Life and then Death (Guinea Pig Gas Chamber Addendum)

First, I made it through DAY FIVE (that's halfway, folks!) of the Master Cleanse. I really cannot believe I haven't eaten any food in that long. It's actually quite insane. I made the mistake of telling one of my clients (who happens to be a GI doc) about what I'm doing and he definitely implied that I'm insane. I told him I wasn't doing it because I thought it was healthy in the nutritional sense (although I do believe some fasting can be healthy) and that I was doing it to see if I could do it. Okay, so I sound even more insane.

I was definitely thinking about food again today. DEF IN IT ELY. That looks funny with spaces.

And although I didn't do this to lose weight, I definitely feel skinnier. DEF I NITE LY. I moved the spaces just because I'm weird.

Onto the next thing.

Today's hectic moment was when I took the kids to camp (very late today) at 2:00 p.m. I was proud of myself for remembering to bring in photos for "Share Your Family Photos Day." I was about to take the baby and run when I realized that there were an awful lot of parents hanging around. They have a open door policy for parents (which I absolutely require for anything my children attend without me), but there were a lot more parents than usual.

And then it hit me.

Ahhhh! It's swim day and I don't have anything with me! That's if you don't count the three kids, the snacks, the diapers, the changes of clothes, the water and so on. So I run the two younger kids (because my boy wasn't ready to separate yet) back to the car, back to the house, up the stairs to grab the suits and sunscreen. Back out of the house, back down the stairs, back to the car.

Oops! No towels. Back up the stairs, back into the house, la la la la la.

So, we finally get back to camp and guess what? Both kids are crashed in their carseats. This would be fine, except I've got the eldest's swimsuit and towel and I'm supposed to supervise.

I decided to call because I figured one of the counselors (they all feel sorry for me, I think) could come grab the swimsuit and towel and watch her for a bit so she could swim with her friends. But they've already gone to the pool.

The dilemma...make my eldest sit by the side of the pool while all her friends swim so the younger two can nap or carry the younger two, plus the huge bag of swimsuits and towels, in.

I went for the latter. Luckily, my little boy woke up shortly into the adventure and walked (carrying two sleeping children -- though I do it frequently -- is really, really hard), but my baby slept all the way to the pool and throughout the changing process.

Then we all had fun swimming together.

Okay, so onto the guinea pig gas chamber confession addendum. I left out a few things when I first posted about it. First, Marlowe was a well-loved, well-cared for, adorable guinea pig. He had a throne in the central part of his family's house. He wasn't neglected. The cause of paralysis was unknown.

Second, my friend could not find anyone to help her with him on the Friday night when she discovered the abscesses on his paralyzed little legs. Not her vet, not the local all-night clinic...no one. He was shaking and suffering. The decision to attempt home euthanasia was not one she took lightly.

Okay, that's it for the disclaimers.

Now, enough time has passed that I can write some of the funny stuff. Although we were crying and desperately searching for a way to put Marlowe out of his misery (her in person; me via telephone), I'm sure it was a movie-worthy moment. In fact, maybe I'll throw it into a screenplay. Thelma and Louise -- both vegetarian -- trying to kill a beloved guinea pig.

Second, that dang guinea pig just wouldn't die. I mean, come on folks! A major dose of codeine followed by over an hour in a gas chamber (although I do use that term loosely) breathing in CO2 and HE DIDN'T -- no HE WOULDN'T -- die.

Imagine my friend later, driving over an hour away in L.A. on a Friday night to find a vet that takes small animals...dragging herself and Marlowe with his cough syrup stained fur into the place. It was obvious that euthanasia at home was attempted. Terribly obvious.

She felt guilty. She looked guilty.

And apparently, she looked really, really sad, because after going over the burial options ("Um, that's okay. You can cremate him."), they pulled out the big guns.

"Would you like us to call in a grief counselor?"

This was precisely the moment of comic relief my distraught friend so desperately needed, but it came at precisely the wrong time. She should have earned an academy award for keeping a straight face.

The next morning, I told my mother the whole story (I was still somber from the experience) and the poor woman -- who really was trying to be sympathetic with our plight -- could not contain herself.

She just burst out laughing.

Toodles!