Journal dexterpexter's Journal: My FatDog 5
My FatDog
!!! This runs on about six printed pages. I don't expect any of you to read the whole thing, and wouldn't be offended if you skip it completely. I at least owe an update, and so to spare you from reading my brain dump, I will just state here that I think my dog is going to live. And now, for the brain dump. !!!
Should I keep him alive?
Returning to the animal hospital each night, my dog looked markedly better in some ways, but terrible in others. He gave people--including myself--very little recognition, never looking them in the face, but bleating and vocalizing for them nonetheless. Because of his blank stare, the veterinary hospital at one point suggested that he may be blind. He would rapidly breathe three or more times to a normal dog's one, pitiful, loud, and painful looking as his breathing was. He also began to drool on one side of his face, admittedly a stereotypical doggy type of thing to do, but something my dog had never done before.
I kept coming to visit, regardless of the hour, and sometimes even after they said that they would prefer that I wouldn't. I called for updates. I suppose that I was probably annoying. Slowly, though, my relationship with the staff at the clinic seemed to shift; I believe that we both saw each other's genuine concern for FatDog, and I began to trust them a little more while they acknowledged that I cared for my dog. I am very attentive to my dogs, although I admit that I could probably do even better, and that perhaps shifted their view a bit about how dog ownership could be, at least where it concerned FatDog.
My dog had up to four veterinarians (three that I spoke to), covering his continuous care. My dog didn't look very good. At one point, I looked the acting veterinarian in the eye, the veterinarian with whom I had the original, uncomfortable conversation about his living arrangements, and asked if she thought he was in pain. He looked in terrible pain, and I was willing to euthanize him to take that pain away.
I also guiltily admit that money was beginning to weigh on my mind. Money shouldn't have been a consideration; indeed money doesn't replace life, and I am fortunate in that I have a savings that means that I could pay the medical expense. (There is no payment plan or billing; payment is due at the time of treatment at this clinic.) However, I admit that having a very old dog in such a tenuous state, barely alive but through the fluids pumped into him, he possibly lying there in terrible pain, played on my mind. The first shocking expense, while it made my eyes widen in disbelief, was a necessary and acceptable thing, but now the accumulating expense, with no end in sight, was making me shift in my seat. How much longer would he continue to barely exist like that, possibly costing thousands of dollars, only to die after days of pain in a clinic while other dogs passed away around him?
Additionally, the vet began questioning my dog's mental state, as he would stand (an improvement in just that act) and stare at the wall, wagging his tail, but barking relentlessly and loudly for hours and hours. I am sure he was having a negative effect on the other dogs and cats there, and just listening to it in the time I was there was agitating. He would vomit continuously, at one point every 20 minutes. Keeping fluids in him was a challenge, and they had to add a dextrose drip.
I was torturing myself, wondering if I was keeping him alive when he shouldn't be. But was I considering putting him down because I looked at him and saw one big, long term inconvenience were he to live and need that constant care? Was it the expense driving my thoughts? Or was it truly only out of concern for him? I have seen a lot in life, situations much worse than this. I pride myself in being able to handle them gracefully, to stand strong while others crumble, to make the right decision where others cannot...so why is it that this situation has reduced me to be so weak and doubt myself? Perhaps it was my weakened immune system. Perhaps it was any number of things weighing on me. Perhaps I was just being human. There are far worse things that can happen in life, as recent events in the journal circle show. I normally stand up and take it on. Feeling this way is foreign to me.
Learning to trust
The veterinarian admitted that FatDog was uncomfortable and not very stable, although his vitals came back surprisingly satisfactory. No one could figure out what turmoil was going on inside my dog's body except that his abdomen was a bit sore, he couldn't seem to catch his breath, and his expression was that of a vegetable. A bit of good news, though--when they offered him food he consumed it ravenously. The vets couldn't believe how quickly my dog vacuumed up the food; they had never seen anything like it. But I am all too familiar with my dog's appetite. He can consume a bowl full of food in less than a minute, which doesn't do much to help with his stomach issues. But it was a much-needed sign of normalcy. The veterinarian's opinion was that we should give him more time. It was a real challenge for me to overcome my suspicions of the vet; they of course stand to benefit in no small amount of money for my keeping a lost cause alive even longer, but I made the decision to accept that they were in the business of helping animals, and that is borne out of real, honest care. People don't usually work in a field which requires that they exist amongst blood, feces, and vomit, a field that requires them to watch grown, gruff men reduced to tears as beloved companions are put to a final sleep, unless they care. I have wanted to become a veterinarian and in different circumstances likely would have. I had to readjust my perception and give the vet the respect that they deserved. That doesn't mean that I would allow myself to be taken advantage of, but there are times in life when you can't be the pilot and have to hand the controls over to someone far more trained than you, and sometimes that takes blind trust.
He needs to be home
In accordance with the vet's recommendation, I didn't come around for most of one day. This gave me time to think and to settle down, and to tend to my own health. I was sick before all of this happened and had been looking forward to the weekend to repair. Amidst the panic and concern, I had allowed myself to go without eating, drinking, or sleeping very well, if at all, and the toll showed. In that time, I considered that my dog has been sick in the past, nearly dead in fact. My trustworthy old country vet, believing the dog was a gonner but not ready to give up, sent him home with the idea that he would be much more comfortable at home, and much more likely to heal; were he not to heal, at least he would die comfortably in a familiar place. I finally called the vet and made a judgment call that I seemed like a big risk at the time, but I knew in my heart it was necessary. Perhaps it was a feeling for the wellbeing of my dog, perhaps it was the lingering money concerns, I don't know--but I told them that I wanted to bring him home. I really believed that bringing him home would help; he hates cages, he hates being around a lot of other dogs, he hates things sticking in him, he was...he was unhappy. And, if this is a case of neurological problems, it was probably best that he reclaim whatever normalcy I can offer, to help him remember. Were I to run into trouble, I could bring him back to the clinic. The vet asked that I give them a day while they tried to wean him off the dextrose treatment. At nearly midnight that night, enough time to bring him off of his drip, I showed up. There was another dog in the waiting room going through similar symptoms as my dog, only their puppy was diabetic to boot. I gave the owners my best wishes. You may be surprised to know that I agreed that they too were making the right decision to admit their beloved ScrappyDo. Their dog, like mine, needed to be there for a while and receive the care that we can't offer. I don't have IV fluids to give my dog, and were he left at home that first day, he would have died. No way around that. But now he was leveling out. Now he needed a new treatment; it was time to bring him home. The vet did one last test of my dog's sugar levels, I paid the bill, and they brought him out. I don't know what I expected when he emerged. Well, that is dishonest. Part of me really thought he would come around the corner, breathing alright and wagging his tail. But he didn't. He couldn't really walk very much. He still didn't seem to recognize anyone, and he was rasping. The vet said that he had paralysis of a valve in his airways, something that has probably been building over the years and that was aggravated by this incident, and surgery would probably be necessary for him to breathe right again. She also said that his mental state might be permanent. But she admitted that she didn't know...she didn't have any more answers and only time would tell. A vet tech came out of the clinic with me, petting him and wishing him luck. That fat dog has a way of growing on people.
A rough night...did I choose to do the right thing?
That night, I gave him his meds. He vomited every hour on the hour and tried consuming so much water that it caused him to...well, vomit. He could barely sleep. He couldn't breathe. He wouldn't eat. He could barely walk. I really thought I might lose him. I considered that I may have made a huge mistake by bringing him home early.
The next day, I bought some Pedialyte. For those of you who don't know, this is an electrolyte solution that they give to babies who have problems with diarrhea. It is nasty tasting stuff, but the dog seemed to like it. I slowed his drinking by only giving him a little bit every half an hour, and the rest of the time having him lick ice cubes. He still wouldn't eat, and he still could barely sleep. I wished that they would have sent him home with some sedatives. The country vet always did. Maybe it was best that they didn't, though.
FatDog didn't bark for most of the night. Maybe once or twice, but not the incessant, blank-stare barks he was doing before. The next day, I noticed that within a half an hour of giving him one of the meds, he would throw it up and act uncomfortable. I stopped giving him that med, and his stomach began to stabilize. He only threw up once that day. He still refused food. Fat dog never refuses food, nonetheless boiled chicken. I was worried. I kept diligent with his other meds.
A turn
There have been some big changes over the week.
Sometime while I was on the phone with my mother, giving her updates on his progress and worrying because he wouldn't eat, he consumed the plate of chicken that I left for him. He has since been able to stomach other foods, including a bit of his dry food. He doesn't ravenously consume the food, and he eats much less than before, which has led to weight loss, but he is eating.
His breathing occasionally gets a bit raspy, but it has slowed to the same speed as before. It sounds much improved from the night I brought him home. In fact, when he sleeps, it is better than before he got sick! He has had breathing issues for a while, as do many older dogs, so I feel good about his breathing and am no longer worried that he will have a heart attack as a result of his quick breathing. It is slower now. Will surgery be necessary? I don't know.
He asked for a walk one night, and since then he has been building up his distance to include the park down the road. He begs to go, although the going is slow. He has gotten strong enough to push his way out of the enclosed area in which we were keeping him. He is getting strong enough that I make him walk up the steps now. His hind leg control has improved drastically. Once, I had to make him go back inside by nearly dragging him up by his harness. This might sound awful, but wait a moment. He was laying down on me out of stubbornness rather than a lack of energy. He had no problems running those stairs earlier, and now he was simply voicing a want to go where he wanted to go, and planned to achieve this by laying down on me. He knows that he is FatDog, and regardless of weight loss, he is still quite a burden to have to pack. He has become strong enough to become opinionated.
He has peed in my house several times, to my aggravation. I admit that I yelled at him when he raised his leg to mark his territory rather than to pee honestly. He didn't seem to mind. He never really understood the word NO, nor the utility of raising one's voice. Taps on the butt are met with wrestling and tail-wagging. The only correction that has ever really worked with him has been small cups of water tossed onto his back, but I didn't have one of those handy and sometimes he doesn't mind the water, either. I admit that it is frustrating. He pees, and then he runs off and then lays down and scratches his back on the carpet, leaving dog hair for me to vacuum. He managed to jump up on my couch one night, if that is any indication of his strength. (The couch is taller than he) He recognizes us and wags his tail. His barks aren't blank-stare barks, but plaintive, demanding barks. Walk me. Let me out. Let me In. Let me Out. He is milking it now. He didn't bark this much before. He wasn't a poorly behaved dog before (although he wasn't the most obedient one, either), but we had an understanding. He is being a little opportunist now. He is taking a lot out of me, and I am being a sucker for it. The constant in and out, cleaning up pee, waking up to give him meds, giving him managed bits of water, and being woken up in the middle of the night because he is on an opposite schedule of the rest of us and thinks everyone should be up too, and cleaning up the stuff he has gotten into, is trying. But I love my dog and he is worth it. Even if his ass is going back outside as soon as it gets cool out. haha Sorry good buddy, you don't realize it but I am out of hamburger buns now (more on that in a minute) and so you're going to want to stay out anyway.
The other dog, our smart dog who has made herself out to be a royal pain in all of this, wants to be in with him now, so she has been sleeping inside. She figured out potty training this week. One week, and zero peeing from her. If only FatDog could learn the same. While we are home, she is a dream dog. Surprising from a dog that likes to be out in the open, and who likes to chase cows. Wow, she has impressed us by becoming a lap dog. While we are home. While we are away, on the other hand, she has figured out how to knock down my sick dog's barriers, and to let him out. So he can mark his territory in my living room. She went into the kitchen and pulled down our full bag of hamburger buns, a bag of hotdog buns, a pack of pig ears (her treats), our garlic bin... all to share with FatDog. He has a regular partner in crime now.
They both want in-out-in-out-in-out. I suspect that since it has cooled down a bit outside, the choice would be out, but I think the lure of the hotdog bun acccessibility in the house makes their wanting in stronger right now, and I would like to see the temperature stay a few degrees cooler. Today, I have put them both outside. FatDog hadn't moved his bowels since Monday that I had seen, and I thought that being outside this morning while it is cool might help. I also gave him pumpkin pie filling last night because my experience is that it makes, at least for dogs, the soft hard and the hard soft. It worked. (Keep those two gems in mind, folks--Pumpkin Pie filling and Pedialyte!) I plan to put him back out tonight. He wants back inside (surprise), but I think its best that he goes out for part of a day. This time, it's by my choice. In typical overcompensation, I have put about five water bowls out there, his swimming pool, a shade canopy, and have moved his fan so its blowing on him. I will keep going out and checking on his temperature. I think he can handle it, though. We were struck by one of those rolling blackouts that lasted all evening and well into the next day, of course resulting in no air conditioning, and he handled the heat raise fine. This will be good for his healing. And give me some time to myself.
He will be okay. He is well enough that I didn't feel too bad about leaving him home while I went out with friends this week. I don't think I have much longer with him, though. He probably won't live to be 18 like my previous dog. Within a year, I suspect he will down again, probably for good. But at least when I look at him now, he doesn't look like some alien dog. He is my dog again, minus a little eating and plus a bit of tolerance for being inside. I am glad we waited it out. And who knows, he might live to be 20. He has surprised us several times in the past. And a dog with a bullet in his shoulder has to be tough.
In the future, despite my other entry, I may bring my dog back to that clinic were he to get sick again. They have the resources that I can't access, they are open 24 hours, and I think that now they see that I am not some evil, abusive dog owner. Their bedside manner wasn't pleasant in the beginning (they weren't mean...there was just this lingering feel), and that it drastically improved with time doesn't make those first days sting any less, but you know...I was a hypocrite. While I was there, a family came in carrying a little dog. It was dripping pus, smelled like it had been rotten for days, barely had hair, and its eyes were rolled back. I was shocked when I saw its little chest moving up and down. I am not proud of this, but I immediately labeled the family as abusive. I didn't know their story, much as that vet clinic didn't know mine. Even realizing this, and knowing that I too tearfully carried in a dog (albeit in better condition) who looked to be on death's door for no real cause of his own, part of me still holds contempt for the condition of that family's dog, even now. Lest ye be judged, indeed.
He will be okay. It is amazing how quickly they bounce back. From death's door to being a pest in a week--I couldn't ask for any better a resolution.
Thank-you all for your kind words and encouragement. I can't thank you enough.
Pedialyte (Score:2)
Re:Pedialyte (Score:2)
good to hear (Score:1)
That sounds like a very stubborn, and smart dog you have there.
He is b
Re:good to hear (Score:2)
Hahaha. I admit that I saved some of the pumpkin pie filling for myself! If you were here, I would share.
And thank-you for the good thoughts.
Did I mention? (Score:1)
I only skimmed the note, but when it comes to pet care: make sure that anything you do is for HER and not for you.