I'm not going to tell you any good stories today. I'm too tired. Teddy threw up thirteen times between yesterday at 7:00 pm and noon today. I woke up with him at least five times last night, even falling out of bed once when I tried to get up to open his kennel before fumbling for the light. A head bounces off of a plastic crate easier than it bounces off of a floor, but the spot by my eye is bruised and tender.
Late this morning, after eight hours of relative quiet, I tried to give Teddy about a half a cup of food. When that stayed down for a half an hour, I gave him another half cup. He promptly threw up, twice.
It was time to go to the vet.
With an unfamiliar vet, I agonized over getting the X-ray immediately or waiting twenty-four hours to see if Teddy's vomiting abated. She said he might have eaten something that was blocking his intestine or that he could have pancreatitis. I knew I didn't want to spend another night getting up every hour or two with a dog vomiting in his kennel just to see what would happen, but the clincher was when the vet said that by tomorrow, Teddy could have necrosis of the bowel if his intestine was blocked.
"Take an X-ray," I said immediately.
I am not a big fan of dead tissue in or on a living body. I cut my finger once when I was in college. It was bad enough that I should have gotten stitches. I even hit an artery and it rhythmically shot bright red blood across the wall. I remember being fascinated by the rising and falling arc of that blood. I'm talking about a tiny artery in the tip of my middle finger and this thing had the power to shoot four to five feet across the room. I could also see a little piece of white tissue that zinged whenever my gauze touched it, the nerve. It hurt, but it was very interesting to see in action. I cleaned it and wrapped up the cut, trying to place the flap, a piece about the size of a navy bean, back into place. Basically, it sucks to be a starving college student. Well, I really needed a stitch, but I was proud of my efforts until a few days later. At first, my little flap looked okay, as if it might reattach. Then it started to pull away from my finger. It didn't hurt though, so I waited a little longer to see what it would do. Then, it turned black. I was so grossed out. The next thing that would happen, I imagined, was that it would get maggots. I could not live with that little black flap of skin connected to me for one more minute. I didn't even have time to make an appointment with a doctor, so I cut it off. I used a pocket knife that I'd sterilized with alcohol and cut it close enough to my finger that it bled a lot and hurt all over again. That dead, black thing hanging off of me was all I needed to imagine when the vet said that word - necrosis.
While she was at it, she gave him a couple of shots, the equivalent of Pepsid AC, a different drug to prevent nausea, and a shot of saline that left a lump in Teddy's shoulder before his body absorbed it so he wouldn't become dehydrated.
Five hundred dollars later, he has eaten four tablespoons of Hills ID, a bland diet, and he has not thrown up. I gave him two tablespoons of food at 8:00 pm, a half an hour before my vet told me to start because Teddy was pacing. We'd had London broil for dinner. It seemed so cruel. At 10:00 pm, I gave him two more tablespoons of food. I wonder, now, whether she intended me to set my clock to wake up every two hours to give him this food? It seems like it.
Yes, I can be that selfish, to wish I didn't have to give up another night's sleep to a sick puppy. Don't you like me more now than you did? I'm just being honest here, but I'll do what I need to do.
So I'm going to get Teddy into his crate now and go to bed. I'll wake with a jolt every two hours tonight the way I did last night. Still, if all goes well, it will be to an alarm rather than to the sound of a dog gagging and puking. Instead of cleaning up a mess, I'll be scooping two tablespoons of dog food into a dish and hoping he can eat it and keep it down. That will be an improvement.
Thank you for listening, jb
Late this morning, after eight hours of relative quiet, I tried to give Teddy about a half a cup of food. When that stayed down for a half an hour, I gave him another half cup. He promptly threw up, twice.
It was time to go to the vet.
With an unfamiliar vet, I agonized over getting the X-ray immediately or waiting twenty-four hours to see if Teddy's vomiting abated. She said he might have eaten something that was blocking his intestine or that he could have pancreatitis. I knew I didn't want to spend another night getting up every hour or two with a dog vomiting in his kennel just to see what would happen, but the clincher was when the vet said that by tomorrow, Teddy could have necrosis of the bowel if his intestine was blocked.
"Take an X-ray," I said immediately.
I am not a big fan of dead tissue in or on a living body. I cut my finger once when I was in college. It was bad enough that I should have gotten stitches. I even hit an artery and it rhythmically shot bright red blood across the wall. I remember being fascinated by the rising and falling arc of that blood. I'm talking about a tiny artery in the tip of my middle finger and this thing had the power to shoot four to five feet across the room. I could also see a little piece of white tissue that zinged whenever my gauze touched it, the nerve. It hurt, but it was very interesting to see in action. I cleaned it and wrapped up the cut, trying to place the flap, a piece about the size of a navy bean, back into place. Basically, it sucks to be a starving college student. Well, I really needed a stitch, but I was proud of my efforts until a few days later. At first, my little flap looked okay, as if it might reattach. Then it started to pull away from my finger. It didn't hurt though, so I waited a little longer to see what it would do. Then, it turned black. I was so grossed out. The next thing that would happen, I imagined, was that it would get maggots. I could not live with that little black flap of skin connected to me for one more minute. I didn't even have time to make an appointment with a doctor, so I cut it off. I used a pocket knife that I'd sterilized with alcohol and cut it close enough to my finger that it bled a lot and hurt all over again. That dead, black thing hanging off of me was all I needed to imagine when the vet said that word - necrosis.
While she was at it, she gave him a couple of shots, the equivalent of Pepsid AC, a different drug to prevent nausea, and a shot of saline that left a lump in Teddy's shoulder before his body absorbed it so he wouldn't become dehydrated.
Five hundred dollars later, he has eaten four tablespoons of Hills ID, a bland diet, and he has not thrown up. I gave him two tablespoons of food at 8:00 pm, a half an hour before my vet told me to start because Teddy was pacing. We'd had London broil for dinner. It seemed so cruel. At 10:00 pm, I gave him two more tablespoons of food. I wonder, now, whether she intended me to set my clock to wake up every two hours to give him this food? It seems like it.
Yes, I can be that selfish, to wish I didn't have to give up another night's sleep to a sick puppy. Don't you like me more now than you did? I'm just being honest here, but I'll do what I need to do.
So I'm going to get Teddy into his crate now and go to bed. I'll wake with a jolt every two hours tonight the way I did last night. Still, if all goes well, it will be to an alarm rather than to the sound of a dog gagging and puking. Instead of cleaning up a mess, I'll be scooping two tablespoons of dog food into a dish and hoping he can eat it and keep it down. That will be an improvement.
Thank you for listening, jb
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