Opposite Side of the Emotional Coin

(photo created by me - to express the City's heart this week)

There have been a lot of emotions running rampant in my city this week. Since The Hit on Canadiens' forward Max Pacioretty by Boston Bruins' Zdeno Chara, hockey fans - and many non-hockey fans - have gone from shock, to fear, anger to outrage, confusion to utter mystification. Yesterday's news that Patch was home brought hope and relief. Letters from Air Canada to the NHL, and Geoff Molson to the home base brought a renewed sense of empowerment. The news that the Montreal police were investigating the Hit brought everything from amusement to derision. And bloggers streamed into my Twitter timeline from Habs Inside/Out's Dave Stubbs after The Hit and after The Decision, to Kyle Roussel, Sports Illustrated's (and Montreal's own) Michael Farber and Montreal Gazette's Red Fisher. The emotions ranged from low to high on every front, and as each blogger weighed in, emotions were renewed.

But what struck me most profoundly of all was the solidarity we were all experiencing. Montreal is a hockey city, and I've never been more aware of that since my hockey awakening began with last season's playoff run. But this week, as we all tweeted (2 days where hundreds upon hundreds of tweets updated by the second and I made many new Twitter friends), posted on Facebook, called into radio shows, emailed one another, and kept abreast of the story online, I felt a pride that was only strengthened by our togetherness.

We were banding together in positive energy sent to MaxPacs. We bonded over the anger that his assailant got off scot-free. We agreed on analogies comparing street thugs and hockey bullies, criminal behavior vs "part of the game", and we shared our resolve to have our voices heard as fans, fanatics and humans.

I found myself reflecting on my city. My City. Montreal's been home to me all my life, but I've seen it in a new light being a new fanatic of the game of hockey. I watch American broadcasts of our games and swell with pride when they show pictures of downtown, the Bell Centre, and talk about our history - hockey and non-hockey related. I travel the subway with my kids, on the way to a Habs game, and feel At One with every other attendee going my way, wearing the bleu-blanc-rouge. I talk to people from other cities who, even if they root for another team, laud the electricity felt at the Bell Centre. I go to games and feel a new awareness of how lucky I am to live in a city which has a European flavor, a metropolitan buzz, and yet sometimes - like this week - boils down to a village mentality where we are all one with each other.

So instead of blogging anger (which I still feel) or loathing (which is now stronger than I thought I'd feel toward another team and its fans) or disgust (if I even qualify that I WILL blog about it), I would like to share my profound love of being a Montrealer, my extraordinary pride in my city and its citizens, and my continued support for my team, its players, and the fans who help make Loving My Habs that much more of a global experience.

Go Habs Go!!!

Norman Rockwell and me

Ever feel like this? I think we all do, when we bring our animals to the vet. No matter the reason, it's daunting to be there; the animal in your arms is usually very apprehensive, the other animals around you are either yapping or barking or shaking in tandem with yours. Sometimes, the vet is a place for news we are afraid to hear, sometimes it's just a routine checkup but with the deep emotions we feel for our pets, it's hard to separate even routine from anticipatory worry.

It's harder to be there, knowing there's a problem, and all alone to boot. That's where I found myself this afternoon. Theo hadn't been himself for the last 3 days, and I finally made an appointment for him to see the vet today. Being a mid-afternoon appointment, I had no kids with me to help pass the time, or dismiss the growing worry, and I remembered this Norman Rockwell painting all too well. It was even more apropos when I had seen the vet and returned to the waiting room with my dog, to await the Xray machine's availability. Sitting there, I had to absorb the news that Theo may have a discal hernia (as well as all the things that can happen because of it, and the possible surgery he might face at some point in his life). Being the emotional soul that I am, having already shed tears in the examining room, I breathed to calm myself for my dog's sake (as well as, perhaps, my public face). And I felt, more than ever, like the child in this painting. All around me were other patients with their owners, happy and healthy, and my puppy was lying, still and quiet, in my arms while I quelled emotions for his peace of mind.

The technician came out to take Theo to the X-ray, and I sat alone, feeling more isolated than even this child depicts. It lasted about 40 minutes while Theo got the X-rays, at which point I was then shown to another examining room and asked to await the doctor. That was worse. Not knowing what she'd tell me, not even having my puppy with me to soothe, I had to press my fingernails into my palm to detract from tears. And all I could do was say a prayer to whatever Entity would listen. One doesn't hear the words "possible paralysis" without her mind reeling toward that vision at 100 miles an hour.

The doctor came in and powered up the computer screen on the wall; forgetting my worry, I focused on the cool digital x-rays I was shown. I listened so that I could remember her every word to tell both kids, and the news was encouraging. No fracture or infection she could see, and if it is a discal hernia, it is minor. She would send me home with anti-inflammatory meds for him, and by 24 hours from then, I should see an improvement. Still, without totally babying him (fat chance), I was told he should not do any jumping for another 10 days.

The problem could recur - or not. It could need surgery - or not. But whatever happens, I am in good hands with the vet; that, above all, is worth the price paid for the visit.

Theo was brought out to me, happy to see me, but subdued. He sat on the counter between me and the receptionist while I paid for the visit, the x-rays, the meds, and the stuffed animal and cookies I'd bought him (guilt goes shopping). Then I brought him home to await his boys' return from school so I could explain to their very-worried faces what I had learned.

I have given Theo his first dose of meds, and lo and behold! He ate the cookie WITH the pills without even spitting out the meds! Thank goodness, because the last thing I wanted was to force-feed my already-stressed puppy his meds!

I've always loved Norman Rockwell. And the above painting was always a favorite of mine. But today, it came back to me in feelings, not just vision, and my admiration for the man's ability to depict emotions without words just grew exponentially.

I'll update Theo's condition as I go...think good thoughts.