When love trembles

I am utterly exhausted.

Those of you who have a furry companion will know—the love is deep and infinite. So is the sudden panic when something happens that might end their physical life.

My little man Ben stepped on a bee—or something similar. Again.

In exactly the same area, within the same three-meter radius, as a few weeks ago.

Last time, beyond initial irritation and pain, nothing happened. I was relieved, thinking, “Phew, at least he’s not allergic.”

This time was different.

He is allergic.

I quickly brought him home, grabbed some ice to cool the area (the only thing you can do), and screamed for my friend, who was still asleep. He tried to hold Ben while I examined the paw using the light of my phone, trying to see if the stinger was still there.That’s when Ben began acting strangely.

He staggered into the small room with the extra mattress and sat there, completely apathetic. Then he vomited. While I was frantically calling my vet- who didn’t answer, since it was Sunday-Ben lay lethargic in Nico’s arms, struggling to breathe.

I tried another emergency vet from a team that usually covers weekends—reached.

Just then, Nico shouted, “He pooped!”

The poor soul’s body had completely let go. He never poops indoors. Never.

An anaphylactic shock. Very clear.

We raced to the vet, 25 minutes away.The only thing I- or anyone, as the vet confirmed later-could do, was hold him in my arms, breathe as steadily as possible, and hope desperately he would survive.

He made it.The vet gave him an infusion under the skin, cortisone, an antihistamine, a painkiller, and something to calm his stomach. By the time we arrived, Ben was already doing a bit better. He could focus again, his gums looked okay, breathing was easier, and while we were talking and paying, he slowly began exploring the vet’s space.

Yesterday, I was completely wiped out—and I can only imagine what it felt like for Ben’s 6.5 kg body. He slept most of the day, with a bit of carrot soup, chicken, and some pees in between. He’s still reduced. It takes time to recover from that kind of stress.

Looking at him now, my heart still aches. It pulls in my chest like an emotional echo. A clear sign of how deeply I love this little being. And after 17 years with my old soul dog Lenny, I feel this ugly fear knocking—what if I don’t get the same amount of time with Ben?

Sometimes I wonder: because Ben is so extraordinarily alive, sweet, funny, open, innocent, every stranger looking at him starts to smile- and being so easy even in puberty- maybe life balances that out by making him unlucky in other ways.

And what I also realized:

In extreme situations, the calm cultivated through years of mindfulness practice can vanish into thin air.

Poof. Gone.

Sure, I was mindful enough that there were no "somewhereelse"-thoughts interfering—only action, immediate presence. But the physical sensations and emotions that flooded my body?Completely out of my control.

So now we rest. Both of us.

And later today, we’ll get a full check-up and a future emergency kit from our vet.

How do you cope with extreme situations like this?

Tell me. I’d love to hear.