Sitting here surrounded by multiple medicine bottles, tissues and the funky, stale, germy, medicinal odor that only a sick household has. It's enough to make you gag. Or perhaps, I'm just gagging from the tears I keep trying to choke back and the emotions I'm struggling to control.





Brown Eye's voice still sounds like the "falsetto child" off Overboard doing his PeeWee Herman impression. Which goes perfectly with my feeling akin to Goldie Hawn (in the same aforementioned movie) sitting numbly having grapes thrown at me. Except I wish for the numb feeling instead of all the others I'm experiencing.





The antibiotics are slowly but surely starting to work. We're still coughing, congested and weak; but, a little less so than the day before. Yesterday we even managed to crank out a little schoolwork. We will be doing more this afternoon. Ever managing to get caught up-that is anyone's guess at this point. I see a lot more "Schoolbook Saturday's" in our future. But that is another worry for another day.





Today, I'm just trying to contend with the continued decline in Disney's health. It's not looking good. I keep grasping for just a sliver of hope , but it remains elusive. I can see almost every bone protruding from his body. All his ribs, his hip and shoulder bones. His collar is just hanging on him. I'd take it off, but the thought of not hearing his little tags jingle as he follows me around is a sound I'm scared I'll not hear all too soon.





We've been pampering him with homemade hamburgers, deli turkey, scrambled eggs etc. He sometimes will eat. Other times declines. And everything eventually comes back up or back out in the most horrible manner. It's not pretty.





I'm having to force feed his meds down his throat. Which trust me-hurts more to do, than have done to you. I can only hope he understands I'm trying to save him, not hurt him.





Not wanting to upset the boys with my tears, I've snuck off countless times the past few days to bawl like a baby. Like the swollen bloodshot eyes go without notice.





So, that's the state of things here. Relieved that the boys and I are getting better. Saddened beyond belief that it looks like my poo is not. Looks like I'll have some very hard choices to make in the upcoming days. Some I'd rather not have to make at all. Some I can hardly think about, much less actually do. Struggling with guilt that I cannot heal him. Overwhelming sadness at the thought of losing him The selfishness of not being ready to let him go. Anger at the helplessness I feel. Despair that I have somehow failed him- or will. Somewhere in this jumbled clusterf*@# of emotion is still the slightest, ever more elusive feeling of hope that this will all turn around. But the heavy reality is sinking in that it probably won't. I'm all over the emotional map today. But any of you who has ever experienced the ever faithful, unconditional love of a dog will surely understand.