Page 7 of A Furry Thing Called Love (Friends of Gaynor Beach Animal Rescue #7)

Arlo

When I was first diagnosed, and even before, waking up each morning to discover what was wrong with me that day was terrifying.

Now, I can’t quite say I’m used to my body not always being mine; some days, discovering which parts of me want to work or not is frustrating as hell, but I don’t hate waking anymore. Most of the time, that is.

The days when my legs don’t want to work right, and the weakness in them threatens to buckle me, are the ones I spend most of my time in bed.

The fatigue is real, but I can mostly push through that. Eventually, you get used to the ever-constant exhaustion, even the lack of energy, but the weakness that can come with it is an entirely different thing. It only adds to whatever my body is already going through that day.

Today is a moderate day. My body is heavy, and I’m a little unsteady on my feet, but overall, aside from already needing a nap, I don’t feel too bad.

Early on in my diagnosis, even these types of days would knock me down a few pegs. The emotional exhaustion is sometimes worse than the physical when it comes to this disease. Knowing that every day is a new discovery in how my body is going to fail me, and even the “good” days can be landmines.

It…took a long time to be this comfortable in my own skin again. To feel as if I was more than just my illness.

Jordan helped a lot with that. His…kindness, his enthusiasm, and his overall positivity—but not the toxic kind my mother likes to use—are what got me through that summer three years ago. Not that I ever got the courage to tell him that, knowing I was going to break his heart when I left…

Fuck, I’m a mess.

Grabbing my mug, I turn too fast and the dizziness that sweeps over me lets me know it.

“Fuck.”

Dropping the mug onto the counter, I ignore the liquid sloshing over the sides, the mess can be cleaned up later. Holding onto the edge of the counter, I pray for the spell to be a quick one.

Eli comes over to press against me, offering his silent support, while also giving me something to brace against.

Millie, finished with her food, doesn’t seem to want to be left out of the party, coming to dance at my feet. “Millie, no. Go lay down.”

She tries to jump up on me. “Millie, down.”

It’s hard not to snap at her with my head spinning.

She jumps again, and I release my grip on the counter to push her down gently while repeating the order. Overbalancing as another wave of lightheadedness and dizziness overtakes me, plus Millie trying to lick my face, I fall.

Trying to catch myself, pain shoots through my arm as I land on it awkwardly. “Fuck!”

Millie jumps on me, and the weight of her forces me to lean more heavily on my arm, causing more pain to run through me.

“Millie! Off.” I try to stay firm, but the pain and dizziness makes it hard. Thankfully, the dog either listens, or is tired of the game, as she climbs off me.

Carefully, I try to get off the ground, cursing when I first try to push myself up with my injured arm.

Eli gives me something to hang onto as I get to my knees, where I take a few moments to catch my breath and wait out the lightheadedness that comes with kneeling upright. Slowly, I climb to my feet, leaning against the counter and grabbing onto the edge once more.

When I don’t feel like throwing up from the pain, I examine my arm, noting the swelling that's already visible in my wrist and forearm. Fuck.

This is a hospital trip, no question about it. If I were anyone else, I’d wrap and ice it and call it good, unless it got worse, but for me, and the way this relapse is kicking my ass, there’s no way I can ignore such an injury.

Looking down at where Millie is now nosing around the food bowls, hoping for any scraps, I sigh.

I don’t blame her. She’s still a baby. It’s not her fault I’m a fucking mess and am struggling to keep up with her training.

The last two trainers we tried were okay, not ableist like the first, but were still missing something.

But every day that passes that we’re not working on proper training is more of a risk to all three of us, and their safety is more important than anything to me. So I need to figure it out.

You know who can help… With both the training and trip to the hospital.

Fuck. There’s no avoiding it now. Keeping hold of the counter for balance, I shuffle my way over to the end of it, and then carefully make my way over to the dining table where my phone is.

Sitting in the chair, I pick the device up, it's heavier than it should be under the weight of what I’m about to do.

Plucking my courage from…somewhere, I pull up the number I haven’t used in three years…