Monday, April 29, 2013

Another Close Call...


It is so sad to watch your pets grow old.

We have had a rough few days.  We went out Saturday night to visit friends at about 5:00, and at about 10:00, I received a frantic phone call from my brother G who was watching the dogs for us.  The howling and crying on the other end of the line were some of the most heartbreaking sounds I’ve ever heard.  Although Gunni can be a very vocal dog (she is SO talkative that it is noted in her chart at the vet so that anyone unfamiliar with her does not assume she is in pain when we are there!), I knew immediately that this was different.  You may recall that she had a seizure back in October that absolutely scared us to death, and we’ve been taking her for check-ups often because we know we are living on borrowed time with her and we don’t want her to suffer.  It was happening again.  She was drooling and she kept falling over as she tried to walk, so G just scooped her up and held her.  We told G that we would leave immediately and would be home as quickly as we could.  He called me back within five minutes and told me that he wasn’t waiting for us to get home, and that he would take Gunni straight to the vet and that we could meet him there.  This worked out rather well because the vet is about halfway between home and where we were.  He also called my mom to let her know what was going on and she jumped in her car and met us at the vet as well.

I cried all the way there.  I was scared for Gunni, scared for the other dogs, who apparently completely freaked out when this happened, and heartbroken for us because I was sure we were going to lose her.  When we got to the vet, C took Gunni and he and my mom ran to the door.  I stood in the parking lot for a moment and clung to my brother, sobbing into his shoulder.  For those of you who don’t know him, he is truly an amazing human being and I am so very grateful that he was with Gunni when it happened.  Once inside, they immediately took her to the back because she was in terrible shape.  We sat in the waiting room and given that it was 11:00 on a Saturday night, everyone who was there was dealing with an emergency situation.  We watched not one, not two, but three families leave with tear-stained faces and empty blankets in their arms.  I thought for sure we were next.

We waited for what seemed like forever because it took some time for her to stabilize.  The vet who was on-call was just wonderful, and spoke to us with kindness and compassion as he outlined what he believed had happened.  He handled the delicate topic of possible euthanasia with tact and empathy, but since Gunni had settled down, he recommended leaving her overnight for observation and bloodwork, and told us that our second favorite vet, Dr. V., would actually be in on Sunday and could take a look at Gunni.  He took us into the back where she was in a cage and allowed us to hold her and love her, during which time I begged her not to die overnight.  It never ceases to amaze me what comes out of my mouth during times of despair.  We put her on the blanket G had brought her in, and told her we would see her tomorrow.  When we left there, I was honestly not sure I would see her alive again.

Upon arriving home, four little faces were looking at us expectantly.  If they could speak, I have no doubt they would have been asking where Gunni was.  The look of confusion in their eyes was so sad.  I took turns holding them and all they did was sniff my shirt over and over and over because I had held her.  When we finally went upstairs around 2 am, the bed felt pretty empty with one less dog in it. 

The next morning, Gunni’s bloodwork came back and everything was great – especially since she is almost 16.  That did not make us feel any better, however, because it just about rules out a physical issue and leaves only a neurological issue to deal with.  Dr. V. called to let us know her thoughts and that she had examined Gunni, who was comfortable and not in pain, and wagging her tail – always a good sign.  She planned to keep an eye on her for the day and told us we could pick Gunni up at 4:00.  I had been texting my brother Jon since the night before and he offered repeatedly to come over to help in anyway he could and to just see Gunni, but C told him that Gunni was not going anywhere!  It is funny how when it comes to the dogs, C and I do a complete role reversal – he becomes the optimist and I become the pessimist.  I think it’s because I am so afraid to lose them and I expect the worst, while he refuses to consider the worst and assures me that things will be all right.

I had a tough decision to make about a secret I’d been keeping from C.  This coming Friday is his birthday, and I had planned a surprise trip to WDW that I was going to spring on him Thursday night.  I didn’t know what to do about the trip:  Should I just cancel everything and forget about it?  Should I go ahead with my surprise as planned?  What if something happened to Gunni?  Would we still want to go?  What if something happened to her while we were gone and I hadn’t included C in the decision?  I thought I about how I would feel if the tables were turned, and decided I would rather have the surprise revealed a few days early but be able to make the decision about the trip together.  So yesterday afternoon, I let him read the poem I written to reveal the surprise, and was thrilled that he truly had no idea of what I had planned because he can read me like a book and I am terrible at trying to keep a secret from him.  We talked about it at length, and have decided to go and celebrate his birthday.  My mom will be watching the dogs for us and G volunteered to help out, too.  Have I mentioned how much I love my family?

So we brought our beloved little Gunni home yesterday and she has been out of my sight for no stretch more than 60 seconds since that time.  She has slept a lot.  A lot.  Almost nonstop.  We knew she would be exhausted from the ordeal, but I keep putting my hand on her to make sure she is breathing because she is so still and quiet.  As I look down at her beautiful white face, I am reminded how lucky I am to have a life so filled with love.  We got a reprieve in October with her first seizure, and somehow we have been fortunate once again.  I am not sure how long this reprieve will be, and if the time comes when she is in pain, we will honor her and make the decision to set her free from that pain.  Right now, though, as I type this and she is curled up on the couch with Ginny and Chelsea on either side of her like bookends, keeping her warm, I cannot and do not want to imagine our life without her.

Happy Tails to you...

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