What Does Matter!

She'd vomited that morning. Not a strange behaviour for dogs, but today it was food, not bile, that suddenly appeared without warning. Breakfast had not yet been served. She refused all water and food. What now, I wondered?

Giving her water through a small syringe was not a reasonable long term strategy, I knew. She needed to drink this life sustaining liquid on her own. She wasn't doing it and I didn't know why. Dehydration was now on my radar. She was a food fanatic. Not today. For her to be sick, suddenly, was not her, in her nearly 10 years of life. So off to the doctor we went. 

For two days, we visited the animal clinic trying to solve her food and water dilemma. She was becoming an enigma. An ultrasound would be needed and perhaps an IV, too. Medical procedures such as these could not be found here. Closing hours were 7:00 p.m. Maybe a cohort of medical specialists were needed. Off to the TVEH (Toronto Veterinary Emergency Hospital) we went. I was comforted in the knowledge that we were returning to her home away from home, staffed by the best in the world. An ultrasound would tell her story, perhaps a CBC and urinalysis, too. Everything necessary would be there. It had been, in the past. 

She was admitted by the same emergency doctor that had admitted her younger brother, Mr. Wiggles, a few years ago, when a grapefruit sized thing grew under his neck. Thank goodness for veterinary hospitals and their critical care teams and staff. Where would we be without them? Emergency surgery to remove an enlarged necrotic lymph node, was performed, two days later. Now, I was becoming an amateur sleuth on that subject, too. She was an exemplary patient, we were told. A new surgeon was on her case. 

It was comforting to know, however, that top specialists, with revered reputations, had been present to deal with her latest emergency. They knew. We were ever so grateful. Our family doctor, a human encyclopedia, knew these specialists from her days as a doctor-in-training. They were exemplary individuals, then and now, both personally and professionally. And we were beginning to meet them all, one by one, on a regular basis, with every visit.

Gratitude is a word that comes to mind during times like these. Gratitude for all the professionals who selected veterinary medicine as a career. I could never do it. But they did, thank goodness. Pet insurance helped. When all was said and done, few answers were found. But our girl is back, playful and crossing the line, 'cause she refused to act like a patient. She'd had a raging infection, of unknown origin, that suddenly hit. Lymph nodes became new words in my medical vocabulary, in this latest medical intrusion into our lives. Last year's medical 'parade' had undoubtedly culminated in this latest round of hurt. The lymph nodes carry waste from the body, including drug use, of which there were many last year. (No antibiotics routinely given, anymore, thankfully!)

During all of her recoveries, healing and restricted exercise regimens, the previous year, and recently, all Sally wanted to do was run, jump and fetch. Being a patient is an unknown. She does not know its meaning. Nor does she care what I think. The surgeons kept her in the dark. She's home and that's all that matters. Dogs do not know of the future. They only know of now.

In the series, Mayday, causes of air crashes are investigated. In a few instances, after eliminating every possible cause - pilot error, maintenance history, the plane's mechanical/computer history, air traffic controller communication, the checking of the cockpit and data recorders, sometimes, the investigators are left scratching their heads. What remains is generally the cause of the crash. In our girl's case, heads were definitely left scratching. They're still not sure. But sometimes, answers are not always evident. The mystery continues. I'm fine with that.

We went to the clinic today. I'd found a cyst on her face last week. Whew. With her colourful medical history, as a guide, I made the appointment. The thing was removed. Just to be sure. And a cytology done, just to be sure. The report for her emergency surgery of a few weeks ago was in my hands to be studied. Various forms of the noun necrosis were read. (I guess we're all necrotic, to some degree. Processed foods can do that). Aging is the polite word. Her doctor explained my questions and notations. Sally's hospital team had pronounced her perfect. I'm exhausted. Sally isn't. All she wants to do is run and fetch.

I'm exhausted. But she's happy, eating and drinking while being tough, loving and eager to run! Apples are her specialty and cucumbers, too. I'm always good with that! She's become more than a patient of the clinic. She's a project, I'm beginning to see. One day at a time to be sure.