My friends and loved ones all know how important my dog is to me. They will tease me about potential online dating profiles I could create, which would bear headers like "Must Love Schnauzers." Recently, two of my co-workers and I got into a discussion about relationships, more specifically about my love life, and I tried to explain to them the importance of my dog in finding a life partner. I told them, "I'm not really picking a husband for myself as much as I am a daddy for Tobin." My co-workers laughed, one of them suggesting that I was crazy (which she declared in only partial seriousness--I hope).
I got coffee with my best friend yesterday (I seriously struck gold in the friends department; I don't maintain a large inner circle, but the people dearest to me are the best people I could possibly hope for), and I recounted to her my experience at work. We then sat together and discussed what Tobin has gone through with me. Tobin entered my life in July of 2010, only five months after I had been diagnosed with Hashimoto's. At that time, I had only been to one doctor for my condition (the naturopath who discovered I had the disease), and I had absolutely no idea what having an autoimmune disorder meant or how it would impact my life. Tobin and I moved to North Carolina when I started graduate school in August, but after only a few weeks I had to drop out because my health was collapsing quickly and I felt like I was having an emotional and physical breakdown. The following month, I was diagnosed with PCOS.
For the bulk of 2011, I couldn't work because I was in such immense physical pain and so extremely exhausted. I went to physical therapy multiple times a week, in search of help with severe knee and hip aches that left me barely able to walk (which my current doctor was eventually able to determine to be the result of an almond allergy). I was attending two art classes at the local community college, but couldn't muster up enough energy to do anything more than that. At the end of summer, I broke my knee while running with Tobin on the morning of a day I was supposed to go to Disneyland. I was out of commission for months, and was only able to start part-time work the following January. During all this time, my hormones were riding a treacherous roller coaster; I felt irritable and anxious, and didn't menstruate at all. I would go through stretches when I felt angry at everyone, only because of the imbalance that was making me feel angry--something outside of my control.
I started a master's program in the fall of 2012, and Tobin and I moved to San Diego after much waffling about whether I wanted to do the program and/or move out of my family's house. I started school with much ambivalence, and in the first week of classes I switched my entire degree program. I only lasted in San Diego for a little over a semester. My period had returned the month school began, and had been coming consistently every month after that (mind you, this was after nearly three years of not getting it at all). However, with it came even more extreme mood swings and hormonal issues. I became increasingly depressed, to the point that there were some nights I felt nearly suicidal. I would call my mom or sister in tears, feeling like I had no power over my own life.
My landlords were gracious and kind enough to release me from my lease early, in March of 2013. Tobin and I moved back in with my family, which alleviated much of the stress of living alone with Tobin while managing school and chronic illnesses. I had to commute over an hour both ways several times a week, but the stress of commuting was a welcome alternative to the emotional upheaval I had experienced while living on my own. I was able to work with the local school district that summer, and finished my master's that fall. I began working full-time in January of 2014, but had to leave my job after only a little over two months. While in tears on the way to work, I would call my mom and tell her I felt like I was dying. Little did I know that only a few months later, I would be diagnosed with thyroid cancer. My body knew what was happening. I quit my job and found work closer to home, and without the emotional stress of working with children with the most exceptional of needs.
All that is to say, Tobin has been with me through it all. My Hashimoto's diagnosis in 2010 was the smallest of moments amidst the ensuing four years. There were many days when I probably wouldn't have gotten out of bed, but because of Tobin, I got up, I fed him, I cared for him, and I didn't give it a second thought. It was my duty to make sure he was okay, and I was able to take the focus off of myself and my disease and my suffering and invest my attention into something apart from me. Meanwhile, he was totally oblivious to much of my suffering (at least as far as I can tell), and was the happy-go-lucky, energetic, loving, playful dog that he is, regardless of my mood or behavior. That is exactly what I needed: consistency.
In many ways, Tobin became a sort of anchor to me as I drifted to and fro in the tides of sickness and wellness. Whether I was rejoicing or suffering, he was the same every day, and his needs were the same every day. He was the one joy I had in the midst of much joylessness. And, even though my friends and family knew about my (mis)adventures around the country and state, Tobin was the only one who was physically with me through all the changes and struggles. He was the one with me as I drove cross-country. As I flew back home from North Carolina. The moment I broke my leg. The nights I called home crying because I was tired of being alive. He was always there.
And so, for me to tell people that I want a daddy for Tobin isn't meant to be a joke. It may sound funny to people when I say it, but only because they don't understand the gravity behind those words. It's the easiest way for me to say that Tobin, in some senses, represents all of my illness and struggles for the past five years. He represents the anchor that kept me grounded as my little boat attempted to drift out to sea. To understand what Tobin is to me is actually to understand and validate my experiences and hardships from the past few years. It is to accept me in my entirety, and to know the depth of what I've gone through and the ways in which my trials have shaped who I am and where I've been and who I'll become and where I'm going. For me, Tobin is not just a dog, but he is God's greatest blessing and gift to me. A sort of embodiment of God's love: consistent, constant, present, unwavering.
Tobin \t(o)-bin\ - Hebrew origin; a variant of Tobias (Hebrew); means "God is good."
My sweet dog lives up to his namesake; he is the embodiment of God's goodness in my life.
