Disclaimer: I try not to write too much about my personal life on here, mainly because I can’t imagine that anyone really wants to read about it. But there are times when the current events are important enough to me that I feel the need to share them here, for whatever reason. This is one of those times. So if you come here strictly for the fiction or creative endeavors, feel free to skip this post. But if you have any interest in me or if you're a dog lover, keep reading.
Back in May, my teeny, tiny little puppy scared the sh*t out of my boyfriend and I by having two seizures in one night. They happened out of nowhere and have not occurred since. At the time, we rushed him to the vet ER and spent what was to be the beginning of a boat load of money doing tests in order to figure out what the hell had happened. While they ruled out a shunt to his liver (arguably the most common cause of seizures in otherwise healthy dogs), there was no conclusive diagnosis reached.
Possible diagnostic labels included “he just ate something” (still a possibility), “it’s the beginnings of epilepsy” (very unlikely since it’s been so long without incident) or microvascular dysplasia. Microvascular dysplasia, for those who are interested, is a condition wherein the blood vessels in the animal’s liver are malformed at a microscopic level such that the liver is unable to do its job properly. Because it’s a microscopic problem, it can’t be corrected surgically and the only method of treatment is medications and special diet- for life.
Since this seemed the most likely cause, he’s been on a special healthy-liver diet ever since and we’ve been told that there’s a chance the reason he hasn’t had any more seizures is because of that. This diet, while not harmful to him long-term, is prescription only and therefore very expensive. If there’s a chance that he doesn’t have this liver issue, we’d sooner find out for sure so we can have him go back on regular food and not live in constant fear of him randomly having another seizure. So, tomorrow, we’re finally going ahead and having him get the liver biopsy we’ve been considering since last May.
But that’s not all. Buddy is a toy poodle. In addition to being prone to shunts and microvascular dysplasia, this tiny breed of dog is also prone to holding onto their baby teeth. True to form, Buddy is a tiny little tooth hoarder, still holding on to five of his baby teeth. This is, needless to say, problematic because they crowd his adult teeth, make little gaps for food to get stuck in and increase the risk of gum disease by about a million-fold. And because of them his breath is now at the point where, if you get a good whiff of it, your gag reflex reacts. Not good- he has to get them taken out. And since all dental work requires the dog to be put under anesthesia, it makes sense to go ahead and do that while he’s out for the biopsy.
And as if all that weren’t enough, my tiny little dog still has his tiny little balls. Now, in all honesty, I would love for him to keep them. He’s not out and about with female dogs that he might impregnate (and even if he were I don’t think it’d be an issue since he’s scared of all other dogs). He doesn’t have any real aggression caused by too much testosterone. And honestly, he’s prissy enough as is that I feel bad taking away the one semblance of manhood he has left. But the vets all say that the risks of prostate cancer, testicular cancer and other issues are so much higher with dogs who have them that we feel compelled to have them removed for health reasons.
Apparently it’s a much lower risk to put the dog under for longer to do more than it is to put them under several consecutive shorter times to do less. So tomorrow’s surgery will be a sort-of blow out event of removing bodily organs, pieces of organs and teeth from our tiny little dog. (And when I say tiny, by the way, I mean that he’s 3.5lbs soaking wet. So it’s not an exaggeration.)
Now, as you can guess, we’re pretty attached to him. Not just because he’s our little Buddy (hence the name) but because he is freakishly adorable and therefore we do what all other owners of adorable dogs do: we worry, fret over and coddle the hell out of him. Add into this mix all my maternal instincts since I don’t have real kids to direct them towards and you’ve got the makings of a very, very concerned puppy parent. Tomorrow is gonna suck.
We’ve been getting increasingly anxious about it as the day approaches. We’ve been feeling increasingly guilty for the fact that he’s going to wake up in a strange place with strange people and strange dogs and a host of strange smells drugged out of his tiny puppy skull and in pain for reasons he won’t know of or understand. We’ve been questioning whether or not all this is the right thing to do and second-guessing the hell out of ourselves. (And seeing as we’ve been mulling this over for so long that’s rather unsettling.)
But, as my mother attempted to console me last night, this too shall pass. Yes, he’ll be in pain and yes he’ll be scared but he will come home. He will be cared for (overly so, I’m sure). He will recover. And God willing, we’ll get good results from the biopsy, he’ll have a healthier mouth and we’ll never have to worry about testicular or prostate or any other cancers again. And we’ll be able to live in peace with our little Buddy, seizure free and healthy, for a long, long time.
I’m not religious so formal prayer is not something I usually engage in. And while I do believe in a lot of spiritual concepts I don’t really connect with any formal systems for practicing them. But at times like this I can’t help but feel the need to perform some kind-of ritual for the purposes of asking for Godly support in my puppy’s speedy recovery.
Whether it’s kharma, positive energy or just thoughts I will be spending my morning (possibly afternoon depending on what time they actually get him on the table) engaged in the concentrated focus of wishing my little guy health, strength to get through everything, and healing powers to recover. And I’ll be doing my damndest not to have a mental breakdown until I get that phone call saying that he’s out of surgery, alive and on route to being well.