Relentless.

What is one word that describes you?

One word that names an attribute of a noun or in this case, me?

I’ll give you one word, and the various synonyms that help describe me. I would describe myself as Relentless. I’ve included the various synonyms and will include the relevant connotations. I never give up. If I believe in something or someone, I never give up. I will do everything I can to ensure that things remain status quo.

When Tara had the pups, we knew they would have to be vaccinated before we sent them off on their various adventures to various locations. Then, we were only aware that the dogs had to be given some form of an anti-rabies vaccine. I believed that it was a once-in-a-lifetime kind of vaccine, not something you did annually. Tara came to us at a time when we believed that the veterinarian only helped when things got super serious, (snake bite, rabies) but otherwise, one round of vaccines at around 6 or 8 weeks and they were set for life. I had no idea that dogs had regular check-ups and regular vaccines that were an annual ritual, that they could have the same ailments as us humans, and that the puppies at younger than 8 weeks were very weak and should not be taken on walks.

We had decided to keep two of her pups, the fully black Blaze and the golden yellow Butch. I used to spend a lot of time taking them around, with a thin rope tied around their necks in place of the dog collars, as I felt their neck was still too delicate to hold the collar. The pups were already good with recall and heel, so, most often, they used to be around my feet, unless they wanted to do their business then they went into the bushes. Around the 6 week mark, Blaze fell ill, he kept throwing up. Butch was fine. There were no symptoms. I thought it was a random viral, and kept observing Blaze, who could not seem to keep anything down, he was alternating between diarrhoea and puking, and in less than 8 hours, the color of his puke and motions changed to dark brown. This is when I panicked and tried to lift him, but was terrified because his stomach had all but collapsed. So I gently carried him, and the sibling and I took him to the doctor, who looked at him and said, he had Pavro virus, which is a death knell in the canine world. There is no cure. There are no vaccines. It spreads through contact with the feces of an infected animal. And Blaze could have contracted it at any point in one of those many times he ran into the bushes to do his business.

The doctor said, “I could put him on an IV for now, but the next 8 hours will help decide what happens. Monitor him and make sure he has something to eat or drink.” Worried, we completed the IV and brought him back. The IV gave him some energy and he slept for a bit, but sometime around dawn he started to retch again. There was nothing that was coming out, but he was trying to bring out something. The sibling and I alternated and kept watch after that. Blaze did bring out some mucous and slept fitfully. Around 8am, when Tara and the other pups were fed, Blaze was also served, but he had no energy to eat. He tried. Failed. Tried again. Ate something and then crashed for a bit. In an hour, he woke up, to throw up again. Everything he ate, came right out. Again, he was collapsing and we rushed him to the clinic, where the doctor put him on an IV line again. “He needs more nourishment than the IV, and IV is going to get very expensive, he may not make it past tonight, so be prepared”, was all the doctor said. With the IV done, we brought Blaze back home, worried and heartbroken.

This was our first experience with Pavro and we had no idea what it was or what it could do. For that matter, that was when we first learnt that there was no medication for Pavro, and it was quite similar to dysentery in humans and the infant would die due to malnourishment and dehydration. Sibling and I went on watch. We let the other pups sleep in a different room, and only Blaze and Tara were allowed with us. We had tons of paper to put on the puke and motions Blaze passed. We had a couple of bowls placed strategically around the room, so we could make him sip water every time he woke up. And we put up a folding cot and crashed. Blaze slept under the folding cot, under us, and woke up almost every hour, so my sibling and I were as exhausted as he was the following morning. But we had passed another night. He had survived. He did not give up. We did not give up. Tara kept pushing him to sip water. We kept pushing him to sip water. The bowl moved if he moved his snout. Dad woke up to a room covered in bits of paper, and brought out a garbage bag to collect it all. While dad helped clean the mess in the living room where we had camped the night, sibling took blaze out for some sun, and I cleaned the room with disinfectant. We alternated responsibilities. We alternated care. We knew we had to head to the vet for another round of IV. That was the only thing that kind of stayed down for a bit longer.

It was five days of chaos. Five days when the adrenaline of having helped with Tara’s whelping washed out of our systems with worry if Blaze would last the night. Five days to realize exactly how serious Pavro was. Five days of regular interactions with the veterinarian to understand that this was the most dreaded of ailments for a pup. Five days of a non-stop rollercoaster ride, where we were heading blindly into the unknown. Five days of looking into Blaze’s bottomless eyes, dilated in pain, while convincing him to yet another sip of water. Five days of trying to convince him that, even if it triggered his gag reflex, the few drops that remained in his belly were doing more good than harm. Five days of trying to control our gag reflex because puked blood and stools stink. Five days that made us believers. Hopeful for a positive sign. Five days!

And five nights! Those were the worst because while a doctor was awake during the day, clinics were open during the day and ambulances were accessible during the day. Everything was shut at night. We did not know how to perform CPR on a dog. We did not have a vehicle to help transport him to the clinic or the ER if there was such a thing. We were 30 minutes away from a decent Veterinary hospital. Those were the 12 hours we dreaded the most. While we were willing to stay up and nurse him back to health, Blaze had to have the heart to keep going. Every night, we spent 12 hours worrying. But while we sat next to him on the cold hard floor, we only sent positive vibes and all our hopes and wishes to him. We willed him to hold on. One hour at a time. 12 hours through the night. Because those were the hours we were terrified.

Every morning, the veterinarian who was administering the IV line was surprised to see us with Blaze in the clinic, ready to start another round of IV. Five days later, “I’ve never seen a pup last this long on Pavro. But looks like he does not want to give up. The worst of it is gone, you can try to start some food for him. Be patient and ensure he eats something.”, he instructed. And that was it. Jackpot! We had made it through. The faint sliver of silver lining shined around the cloud. Grinning widely we returned home. Recovery was agonizingly slow. Blaze did not want to eat, he was terrified he would start retching again. So convincing him to eat was tiring, but every lap he took gave us hope.

Relentless. See the word there? I did not know I could stop or even how to stop. The sibling was the wind beneath my wings. Just as relentless. Just as stubborn. Or would that be adamant? But you get the drift. Dad says it was because we were so relentless, that Blaze made it through Pavro. We did not want any credit, we just wanted him to get better soon so we could get them all their vaccines.        

Relentless. What a hopeful word that replaces stubborn, adamant, incessant, obstinate, unfeeling, unforgiving, uncaring, merciless.

I was called stubborn in grade 1, when we were learning numbers and my teacher taught me to spell forty as fourty. Dad never looked in my bag or my notes, and the one time he did, he found that I had spelled, forty as fourty the way it was written by the teacher at the top of the column. He forced me to erase it all and make the change. Forced under duress, I did. And walked into class the following morning to a teacher who was livid that I dared to “correct” a spelling she had written. I was marched to the headmistress’s room, to find an equally livid Dad seated patiently waiting for me to be brought there. DRAMA! Long story short, I was sent back to class after being told that Dad had got the spelling correct. The teacher was reprimanded for making such a grave error, especially while teaching tender young minds such as mine.

Unforgiving. S was a dear friend from school who started coming to learn gymnastics when we were in middle school. By the time she started gymnastics, I had already finished close to 5 years of being a gymnast and had moved from Artistic to Rhythmic gymnastics, going through the trauma of all the crazy exercises the coach made me do to improve my flexibility. Sometime around this time, S joined the gym and I honestly don’t remember what she said, but she said something rude about another friend A. And I stopped talking to her then, in Grade 7. And I just ignored her, did not talk, did not share, did not ask, did not wish. Nothing. For the next 5 years, she did not exist in my sphere. We worked out at the same gymnasium for the same duration of hours. We were on the same team. We had the same coach. Nothing changed my mind. I just ignored her. Unforgiving. Merciless. S was stunned that it lasted as long as it did. But at some point, I think A, accepted that maybe she had misunderstood and that’s when I let S off the hook. But I don’t think I have forgiven her for being rude.

For some reason, these stories always dragged over some time. I can’t remember anything being short. The time when I insisted mum take me to buy a toy in the rain! Stubborn. Adamant.

Unstoppable. Unfaltering. Persistent. Untiring. Resolute. When I moved from Artistic to Rhythmic gymnastics, I had to learn from a book. Self-taught, is the term that would be used today to describe it. But, to qualify as a rhythmic gymnast, I had to work on my flexibility. My splits had to be beyond 180. My leaps had to be perfect. I had to be able to bend forward and backward like a pretzel. There was no one I could follow. No one I could ape. No one had done it. We did not have the equipment for it. My coach had no idea how to train me to achieve this. And we fumbled through it. I used chairs while doing the splits, under my ankles while I had my coach push my hips, suspended in air, so I could flex beyond 180. I’ve done this for a decade. I’ve done this so much, that even today, after almost two decades of no practice, I can still do a complete 180 split, even when my body is cold. It’s the only thing, even the kids don’t challenge me on. The flexibility!

But you see the trend. If you don’t want to give up on something, get me in place, I will ensure its done, properly and keeps getting done. But, you need to ensure we are on the same page. Because, god forbid, we aren’t, then I’m going to ensure something is done. And it may not be what you wanted done.