August is going in for dental surgery tomorrow.

Tomorrow morning, August goes in to the vet for dental surgery. She started having mouth pain a few weeks ago, and was diagnosed with moderate periodontal disease: her body is trying to reject (bacteria at the root of) her molars, causing inflammation and pain; they'll probably remove at least her top molars tomorrow, and maybe more. She'll just be there for the day, not overnight. She's been eating fine since we got her on wet food and pain medication, and her health is otherwise superb, and she'll come out of all of this okay—and having a concrete, if frightening, solution to her problem has helped me a lot. But on the eve of taking her to the vet, I'm pretty shaken up. I've left August before—I leave Portland all the time—but this is the first time that she's been taken from me, and it has an inherent wrongness and makes me feel as if I've lost control of the only thing that matters. I have full confidence that she'll get through the surgery just fine, and it's absolutely necessary and will help her a lot—but confronting the situation makes it seem more real. She is my heart and soul, and I've never more wished that I could push her into my ribcage and keep her within me, that close and that safe. I want to tell these vets to be careful, and help her, and that they're not allowed to touch her.

I just thought I should write this down. Keep her in her thoughts. Hug your pets.