Jeeves to the Rescue

 No, that is not the title of one of the Jeeves and Wooster novels, though it could be.

In my last entry, I spoke about Covid and coming out of my own little scare about the pandemic, but what I may have failed to adequately express is that I was also coming out of a side scare.  I suffered through a three day bout of anxiety.  Anxiety so bad that I could not sleep, and that eventually my doctor prescribed medication.

One week ago was the worst of it.  The anxiety coincided with our dog falling ill.  She fell down the steps into the backyard and was never the same again.  That happened Friday, and by Saturday morning my anxiety was in full swing.  I couldn't not seem to fill my lungs, I was full of nervous energy and unable to relax, and the walls seemed to close in around me.

Monday, one week ago was the worst, we had to say goodbye to the sweetest dog I have ever known.  This did not help my anxiety, which is why on Tuesday morning I had a virtual visit with my doctor.  After talking to him, some of my panic started to fade.  I took the first of the medication on Tuesday night, and got a good night's sleep and it has been clear sailing since.

Two things helped me get through those three bad days.  Monty Python's Flying Circus made for very familiar, well-loved, and silly background noise through the days, and Jeeves and Wooster were my bedtime companions.

When I feel stressed, I often turn to Wodehouse.  There is stress in his stories, but in most cases, it is Bertie concerned that he might have to get married.  So many of his adventures would cease to have any tension if he could simply say, "no, I will not marry you."

I would lie in bed and read Bertie's adventures almost until the book would fall from my hand.  It literally happened once.  There is no tension when reading Wodehouse...well, maybe once.  There is actually a gun in one of the Psmith stories, and not a hunting rifle, but a pistol, and actually pointed at our hero.  I was actually shocked when I read that story, because things like that do not happen in other Wodehouse stories, and I have read a lot of them.

Psmith, Mulliner, Ukridge, Blandings, Uncle Fred...I have read them all.  Well, I have read at least two novels or stories in each of these series.  I cannot claim to have read them all.  I have read all the adventures of Bertie Wooster, and his valet Jeeves, and many stories that do not fit into the series, but I still have the good fortune of being able to find and enjoy more of the works of P.G. Wodehouse, though they are getting harder to find.  You can find many of the books of P.G. Wodehouse in free editions, at the Gutenberg Project or Amazon Kindle.

So, if you are feeling stressed, I suggest that you go back to what seems like a simpler...and sillier time, when the biggest concern was finding yourself engaged to a beautiful woman who isn't quite your cup of tea.  Find one of the stories told by the bumbling Bertie Wooster and watch while Jeeves performs his miracles with little more than a, "Very good, sir."

Pandemic Opus #1 (PO1)

 I just noticed that I have not written in this Blog for more than 2 years.

At the moment, I feel like an idiot, because for months I have been looking for an outlet for the frustrations of the Covid-19/Coronvirus Pandemic, and only this morning did it occur to me that I already have that place, even if the audience is not quite what I would like it to be.

At least the audience is larger than for my journal, which no one reads.

I may still try to write some pieces like the old ones that got so few views, but this time, I think that I am just going to let my inner rage at the Pandemic out from time to time and damn the consequences.

Part of it is that I just recovered from one of the worst weekends of my life.  Saturday, Sunday and Monday I was suffering from acute anxiety.  The walls seemed to be closing in around me and the air seemed stale.  I had a tight note in my chest, and I could not seem to fill my lungs.  

Now that last symptom, combined with a sore throat put the thought of something much worse into my head, which did not help the panic attacks.

In addition there was a real tragedy for my wife and I that concerned our dog, Abby.  On Friday, she fell while going down the steps into our backyard and she never recovered.  She came in to my room, and lay on the carpet.  On Saturday, we took her out into the front yard twice (no stairs) and while she did not seem completely fine, she seemed okay.  She was able to do her business, but then just came in and lay on the floor, almost not moving.  Sunday was worse, and we could not even get her outside, so Monday we took her to the vet, and after an exam, we made the decision to let her go.

Abby was a loving, sweet soul, and we miss her terribly, and I console with an image that I am almost embarrassed to admit to, but what the hell, here goes.

To preface this, I need to add that Abby had cancer, and several months back, the vet amputated her front right leg.  She had a large tumor on her elbow.  She recovered from that so well, adjusting perfectly that I was sure we had made the right choice, after a brief recovery, she was her bright, happy self again.

I am not really a believer in The Rainbow Bridge, but it brings me solace when I lose a beloved pet.  The thing that brings me solace at this moment is the image of Abby, with all four legs restored, running in that field that they cross the Rainbow Bridge to reach.  There she meets up with Serge, our old Golden Retriever that we lost a few years ago.  Maybe Serge introduced Abby to Medb, an even older dog of ours, and they run and play together.

I cry as I write this because I miss them all so much.  I won't bring my cat Sasha into this because then the crying may not stop for a while, but she waits nearby.  When Serge goes to lie down in the shade, Sasha appears to curl up with him.

Sorry for the rather long aside, but it is an important part of this hellish weekend.  On Monday, we put down Abby, and then I got an appointment with my doctor for Tuesday, a virtual visit.

Monday night was one of the worst of my life.  At 3am, I was so tired that I could no longer hold and focus on my book (Wodehouse) and yet I could not fall sleep.  The air seemed thick and everything smelt stale and the knot in my chest was...I cannot describe it.

I cannot say when I fell asleep, but I woke at 8:55 am and my appointment was for 9. I managed to make the appointment, but...well, I made the appointment.

Three days have passed since then.  The medication my doctor prescribed has allowed me three long restful nights of sleep and the world seems to regained much of its color.  I can breathe freely now.  The knot in my chest is gone.  My appetite has returned.

I thought I knew where this was going when I started.  It didn't go there, but I have a few final thoughts.

• A weather change coincided with my recovery.  Austin (Texas) had been going through a heat wave, with daily highs in the mid 100s and heat indexes near 110.  This did not help.  I could not really go outside for a breath of fresh air, at least not for long and the temperature and humidity made it seem more like drinking air than breathing it.
• On Tuesday, the temperature was only in the mid 90s.  This may not seem like much, but the nighttime lows were getting down into the 70s, and this meant that it was possible to be outside, usually after dark without feeling claustrophobic.
• The Pandemic did not help.  I feel like I cannot go anywhere, so I have no way to go somewhere fresh and try to relax.  Also, so much of the news is depressing.

I am going to bring this to a close and try to get back here sooner rather than later.  Sharing this seems to have helped a little.  Because of the Pandemic, I feel very cut off, separated from others and I hope this will.

Wear a mask, and stay safe.