Just called the clinic. Pooka is out of surgery and doing very well, they say. Sleeping, sedated on some very good pain meds, snuggled under a blanket. I don't know any more details -- left message for the doc to call me back when he could.
Sweet dreams, Pooka, rest well, mend well.
Monday, September 8, 2008
Pooka update: surgery
Just got back from talking to the surgeon, Dr. A. He walked me through Dr. C's notes, and then we got down to business looking at her X-rays.
On the right side, he's certain he knows what's going on and how he's going to repair, with a few minor variations (screws vs. pins and placement of those, etc.)
On the left, though, there are a few question marks I hope will be solved shortly. One is a big break that may be behind her illiac joint (am I getting that right, dad?) and therefore less critical to repair. Which would be good, because it's not an easy break to fix, he said. Risks of leaving it alone include possible interference with the sciatic nerve as it heals...but that is also a risk to going in and trying to fix it. He's inclined to be conservative on this until he sees it in another X-ray.
Then, looking at the angles of her pelvic area, he suspects another break hidden in the X-rays as they were taken on Saturday. He won't know if her sacrum has a break, or whether it's fixable, until he gets in there.
If he does nothing on the left side, he says she may experience some arthritis as she gets older, among other problems that essentially limit her activity level.
He seems cautious. Has a great bedside manner. Answered all of my questions patiently. Pooka's going to have to remain crated except to go to the bathroom for two months or more. No furniture jumping, no stairs. I may have to learn to help her walk with a sling.
That's all I can remember, though my notes are more thorough. She's in pre-op now, sedation for more X-rays, before the party begins. Think good thoughts, everyone.
Oh, and I went in to see her. She was super-whiney before and after I was next to her, but quieted down when I was there touching her through the bars. She put her head against the cage and closed her eyes. She's pretty drugged up, and panting heavily, but she's definitely still Pooka.
Pooks: Listen, Lucca, you're gonna be fine. I'm here for you. I promise, this is going to get better. The whole world is pulling for you, so stay strong, sweetie.
On the right side, he's certain he knows what's going on and how he's going to repair, with a few minor variations (screws vs. pins and placement of those, etc.)
On the left, though, there are a few question marks I hope will be solved shortly. One is a big break that may be behind her illiac joint (am I getting that right, dad?) and therefore less critical to repair. Which would be good, because it's not an easy break to fix, he said. Risks of leaving it alone include possible interference with the sciatic nerve as it heals...but that is also a risk to going in and trying to fix it. He's inclined to be conservative on this until he sees it in another X-ray.
Then, looking at the angles of her pelvic area, he suspects another break hidden in the X-rays as they were taken on Saturday. He won't know if her sacrum has a break, or whether it's fixable, until he gets in there.
If he does nothing on the left side, he says she may experience some arthritis as she gets older, among other problems that essentially limit her activity level.
He seems cautious. Has a great bedside manner. Answered all of my questions patiently. Pooka's going to have to remain crated except to go to the bathroom for two months or more. No furniture jumping, no stairs. I may have to learn to help her walk with a sling.
That's all I can remember, though my notes are more thorough. She's in pre-op now, sedation for more X-rays, before the party begins. Think good thoughts, everyone.
Oh, and I went in to see her. She was super-whiney before and after I was next to her, but quieted down when I was there touching her through the bars. She put her head against the cage and closed her eyes. She's pretty drugged up, and panting heavily, but she's definitely still Pooka.
Pooks: Listen, Lucca, you're gonna be fine. I'm here for you. I promise, this is going to get better. The whole world is pulling for you, so stay strong, sweetie.
Pooka accident update: GOOD POTTY POOKA
Just called the overnight vet, Dr. C, for an end-of-shift update. Surgeons haven't arrived yet, but she promises to stick around until they do. So no appointment for us yet.
After the last conversation before I went to bed, C. had the staff take Pooka out again with slings on her back end to try for a regular pee, as opposed to the catheter attempt. And she did it! Good girl. She's been out every 4 to 6 hrs since, and let loose a significant torrent the second time, too. As was my hunch, Pooka just really didn't want to pee in the crate, or with all those people so close to her. I really emphasized that to C., and am really glad she gave it one more go. Now that Pooks knows how the system works, she's taking full advantage. GOOD POTTY, Pooka. GOOD GIRL!
The urine is looking dark, says C, which is to be expected given the muscle damage. She says it shouldn't harm her kidneys given the amount of fluids pumping through her. But she also said she's pulled Pook's food (which she wasn't eating anyway) and water because she's optimistic that the pup will get into surgery today.
Otherwise, her body temperature is "ok," which I imagine is code for, it's been down and back to normal. No fever, though. She's responding to her name and acting like a dog, so I'm not too worried about her cute little brain right now.
Doc is focused on the positives, like the fact that her heart and lungs are functioning well, no more bleeding, etc. She sounds upbeat, and so, I must be too. Now just waiting for the surgeons to arrive. Oh, and Dr. M: they have plenty of blood product on hand in case of need for transfusion.
Pooka Lucca: Listen, hon. Today's going to be rough, but you won't remember most of it. The big docs are going to take care of you. You're going to be pretty sore after, but they'll give you some good drugs to ease the pain. You'll spend a few more days and nights in their care, but then you'll be home to rest. Treats! After the surgery, as you get better, I need you to eat a bit of their food, OK? See you in a few hours, honey. I'll be on the scene making sure it all goes well. Love you, my sweet doggie.
After the last conversation before I went to bed, C. had the staff take Pooka out again with slings on her back end to try for a regular pee, as opposed to the catheter attempt. And she did it! Good girl. She's been out every 4 to 6 hrs since, and let loose a significant torrent the second time, too. As was my hunch, Pooka just really didn't want to pee in the crate, or with all those people so close to her. I really emphasized that to C., and am really glad she gave it one more go. Now that Pooks knows how the system works, she's taking full advantage. GOOD POTTY, Pooka. GOOD GIRL!
The urine is looking dark, says C, which is to be expected given the muscle damage. She says it shouldn't harm her kidneys given the amount of fluids pumping through her. But she also said she's pulled Pook's food (which she wasn't eating anyway) and water because she's optimistic that the pup will get into surgery today.
Otherwise, her body temperature is "ok," which I imagine is code for, it's been down and back to normal. No fever, though. She's responding to her name and acting like a dog, so I'm not too worried about her cute little brain right now.
Doc is focused on the positives, like the fact that her heart and lungs are functioning well, no more bleeding, etc. She sounds upbeat, and so, I must be too. Now just waiting for the surgeons to arrive. Oh, and Dr. M: they have plenty of blood product on hand in case of need for transfusion.
Pooka Lucca: Listen, hon. Today's going to be rough, but you won't remember most of it. The big docs are going to take care of you. You're going to be pretty sore after, but they'll give you some good drugs to ease the pain. You'll spend a few more days and nights in their care, but then you'll be home to rest. Treats! After the surgery, as you get better, I need you to eat a bit of their food, OK? See you in a few hours, honey. I'll be on the scene making sure it all goes well. Love you, my sweet doggie.
Sunday, September 7, 2008
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.
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.
Sunday morning update
I called the animal hospital when I woke this morning. The nurse sounded very upbeat, said Pooka's breathing was good over night, so concerns about what's going on in her chest are starting to subside. She's in good enough shape that they plan to offer her some food this afternoon, which I take to be a good sign. I don't know much about animal recovery from massive trauma, but I'm sure about to learn.
When I had the on-call vet paged last night, was pleased to get the very supportive Dr. M, who I know pulls no punches -- he was the one who told me that if Pook's toe didn't heal after the Toenail Incident, he'd consider amputating. He spoke well of the surgery clinic she'll be admitted to tomorrow, so as long as her internal stuff stays stable, I feel confident she's in good hands.
I'm doing somewhat better today -- not much energy left for crying. I'll try to keep busy and get the house in shape, so I can focus on Pooks when she comes home later this week.
Please send love and good healing energy her way.
When I had the on-call vet paged last night, was pleased to get the very supportive Dr. M, who I know pulls no punches -- he was the one who told me that if Pook's toe didn't heal after the Toenail Incident, he'd consider amputating. He spoke well of the surgery clinic she'll be admitted to tomorrow, so as long as her internal stuff stays stable, I feel confident she's in good hands.
I'm doing somewhat better today -- not much energy left for crying. I'll try to keep busy and get the house in shape, so I can focus on Pooks when she comes home later this week.
Please send love and good healing energy her way.
Pooka Accident
Friends:
Pooka was hit by a car Saturday. I was on an airplane when it happened, so I don't have all the details, but I wanted to write one big note, and hope most of you see it, rather than try to tell all at once.
She's in the animal hospital. She'll likely have surgery for various breaks in her pelvic bone and surrounding area. She's on IV fluids and pain medication, and is breathing on her own despite some bleeding or other fluid buildup around her heart and lungs.
Please send lots and lots of good thoughts her way for rest now, surgery without a hitch on Monday and a speedy recovery in the next 6 weeks or so. It can only help.
Pooka was hit by a car Saturday. I was on an airplane when it happened, so I don't have all the details, but I wanted to write one big note, and hope most of you see it, rather than try to tell all at once.
She's in the animal hospital. She'll likely have surgery for various breaks in her pelvic bone and surrounding area. She's on IV fluids and pain medication, and is breathing on her own despite some bleeding or other fluid buildup around her heart and lungs.
Please send lots and lots of good thoughts her way for rest now, surgery without a hitch on Monday and a speedy recovery in the next 6 weeks or so. It can only help.
Thursday, July 3, 2008
Stay with us, Dodger
Last night before zipping across town for dinner with L., Pooka and I walked over the ridge to our local dog run -- dusty in summertime, it turns out, after months of mud wrestling. It was a small crowd, but Betty, a black malamute-shepherd-somethingorother showed up shortly after we did, and she and Pooka bared teeth and played bite-face rough and tumble for a bit as per usual.
A man walked in with two soft, shiny Brittany spaniel siblings, nearly a year old. Pooka romped a bit with them -- Abby and Dodger -- then back to dinosaur madness with Betty. I chatted with the spaniels' dad for a few moments, then noticed that Dodger appeared to be trying to cough to clear his throat, or throw up a little something. Pooka does this when she has gotten some dirt or icky bark in her mouth, or tries to swallow grass in a hurry, so I wasn't so concerned.
But then, the poor thing let loose a few little spurts of very watery poo, and before our eyes grew weak and collapsed, eyes closing, rolling back.
Their father B. was shocked, frozen. He and tried to shake/revive the pup, who faded in and out for a minute or two. I asked if he drove, then told him I'd grab the other dog if he'd pick up Dodge, and help him get to the car and ultimately the vet. On our way out, Betty's mom reminded us of the 24-hour pet emergency room nearby.
When B. put Dodger in the back of his little SUV, he didn't want to leave him. I stood there, awkwardly, asking if he had his cell phone (yes), if he had the vet's number (no), if he wanted me to come along. At first he said no, but when it was clear that he was overwhelmed, I offered again to hold the dog while we drove to the ER. The second time he said yes, so I tossed Pooka in the back of his car with Abby (who promptly jumped the seat, but Pooka was perfect and calm), climbed into his passenger seat and took on the task of keeping sweet, soft little Dodge awake.
His eyes were open, mostly, but he wasn't moving. When he seemed set to fade out, I took a page from Jenny's book and blew in his nose, knowing that many dogs hate it. It seemed to do the trick to get the little boy focused and alert.
When we got to the hospital, B. took Dodger and rushed him in, and I followed with Abby and Pooks, who continued to behave as if everything were normal. As I walked in, a nurse was taking Dodger upstairs, and B. was filling out forms. Once he was settled, I handed him Abby's leash, turned down his offer to drive me back up toward the park and said farewell, shaking off his kind "I owe you" comments. God knows if I were in the same situation, I'd want some help. And honestly, the feeling of taking charge and doing something about this sad, stressful situation made me feel good, energized, whole.
I was going to be late for dinner. Pooka and I half-ran, half-walked home from essentiallly Fremont to Hazard Flats, I called L. to warn of my tardiness, and hopped in the car. But I couldn't stop thinking about this sweet, soft little boy I completely fell in love with while holding him on my lap. After dinner and a stop at J.'s for a nice chat, I headed home on a route that would take me close to the hospital. I knocked on the door and the same nurse came out, and was, despite my fears, perfectly OK telling me that little Dodger was on IV fluids, resting comfortably and staying the night. She didn't know what was wrong yet. Test results weren't in.
I hope she tells B. I stopped by. I hope I see them in the neighborhood again soon. I wonder if I'm in the wrong profession, because I want to feel like that more often. I am terrified, though not practically so, that Pooka will some day collapse out of the blue. Mortality.
A man walked in with two soft, shiny Brittany spaniel siblings, nearly a year old. Pooka romped a bit with them -- Abby and Dodger -- then back to dinosaur madness with Betty. I chatted with the spaniels' dad for a few moments, then noticed that Dodger appeared to be trying to cough to clear his throat, or throw up a little something. Pooka does this when she has gotten some dirt or icky bark in her mouth, or tries to swallow grass in a hurry, so I wasn't so concerned.
But then, the poor thing let loose a few little spurts of very watery poo, and before our eyes grew weak and collapsed, eyes closing, rolling back.
Their father B. was shocked, frozen. He and tried to shake/revive the pup, who faded in and out for a minute or two. I asked if he drove, then told him I'd grab the other dog if he'd pick up Dodge, and help him get to the car and ultimately the vet. On our way out, Betty's mom reminded us of the 24-hour pet emergency room nearby.
When B. put Dodger in the back of his little SUV, he didn't want to leave him. I stood there, awkwardly, asking if he had his cell phone (yes), if he had the vet's number (no), if he wanted me to come along. At first he said no, but when it was clear that he was overwhelmed, I offered again to hold the dog while we drove to the ER. The second time he said yes, so I tossed Pooka in the back of his car with Abby (who promptly jumped the seat, but Pooka was perfect and calm), climbed into his passenger seat and took on the task of keeping sweet, soft little Dodge awake.
His eyes were open, mostly, but he wasn't moving. When he seemed set to fade out, I took a page from Jenny's book and blew in his nose, knowing that many dogs hate it. It seemed to do the trick to get the little boy focused and alert.
When we got to the hospital, B. took Dodger and rushed him in, and I followed with Abby and Pooks, who continued to behave as if everything were normal. As I walked in, a nurse was taking Dodger upstairs, and B. was filling out forms. Once he was settled, I handed him Abby's leash, turned down his offer to drive me back up toward the park and said farewell, shaking off his kind "I owe you" comments. God knows if I were in the same situation, I'd want some help. And honestly, the feeling of taking charge and doing something about this sad, stressful situation made me feel good, energized, whole.
I was going to be late for dinner. Pooka and I half-ran, half-walked home from essentiallly Fremont to Hazard Flats, I called L. to warn of my tardiness, and hopped in the car. But I couldn't stop thinking about this sweet, soft little boy I completely fell in love with while holding him on my lap. After dinner and a stop at J.'s for a nice chat, I headed home on a route that would take me close to the hospital. I knocked on the door and the same nurse came out, and was, despite my fears, perfectly OK telling me that little Dodger was on IV fluids, resting comfortably and staying the night. She didn't know what was wrong yet. Test results weren't in.
I hope she tells B. I stopped by. I hope I see them in the neighborhood again soon. I wonder if I'm in the wrong profession, because I want to feel like that more often. I am terrified, though not practically so, that Pooka will some day collapse out of the blue. Mortality.
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