feeling elated and glorious that I’m in this amazing place doing this amazing thing, and utterly dejected and certain that I will never, ever get through the program and will flunk out with a big, wet flop.

The brightest side of grad school are my class members who, to a person, are stellar human beings. The other day all 24 of us got punchy and started making Neuron Threshold jokes and agreed that we were probably the geekiest people anywhere, ever. I like every. single. person in my class. And, as a reader of Speckblog, I think you know what the chances of that ever were.

I’m sorry I haven’t been writing. I also haven’t been sleeping or doing much other than studying, parenting (badly) and cleaning (when desperate).

Love,

KP

PS - MO HAD HER BABY!!!  He is Cousin E and is just gloriously perfect and snuggly.  I have held him, thusly.

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Or: What WILL Aunt Martha say?

I have a confession:  I am thisclose to becoming a White Sox fan.  And I don’t mean that lightly.  I have been a Cubs fan for 33 of my 33 years.  I have lived and breathed the Cubs.  When I lived near Wrigley and drunken upper-middle-class assholes pissed on the wall right outside my bedroom window, I still supported the Cubs.  When, year after year, we looked at tickets and hoped for a reasonable price on our one free weekend to take Wallace to a game, only to find it sold out or each ticket outrageously out of our price range, I still bled Cubbie blue.

Year after year we endure the nightmare Old Style radio commercials just to listen to Pat Hughes and Ron Santo get their hearts broken again and again and again right along with us.  I hate those fucking commercials.

And, you know what I feel like this year?  I feel like a woman who has finally realized that, although her boyfriend is going, “Yeah, yeah baby. I’ll buy you a ring.  I’ll buy you the biggest ring the world has ever SEEN!  I’m just not quite ready”… I have just realized no ring is coming.

I have not believed in the Cubs since the jilted me in 2003.  They made me believe.  I believed, and when they did their classic belly flop, the fact that it was a post-season belly flop broke my heart.  I cried.  I wept, and I do mean that literally.  I was horribly embarassed, but I wept.  Like the woman told she’ll be getting a BIG present for Christmas by her boyfriend and it’s not a diamond, it’s a teddy bear.

The Sox are a good team.  They are a south-side team and we live just over the line on the southwest side.  You can afford to get into the park (hell, you can get TO the park) and it’s filled with working-class folks, not trust fund bleach blonde nightmares.  More importantly, as TT said, they’ve won a penant more recently than two world wars.

The Cubs are cute and funny and nice, but they also are living in my house, eating my food, not getting a job and show absolutely NO real signs, after a hundred years, of buying anyone a fucking ring.

I think it may be time to kick them to the curb.

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