Yesterday was 10 years since my mother passed away. And so much of my life has changed since then. For the most part, I don’t tend to acknowledge the anniversary publicly, but this year is different.

I thought I was doing OK. Mostly life is pretty normal these days, but on Tuesday something happened that just brought everything to the surface, and it’s been a bit tough.

I was all set for a productive day making tutorial videos, and I thought I’d start by giving the dogs a bit of a run. We were playing fetch when one of the balls went over the fence.

Our dog Roxy did what she has done hundreds of times before and went to jump the gate to get the ball. But that morning it didn’t work, she didn’t get the clearance.

One $600 trip to the vet later, we learned she’d done her cruciate ligament. Which is roughly equivalent to an ACL injury in a human.

As in, it’s a pretty major problem.

Flash back

To fix Roxy’s leg, we’re looking at months of rest. Which is an ask for such an active dog. There’s also the probability of a $5,000+ surgery, which may or may not work.

She’ll probably never be the same dog again. It’s left us feeling a lot of feelings.

The cold shock of this event, as well as its timing, has brought memories of past events flying into the forefront of my mind.

In the first couple of weeks after my mother’s death, I could only really eat Tim Tams. My aunt had a packet in her fridge and they were the only thing my mind would tolerate. After polishing off her packet, I replaced them with more, and then I ate them too.

This week I have been craving Tim Tams like you wouldn’t believe. But seeing as I now have the metabolism of a 40-something-year-old, I’ve found the bountiful summer stone fruit to be an acceptable substitution.

I’ve eaten a lot of plums, nectarines, apricots and cherries (and not a lot else) this week.

Decisions

There are decisions to make around Roxy and I don’t want to make any of them. They all suck.

We are fortunate that we can find $5,000 for her surgery. But it would be a significant financial hit, which may or may not ultimately be successful.

Even if it is successful, the risk of her doing it again is probably not zero. She runs, she jumps. We’ve never been able to get a lid on it.

Without the surgery, she’ll have an unstable back knee. It’ll leave her in pain, and she’ll be lame for the rest of her life.

And I’d hate this at any time. We love Roxy with all our hearts. But having to make these decisions almost exactly 10 years after the last shock that led to a bunch of tough decisions is… a lot.

It’s a lot.

Echoes

One of the things that really surprised me about grief was the physicality of it. Things went on in my body that had never happened before, for no discernable reason.

For example, I got thrush in my belly button. The irony of that only struck me years later. That’s my literal connection to my mother.

It was gross, probably not helped by all those Tim Tams, and a simple fix with an over-the-counter anti-fungal cream; but it’s one that lingered in my memory.

This week a few that I forgot have also come to the surface. I have not been particularly well, but the only possible encompassing diagnosis is ‘grief’. I’m not sure who I’m grieving for, but all the same pain is there—at the surface—right now.

I’m kind of emotionally stuck between 2016 when my mother died, and 2026 when my beloved dog was seriously injured. Apparently that also includes the phantom pain and utter exhaustion.

And it’s hard being physically ill with a physically-limited dog who just wants to do the things she’s always done.

The other night I woke up and she was looking at me helplessly from the end of the bed. Her front legs were hooked up on the bed and slipping, unable to get the spring going with her back legs.

I got up, lifted her on the bed. The bed is easy. But she’s currently 36 kilos and there’s a set of stairs to enter the cabin. I’m praying for my back and lifting with my knees whenever she needs to go outside.

Adaption

Over the last decade I’ve adapted to the gaping hole left in my life by my mother.

I’m not perfect, but I’ve resolved to try my best to live a longer life than she did. I’ve made real and lasting changes to my lifestyle to realistically achieve that.

And over the next few weeks I guess we’ll get to know our vet a whole lot better as we look into the possibility of surgery; ensure Roxy is on appropriate meds; and work through this process.

We can’t give up on her. As much as that is the logical, financially-sound choice—my emotions simply can’t.

I know she’s my dog, not my mother. But I can’t give up on Roxy. Especially this week.

So we will adapt. We’re thinking about ramp designs to help her get in and out of the cabin. We’re going to have to focus more on training both dogs so they’re both safe and happy in these forever-altered circumstances.

Richard and I have both signed up for extra hours at work, and we’re looking at ways to replace the funds we’ll probably end up spending on this situation as quickly as possible. There’s quite a list.

One fundraising idea we’re going to arrange is selling the possum fur Roxy has been helping Richard to collect for years. Our cows are also due to be sold this year, and when mince is $30/kg, that’s not a bad time to have a few cows mowing the lawns.

For the helpers

I’m writing all this because it’s what has taken up my week. It’s all I can think about right now.

I’m not actively seeking donations, and we don’t have a treatment plan or a full picture of the costs right now. But I know some people will feel the urge anyway. So I will at least address the ways you can help, if you feel a desire to do so.

We won’t be struggling to pull the money together, but we will definitely feel it. So our goal is to re-build those funds as quickly as possible, rather than to find them in the first place.

So if you’re not in a position to give, that’s totally OK. I don’t expect anything. Leave a comment if you feel moved to. That will mean heaps to us.

If you live in New Zealand and have a cat, you can buy them some excellent catnip and catnip toys through the Kat’s Nip website. Probably all the funds raised this year through Kat’s Nip will be going towards Roxy’s recovery. I’ve found the relatively brain-less and repetitive task of stabbing wool into Fluffy Balls to be pretty therapeutic this week.

It’s likely there will be a whole lot of plants for sale on this website this year. I’m not quite in the headspace to organise that just yet. But if you think you might be interested in what I have, you can sign up for the mailing list below to know when that happens.

If you still just want to make a donation, then probably the easiest way is to click that little coffee icon at the bottom of the screen and give via BuyMeACoffee.

We will get through this. It sucks, and it especially sucks right now. But much like my life has a ‘before’ and an ‘after’ my mother’s death; Roxy’s life will have a ‘before’ and ‘after’ she got injured.