There is value in doing the dance with death. I have led death on the dancefloor of my dancefloor of life...twice. It wakes you up to the reality of one’s finiteness. Another child in preschool grasps death at one level when his goldfish or her parakeet dies. As we grow older, grandparents and older relatives also die. When you do the dance yourself, it changes your Weltanschauung. One’s intellectual insight moves into feeling it in one’s gut.

While I won’t want to relive a subdural hematoma or prostate cancer, I won’t delete them from my life. They taught me that my clock is ticking. It is foolish to waste the time that I have left. George Burns lived a couple of months after reaching his birthday, January 20^th, when he turned 100. Burn and I both share the January 20th. For decades, I have wanted to outlive him, which means I have 18 years and 9 days to be able to live longer than he did. Time speeds up as you grow older, trust me.

That is my personal backstory. Yesterday, Ginger and I drove to Purdue Veterinary Hospital early in the morning. I have lost count of the trips we have made to PVH. Ginger will be eight years old in October. The first half of her life was without any medical issues, but not her last half. Her first trip meant leaving her there because she wasn’t eating. Dr. Derrè checked all of the medical issues that she was facing. However, Ginger refused to eat. Ginger was moved to the ICU so that she could be fed with an IV.

Dr. Derrè, before leaving the hospital that evening, went to see Ginger again. Feeding her intravenously wasn’t going to save her life in the long run. I don’t know what he said to her, but he tried a small amount of food again. Finally, she began eating a little bit. The following day, Ginger continued to eat the next day. I got a call from Dr. Derrè later that day. I could pick Ginger up later that day. Talk about relief. Dr. Derrè saved her life.

Ginger understands what I mean when I ask her, “Do you want to go to Purdue?”

“I remember this place.”

Ginger senses that going to the hospital will make her feel better. When she doesn’t feel well due to her inflammatory bowel disease, I’ll tell her that the meds that I am giving her will make her feel better. Merely petting her when she doesn’t feel well comforts her.

After spending much of the day at PVH, where Ginger met Samantha, a Purdue University College of Veterinary Medicine student. Samantha’s professor is Dr. Shalvey. Much of Ginger’s day at Purdue was spent with the two of them. This is Ginger dragging Samantha into an exam room where I was waiting.

Dr. Shalvey ran a litany of tests on Ginger. She will prescribe a treatment plan when the lab returns the blood work and urine analysis.

Late in the afternoon, Ginger was delighted when we drove into our subdivision. We got out of the car, and she ran around the yard to make sure everything was as she had left it. We went for a short walk to let her system return to normal. Being in a car for any amount of time makes her feel nauseous.

It was dinnertime, but I ate my meal before even giving her meds and her meal. We were home for two hours before the meds were given. I finally gave her a small amount of food so she wouldn’t gulp down her 2½ cups of dog food. And what was Ginger’s response to her food? She walked away without even smelling it. The day before we went to Purdue, she got sick in the morning and didn’t eat dinner. Purdue didn’t want her to eat anything due to the testing. So, Ginger hadn’t eaten for a day and a half. And she wouldn’t eat.

I was rattled, but I carried on despite my disbelief. I gave Ginger a dental chew, which is an easy way to brush her teeth. I call them her treats, and she loves them. She came rushing to the kitchen when she heard me get a treat out of a box. I gave her the treat, and she sat down and did nothing. There she sat at attention as if some portrait painter were painting a masterpiece.

I was at my wit's end. Ginger was happy being the center of attention all day, but now she looked frozen in time. I did everything that would ensure that she had gotten over any nausea due to the return trip. When we arrived at the hospital, she was back to normal by the time I had signed her in.

Then I remembered Dr. Derrè several years before when she refused to eat. So, I sat down and talked to Ginger. Then, I did what Dr. Derrè did. I gave her a small amount of wet dog food, as in a tablespoon. She ate it. Talk about being relieved. I looked at Ginger and said, “Do you want some...?” Before I completed the sentence, her tail began to wag. Another tablespoon was given. That routine continued with increasingly more wet dog food. Then, I mixed it with small amounts of dry dog food. Half an hour later, she had eaten what her dinner should have been.