My New Least Favorite House Cleaning Chore

Ah, paper shredder, you've earned a spot on my list. Which list? The least favorite house cleaning chore list. Topped only by rehanging the shower curtain after washing it, emptying the paper shredder now joins other tasks such as ironing, washing the walls (yes, that's a thing when you have OCD) and scrubbing grout.

Previously, paper shredding and the ominous task of emptying the basket had escaped inclusion on 'The List.' That all changed today when I got up from the computer to do another task. As I stood, I noticed two documents that I wanted to shred. Figuring I'd just slip them into the shredder on my way out of the room, I picked them up and carried them with all the reverence due a piece of paper that was about to be shredded into unrecognizable diamond-cut bits. Very casually I flipped the switch and fed the papers in. Nothing happened. Hmm. The light was on. It worked yesterday. Then I noticed that the basket was full. No. Full doesn't describe it. It looked more like it had been through a trash compactor. When I pulled the basket out, tiny pieces of confetti burst out and littered the floor.

Sigh. Okay. I removed the container and went in search of a bag big enough to hold the contents. A peek in the kitchen pail told me that the half empty bag had the capacity to do the job. Oops, I have a quandary here. Is it pessimistic to say half empty when looking for such a state to accomplish a task? Was I actually being optimistic that the space in the bag would fulfill my needs? Great. Now I have a headache (and quite possibly some ADD). Anyway, back to the problem at hand. The environmentally-conscious part of me knew I had to fill the bag now because the trash goes out tonight. Just one problem. The picky compulsive in me didn't want to contaminate the shredder pail by touching it to any of the garbage already in the bag.

I carefully spread the opening of the bag and held the pail over it. With the assistance of gravity and an exuberant puppy who rushed in to grab the bag as I was dumping the shreds, my kitchen ended up looking like the Canyon of Heroes after a victory parade. Knowing that attempting to sweep such a mess is an exercise in futility, I knew a vacuuming was in order. Yay! Vacuuming is actually my favorite task. The immediate gratification of seeing clean floors and carpets in the wake of my Shark animal vacuum is very pleasing.

I pulled out the vacuum, which had the added benefit of causing the puppy to stop eating the paper and leave the room. Naturally, since I had the machine out, I did the whole house, however, I made the mistake of running the vacuum over the pile of shredded paper rather than using the wand for all of it. This caused the roller to continue to spit out little pieces all throughout the house. In the end, I went back over everything with the wand. Then I emptied the vacuum and changed the kitchen garbage bag, which naturally meant cleaning the pail first.

That done, I returned the now-empty basked to the shredder. Once again, I fed the paper in. Nothing happened. Hmm. I peered inside the mechanism and saw an intact piece of paper sitting in between the nasty-looking teeth of the shredder. Now, I've seen enough horror movies to know that even with it switched off, the teeth would spring to life and shred my fingers if I tried to clear it. I unplugged the shredder, but knew it was still a risk. However, it was Amy vs. the machine now and I was determined to win.

I amassed several household items to help with the job at hand. Tweezers failed. Scissors failed. The pen wouldn't fit in the opening. I finally found a flat-headed screw driver that was narrow enough to fit in. With much maneuvering, I finally managed to dislodge the offending piece of paper. Once again, I fed the documents into the shredder. Success!

With a contented sigh, I turned to do what I had wanted to before the whole shredding incident began. My shoulders slumped as I realized that I could no longer recall what that was. Not to worry, though, I'm sure I'll wake up at 3 am and remember.

Life with an Epileptic Dog

It's taken me some time to write this. My beautiful Daphne went to the Rainbow Bridge on January 3, and life hasn't been the same since. I have since gotten a new puppy, whom I love dearly, but it remains to be seen if she and I will ever be as close as I was with my Daph. In some ways, I hope not. Not that I didn't love the way she looked at me and I saw that her life began and ended with me, but because Daphne was too dependent on me. She was overcome with sorrow when I wasn't around and by the time she died, she was so close to me that she was literally always at my side. In fact, it was difficult to even walk across the house without tripping over her. I'm not sure exactly why she ended up that way, but I believe her epilepsy had much to do with it.

The First Seizure
Daphne had her first seizure a month before her fourth birthday. It was 'foodies' time - something of an event when you have seven cats and two dogs. I noticed her slinking around the dining room table, which was odd because that dog could smell food at fifty paces. So I went to see what was wrong and saw her standing there with long strands of drool hanging from her mouth. My immediate thought was that she'd eaten something harmful. I used a towel to wipe her mouth. Then to my absolute horror she fell on her side. Her mouth was wide open and she seemed to be gasping. Foolishly, I thought she was choking. There I was sweeping her throat, looking for whatever it was. Feeling nothing, I finally gave up and sat back, terrified that I was about to watch my dog die. I do realize how lucky I was that her jaw didn't close, especially given the lockjaw that usually followed her later seizures. Within a few minutes, she recovered and stood, but she growled at me when I got near. I guess she was so confused about what had happened and probably still felt loopy. I rushed her to the vet and they said it was likely a seizure. With a bottle of phenobarbital, I headed home. She had two more seizures within 24 hours, meaning she was a so-called 'cluster' dog. Through the years, we tried upping the dose and adding Zonisamide, but were never able to get any better than a cluster about once every month.

Our First Emergency Experience
Then came the dreaded night. Daphne began seizing at 2am and never came out of it. Her body would still for a minute or two and then immediately begin seizing again. By the time we got her to the emergency vet, her temperature was about 108. They put her in an ice bath and administered Valium intravenously to stop the seizures. The next morning, we picked her up and took her to the specialty hospital, where she stayed for a day or two. They upped her Zonisamide to the maximum dose. Happily, she had no further episodes like that and even stopped clustering. She would still have one seizure about every month or two, but we learned to live with it (as the vet said happens to most people who have an epileptic dog). We slept with a pile of towels behind the pillows, so we could throw them under her and prevent having to change the bedding at 2 am and barricaded the stairs.

Six Year Veterans
Eventually, she became very unsteady. It started with what we called 'wobbly' days as we approached the six year mark for her disease. She would stumble on the back steps to the yard and wipe out when turning corners. We place throw rugs and mats on all bare floor areas to stop her from falling.

Our New Hope: Keppra
Every year we had her pheno and liver levels tested. After six years, her liver was showing signs of damage and we made the decision to try and wean her off it, while adding Keppra. The first day on the Keppra was nothing short of horrific. She couldn't take two steps without falling, even with all the mats and runners. I cried just watching her. We stopped it and then gradually gave it to her in quarter tablet increments. Finally, we had her on the Keppra and off the pheno.

Tragedy ... Again
Then tragedy struck. Just before Thanksgiving, she had another cluster - her first in a few years. Again, it was the middle of the night. The Valium suppositories we had didn't help. We skipped the local emergency vet and rushed her to the specialty hospital. She was there for several days, still having intermittent seizures. The day before Thanksgiving, against their advice, we took her home. The bills were becoming astronomical and we wanted her home for the holiday. All went well at first. Then three weeks later, it happened again. Once again, we rushed her to the hospital in the middle of the night. This time, when we took her home a few days later, we had a prescription for injectable Valium and a kit to administer it rectally. If this didn't work, I feared we would lose her. I simply couldn't afford a two to three day hospitalization every month. The specialist felt that the Pheno had probably been stopping the clusters, but said it was possible that even restarting it wouldn't stop them. Plus, her liver values had improved since stopping it, which indicated that it had been harming her liver.

On January 3rd, it happened again. We administered the Valium rectally as we'd been instructed. She was still seizing. We loaded her into the car and were halfway to the specialist when she stopped. With great relief, we returned home. She spent the night vocalizing - something they do after a cluster, where they sort of howl and whine. She seemed relatively okay the next morning - clingy, but that was normal for her. She had a few short seizures, but got up quickly. However, the next morning, she had another seizure and though she regained consciousness she couldn't stand up. We brought her back to the specialist and were told that she was likely brain damaged (her pupils were no longer equally reactive). They said they could hospitalize her and try to stabilize her, but she might never walk again. Deciding to let her go was one of the hardest things I've ever had to do.

Guilt
I still feel so guilty. Perhaps if I'd taken her to the hospital that last time even though she stopped, we could have prevented the brain damage. On the other hand, monthly hospitalizations at a specialty hospital were too costly to be practical. I would like to look back on all the time we had together and smile, but I'm not at that point yet. The memory of those soulful, brown eyes still brings me to tears. Some day I'll get there.