Pooka accident update: to pee, or not to pee

GO POTTY, POOKA.

My poor kid is whimpering in the emergency clinic right now -- I heard her over the phone -- most likely because she's got a full bladder and hasn't wanted to empty it.

Dr. C is back on shift, and I'm feeling very grateful to have met her last night and gotten a good vibe. My own dad, Dr. M, pushed me earlier today to ask whether Pooks has been peeing, as that might be a good sign that things are going well inside.

When I asked, they said, "Um, hold please." And came back a moment later with, "Actually, she hasn't. We'll go X-ray her now, call back in an hour." Not exactly the stuff that inspires great confidence. The good-ish news is that she has a full bladder, and therefore, a bladder at all. The bad news is that we don't know why she's not peeing. Could be she doesn't wanna in her kennel (duh), or with someone holding her ass up in a sling. Or could be one of any host of neurological issues. At any rate, they had planned a catheter hours ago, and now Dr. C tells me she's next.

I say, "I want you to tell me she's going to pull through this." Dr. C says, "She's going to be okay." I want to believe, and so I shall, for tonight, at least.

So, C. will catheter (though it's not as easy as Dr. L earlier made it sound), with some sedation, P. will pee. She's not eating much (duh), but they're hoping she'll eat more. Her body temp is back up from earlier, when it was low.

Here is how I think things are going to go for the next 24 hours or so: Tomorrow early in the morning, C. will hand off the case to the surgeons and get them up to speed. When I call, they will know all about Miss Pooka and schedule an appointment with me, I think. I'll come in with questions, they'll answer them, sched P. for surgery and get to fixing her back half.

I don't know what happens then.

I'm really upset. I miss my baby. She's more important to me than I could possibly have imagined. I'm restless and stressed out, and when I let myself think for a moment, I'm absolutely full of guilt and anger and sadness. The guilt and the anger are the hardest to bear. I'm superstitious. I had a bad gut feeling about the particular arrangement for the walk that resulted in P. running away and getting hit. I had dreams last week about Pooka running away. If you're reading this, you're going to tell me not to blame myself, but I can't unfeel this. I can only put it aside when it arises, again and again, until she's home and I can fill that space with more useful actions.

Pooka: Listen, sweetpea: I'm here. I'm talking to the doctors. I heard you on the phone, you poor thing. They're going to make you more comfortable. What I need now is for you to relax and believe in yourself, and your ability to heal, and not give up. They're going to do all sorts of weird stuff to you, but you're a tough girl and I know you can handle it. Soon, this part will be over and you'll be home again, safe inside our little apartment. I can't promise that I'll never leave you alone again, but I'm always going to come back. I'm going to take care of you, take care of this. You'll be home, with lots of delicious treats, and lots of love and attention. We'll come up with fun games to play in the crate, and all of your favorite humans will come and shower you with attention. And not long after that, you'll be up to your old tricks, drooling over cats and ducks and squirrels and whining for me to take you out for a walk. Hang in there, Pooka Lou, be strong.

Oh, and GO POTTY.