The next day, we thought Thing 2's knee was swollen. It was probably because he missed when he jumped into the car, we thought. We gave Thing 2 a few days, but his knee remained swollen, and he was just a bit less himself. Off to the vet. Maybe lyme's disease, said the vet. We came home with a bag full of meds.
Two days later, Thing 2 was not doing better. He was definately worse. His nose was swollen. He was losing weight. He didn't come upstairs to the bedroom with us, instead preferring to sleep in the kitchen. Off to the vet. Maybe an allergic reaction, said our vet. We switched meds.
Two days later, Thing 2 was even worse. Off to the vet. Different meds, different possibilities. For two weeks, we went to the vet almost every other day. On a Tuesday night, I sat with Thing 2 from 4 to 5 a.m. as he laid in our room, panting and in obvious pain.
The next day, J and Thing 2 saw a different vet who immediately sent them to the emergency animal hospital in town. Thing 2 was admitted immediately. J called. He could barely get the words out. He didn't want to tell me because he didn't want to hurt me. Thing 2 was in serious condition. Maybe cancer, maybe an auto-immune disorder. Tests were ordered. We would be contacted the next morning.
On Thursday morning, the emergency vet called. She was wonderful: thorough, compassionate and encouraging of my questions. The prognosis was not good. They could not figure out what was wrong, and Thing 2 was fading. On Thursday afternoon the vet called to say they were going to try a last effort. She said that we should come visit Thing 2 that night, to say goodbye. I remember sitting in my office, taking the call and trying to be strong. I closed the door, crawled under my desk and just cried. I left the office early that night with puffy eyes.
We walked into the pet-equivalent of the ICU. I walked over to Thing 2 and dropped onto the floor next to my puppy. He was so very weak. He was refusing all food. He hadn't stood or moved in twelve hours. The vet reiterated that it didn't look good. I held Thing 2's head and cried. Then, like I had so many times before, I picked up a couple pieces of food and tried to feed him by hand. To everyone's shock, he took the food and started munching away. We stayed as long as we could, me on the floor in my work clothes, feeding my dog by hand. When I stood to leave, Thing 2 tried to stand. As we walked out of his area, he tried to follow. And as we turned the corner, I recognized a familiar sound. Thing 2 was howling for us.
The next morning, the wonderful vet called to say that Thing 2 was doing so much better. He was walking around, eatting and loving everyone. We visited again Friday night to a much improved Thing 2. On Saturday morning, we were told Thing 2 could come home.
When we drove up to the emergency vet to pick up Thing 2, I was so thankful. I knew that we were lucky, that we had dodged a bullet. Thing 2 was coming home. I walked into the waiting area, grasping his collar and leash. Ten minutes later, Thing 2 came trotting down the hallway to me, tail going a mile a minute.
Thing 2 was much changed. He had lost 25 pounds. He would always bear the scars of this illness (a severe auto-immune disorder). He would probably never run with me again. But I didn't care. Thing 2 was coming home. As long as he was happy and not in pain, I was just happy to have my Thing 2 back. That night, I refused to leave his side. I sat next to him, next to the fire, telling him how I was so proud of him. He had been such a fighter. I would do everything to keep him happy and healthy.
After such a rough few weeks, Thing 2 was home.
The next day, J and Thing 2 saw a different vet who immediately sent them to the emergency animal hospital in town. Thing 2 was admitted immediately. J called. He could barely get the words out. He didn't want to tell me because he didn't want to hurt me. Thing 2 was in serious condition. Maybe cancer, maybe an auto-immune disorder. Tests were ordered. We would be contacted the next morning.
On Thursday morning, the emergency vet called. She was wonderful: thorough, compassionate and encouraging of my questions. The prognosis was not good. They could not figure out what was wrong, and Thing 2 was fading. On Thursday afternoon the vet called to say they were going to try a last effort. She said that we should come visit Thing 2 that night, to say goodbye. I remember sitting in my office, taking the call and trying to be strong. I closed the door, crawled under my desk and just cried. I left the office early that night with puffy eyes.
We walked into the pet-equivalent of the ICU. I walked over to Thing 2 and dropped onto the floor next to my puppy. He was so very weak. He was refusing all food. He hadn't stood or moved in twelve hours. The vet reiterated that it didn't look good. I held Thing 2's head and cried. Then, like I had so many times before, I picked up a couple pieces of food and tried to feed him by hand. To everyone's shock, he took the food and started munching away. We stayed as long as we could, me on the floor in my work clothes, feeding my dog by hand. When I stood to leave, Thing 2 tried to stand. As we walked out of his area, he tried to follow. And as we turned the corner, I recognized a familiar sound. Thing 2 was howling for us.
The next morning, the wonderful vet called to say that Thing 2 was doing so much better. He was walking around, eatting and loving everyone. We visited again Friday night to a much improved Thing 2. On Saturday morning, we were told Thing 2 could come home.
When we drove up to the emergency vet to pick up Thing 2, I was so thankful. I knew that we were lucky, that we had dodged a bullet. Thing 2 was coming home. I walked into the waiting area, grasping his collar and leash. Ten minutes later, Thing 2 came trotting down the hallway to me, tail going a mile a minute.
Thing 2 was much changed. He had lost 25 pounds. He would always bear the scars of this illness (a severe auto-immune disorder). He would probably never run with me again. But I didn't care. Thing 2 was coming home. As long as he was happy and not in pain, I was just happy to have my Thing 2 back. That night, I refused to leave his side. I sat next to him, next to the fire, telling him how I was so proud of him. He had been such a fighter. I would do everything to keep him happy and healthy.
After such a rough few weeks, Thing 2 was home.
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