Sophie’s home—yay!

 

We picked Soph up about two this afternoon. She is definitely mad at me, as the vet predicted. I’d hold my hand out for her to come to me, long a signal between us, and she’d very deliberately turn her head the other way and then go to Jordan or Christian. But she is much better, and the vet says he feels good about sending her home. He didn’t last week when he gave her to us but wanted so badly for her to be home that he went against his better judgment. This week, he feels it’s okay.

But she needs regular medication, after she eats. And therein is the rub. She’s not eating. They sent home some of the prescription kibble (of course!) that they’ve been feeding her, but she is not one bit interested. Since her insulin (essential) and other meds depend on eating, this is a major problem. If it weren’t for the insulin, I wouldn’t be upset. Coming home from the hospital is terribly hard for any of us, and I think it will take a while for her to settle in. Jordan has now taken her into the main house, to see if she’ll eat if she thinks the other dogs might get her food. I guess we are not above trickery. PS It didn’t work.

We did get a bark out of her this afternoon—I was roasting kielbasa, having hasselbacked it and basted with a mix of mustard and honey. It set off the smoke alarm, which has always alarmed Sophie. She barked furiously, and we thought that was a good sign. First bark I’ve heard since Christmas, when she first showed signs of illness. Yes, it’s been a long haul.

I feel a sense of letdown a bit. It is of course wonderful to have her home, but it isn’t. I’m well aware of the adjustment period but wanting normalcy back immediately. I guess that’s a human reaction. And we have to remember that she, like me, is an old lady.

This afternoon Sophie came to me, while I was sitting on the edge of my bed talking on the phone. We have long had a ritual of loving and visiting at my bedside first thing in the morning, when I just swing my legs out of bed, and last thing in the evening when I am ready to swing those legs back into the bed. So this afternoon I was sure it was a good sign. Turns out she was only trying to tell me she wanted to go outside. But just now, she came to my desk, waited for me to push my walker aside, and then moved in close for some loving. I told her how much I love her and explained she needs to eat to get better. The latter feel on deaf ears, I’m sure, but we had a nice visit.

I’m sure Sophie and I will both be happier campers tomorrow. Thanks to all for prayers and good wishes.

 

The Sophie saga continues

 

I’m sure if she knew Sophie would be thrilled to have so many of you wishing her well. I am gratified by your thoughts, but I am also a bit teary tonight. Soph is spending the night at the vet’s, hooked to IVs. Jordan took her in this morning and left her for them to do blood work, etc. I suspect our vet, whom I adore and have complete confidence in, didn’t realize how sick she was until he saw her. When I called mid-afternoon, he gave me the news that he would keep her overnight, said he was waiting for blood work, mentioned some possible life-threatening conditions, and wouldn’t guarantee an outcome. I was floored—and teary. I called Jordan, Jordan called her siblings, and everyone rallied around by email and phone.

The blood work results came back tonight while Jordan, Christian, Mary and I were having happy hour—as Mary said, it was a melancholy happy hour without Sophie demanding attention, going in and out, asking for love. We all felt the absence. The blood work was apparently better than it could have been—her pancreatic enzymes are elevated, which means pancreatitis; her bladder is palpably painful; she has bad nasal congestion but her lungs, a sensitive area with Soph, are clear. The doctor thinks fluids will help her blood levels, and he’ll run tests again in the morning.

Jordan will be at the vet’s the minute they open in the morning to love on Sophie, and I will probably go later in the day. It’s a pain to get me in and out, but if I can reassure Sophie, I’ll be there. Part of my angst now is that I don’t want her to feel abandoned. There’s a lot more to the story, some of it guilt, some of it bad memories from another dog, but I won’t dwell on that. As Christian said tonight, having a sick dog is like having a sick child. We hope to bring her home tomorrow, and I will carry her on a silk pillow from now on.

At the moment, I’m hopeful. It sounds like she’s quite sick but not in a life-threatening situation. And I have to realize that she is eleven, medium old for a thirty-pound dog. She slept in the house with Jordan last night, and when Jordan brought her out this morning, she summoned enough energy to let a squirrel know exactly what she thought of him being in her yard. So the Soph we know and love is still in there.

Our happy hour was also melancholy because Mary is exhausted. They are packing to move out of the house she has lived in for twenty-five years and her husband, Sweet Joe, has lived in for fifty-one years. Talk about a wrench! The packers were there today, the movers come Thursday and Friday, and Friday Joe and Mary spend their first night in their new apartment. I cannot imagine the sorting and choosing, the cleaning out, the decisions involved in packing up a large, two-story, three-bedroom house after all those years. Mary is doing it in good humor, though she clearly wanted a place to sit and rest and relax, and we offered her that tonight, albeit shadowed by Sophie’s story.

Mary and Joe’s move makes me think how hard change is for all of us. It’s scary, the unknown, leaving behind the familiar and comfortable. Some people handle it better than others. Mary and Joe are doing well with it. I never did. I think that’s the reason I don’t like to travel. I’m too attached to the security of the world I live in day by day.

And I don’t think that’s a bad thing. I think I’m fortunate to be so content with my world. I have friends who travel all the time, can’t quiet their itchy foot, and I often wonder if they are seeking something I don’t see. Of course, part of my world that makes me happy is Sophie. So, please, cross your finger, say a prayer, whatever works. Help me will Sophie back to good health, so I can have her spoiled, stubborn, adorable self back in the cottage.

A doggie day

 

Sophie taking full advantage of her 
status as a sickie.

The day after Christmas, to me, usually represents a sign to buckle down and get to work. Oh sure, there’s still New Year’s, and it’s a big deal—but it’s secular, not religious, and not in the same category as Christmas. Nor is it accompanied by the same frenetic activity—shopping, wrapping presents, cooking, a huge meal on the table. New Year’s kind of slides in on the heels of a late-night celebration the night before. So, December 26 is a day to begin that trek back to reality, carrying with you, if possible, the glow and joys of the holiday.

And so it started at my house. But Sophie soon got all my attention. I have been for a couple of days nervously alternating between waiting for our vet to open on Tuesday and rushing her off to the emergency vet. The latter is always ungodly expensive and usually involves, as it would have today, a long wait.

So this morning, Christian convinced me that since Soph was drinking water and peeing, she could wait until Tuesday morning. “Just watch her,” he said, so I did—like a hawk. By noon, she hadn’t drunk any water, hadn’t gone outside to pee, and walked like a drunken sailor. A survivor of acute kidney failure myself, I was terrified of dehydration and the effect on kidneys. In short, I panicked and announced it was time to go to the emergency animal clinic.

Jordan called, found out that the wait was between three and five hours, and Christian said, “She drinks in our house. Let’s take her in.” Sure enough, the little beast drank two bowls of water, peed, had a nap with Jordan, and generally acted much better. Back in the cottage, she ate a bit of dog food and a few slivers of cheese.

Tonight she will sleep in the house with Jordan, because Jordan sweetly said it’s time I got a good night’s sleep. I was getting up with Soph two and three times a night and spending an inordinate amount of time coaxing her back into the cottage. First thing tomorrow I will call to get her in at the vet’s.

Meantime, Cricket wants you all to know that Christmas absolute exhausted he. Exhausted, I tell you!

Cricket asleep by the tree.