I'll Be Dead in Two Weeks

I had the flu in July.  Unfortunately, since I’m also a lousy grocery shopper, I never have the things that sick people need.  When I feel the flu coming on, I usually find myself running to the store for a few packs of Nyquil capsules, often forgetting things like tissues and soup.

Miserable and already having missed 2 days of work, I was determined to beat this thing into submission.  I was coughing up a storm, my nose was running like it was trying to get away, and I was exhausted and dizzy.  I opened up a package of Nyquil pills and crawled into bed, instantly irritated that I didn’t have any water.  I threw back the covers and stomped across the floor as if it were the house’s fault.  I made a pit-stop in the bathroom for the toilet paper that I was using as tissues, and went to get water from kitchen.

When I came back, I couldn’t find my pills.  I staggered through the house, checking everywhere, and holding onto things to steady myself in my afflicted state.  I retraced my steps, even looked in the fridge.  Finally, I had to consider that my little dog, Putt Putt, ate them.   I eyed her warily, then opened another pack of pills, and held one in front of her as a test.  I hoped she would turn away from it, but no, the little canine garbage disposal licked it and tried to take it from me.

Shoot.  She ate them.  I knew it.

I called the poison control center, frantic.  I talked to Linda, a saint who was a trying to understand what I was saying through coughing fits.  I had no idea what information she needed, so I rapidly told her everything. Putt Putt’s age, her weight, other medications she was on and for what ailments, what kind of Nyquil it was, the color, shape, and size of the Nyquil…everything.

When I finally took a breath, Linda saw it as an opportunity.  She sighed and said, “Let me make sure I understand…”  I imagined her on the other end repeatedly stabbing herself in the eyeball with her pencil.  “Your 9 pound, 14 year old dog ate two oblong Nyquil Cold & Flu Liqui-tabs that are transparent-green in color and approximately 5/8 inches in length, and she takes Phenobarbital for seizures and hyroxizine for allergies?”

“Correct,” I confirmed.  “Oh, and she’s a dachshund.  A miniature.  If it matters.”

“It doesn’t,” she quickly said, lest I offer her more information.  “Ok, do you have any hydrogen peroxide in the house?” she asked.

I didn’t even have tissues.  “No,” said I.

“Are you near a store?”  I was.  She said, “go there, and get hydrogen peroxide and a baby syringe.  When you get back from the store, give her a little bit of something soft to eat…cheese, soft dog food…something soft.  Then give her 2 teaspoons of hydrogen peroxide through the syringe.  It will make her throw up.  If she doesn’t throw up on 2 teaspoons, wait a few minutes and give her a little more.  After she throws up, call back.”

I raced to the drugstore, where I wandered through the aisles in delirium, talked to myself like Rainman and drew pitiful stares from the other shoppers.  I found the hydrogen peroxide and a baby syringe, again forgetting tissues, juice, and soup, and, somehow, made it home unscathed.

To her thrill and surprise, I gave Putt Putt a little dog food.  Then I put her in the bathtub to induce vomiting, where she began to panic.  Was she surprised?  Yes.  Thrilled?  Not so much.  I grabbed her by the snout, and, despite her incessant wriggling and desperate protestations, I pried her mouth open, forced the hydrogen peroxide in, and waited expectantly.  After feverishly trying to lick the taste out of her mouth, she looked at me like I was a lunatic who snapped and was now trying to drown her via baby syringe.

We  just stared at each other.  For minutes (plural.)  The sounds of the hydrogen peroxide bubbling in her stomach echoed against the porcelain tub.  Then I gave her a few more drops and waited again.  “Puke, dammit!” I screamed.

Heave…heave…  It all came back up.

I called my new best friend, Linda.  She asked if I could see the pills in the bathtub.  Reluctantly, I admitted that I could not.  She asked if I could see her food.  I said yes, I could definitely see the food.

Barely containing her exasperation, she asked, “Ma’am, are you sure she actually ate the pills?”  In light of the lack of evidence, I had to admit that no, I wasn’t sure.  She said, “well, this won’t hurt her.  If she did eat them, she definitely threw them up.”

I was relieved.  I hung up the phone and looked down at Putt Putt, still in the tub.  She was so small, that only her eyes were visible over the side, like a crocodile tracking a duck.  I turned around to get some toilet paper to wipe her mouth before picking her up.  Next to the toilet paper that I had been using all week in lieu of tissues, were the missing Nyquil pills.

I’m still dodging the ASPCA.