Earlier that day, she'd been chewing on a rib bone we bought her a few days ago and it broke apart. It happens all the time, she loves smoked bones and I take them away when she breaks through or they splinter. She also had her monthly dose of Heartgard earlier. She threw up a tablespoon or so of bile on the sidewalk before dinner. Then she found some garbage lettuce before I did and ate some of it. What else? Oh, she chewed through another toy and flung the stuffing around. She may have snuck a cat treat away from one of the cats, she had a carrot and a piece of cheese. WHY THE HELL CAN'T MY PUPPY WALK?
We were sent to a room to wait for the doctor to come talk to us. While we were there, I let my husband know that I was almost positive we'd be told that Truffles had a neurological disorder that would kill her within a matter of months and that she'd spend those last few months in a wheelchair. He felt that was overkill. We continued to wait. When the doctor came in, she let us know that she'd narrowed the problem down to her stomach area. She was able to rule out a disc or back issue and wanted to proceed with two x-rays to see if there was an obstruction. We consented and were sent back to the waiting room until results were available. We sat in front of a flatscreen t.v. showcasing the features of the animal hospital and each and every doctor on staff. I couldn't find the doctor we spoke with and when she finally flashed on the screen, she was listed as a "clinician" instead of a doctor. I was concerned Truffles wasn't getting adequate care. When the "doctor" came out to speak with us, she let us know the x-rays didn't reveal anything obstructing her stomach or bowels, but that she could feel a lot of gas build-up in her colon. Then we remembered that Truffles had been letting some fairly lethal gas loose all night, which was a bit out of character. She gave us two options: we give her pain meds, fluids, gas meds with anti-diarrheal stuff and see how that goes or leave her there overnight to possibly (if they could squeeze her in) get an ultrasound. There was also a $1,000 price difference between the two options. At this point, my husband was convinced it was just gas and it would pass through her and she'd be ok while I was convinced we couldn't be with her in the back because they were slipping her poison so that she'd have to stay there longer and that she was going to be dead within three days anyway. He said I was being dramatic. It's funny that he's built a career out of damage control because he's so great at going to the worst place, but he can never beat me.
We opted to take her home and try pain relief, pepcid, and anti-diarrheal meds with a diet of chicken and rice for a few days knowing we could bring her back if she got worse or just didn't get better. When they brought her out, she was walking again. My husband was giddy at seeing her walk and squealed in the waiting room. We didn't sleep much last night because the lights were on until about two so I could periodically make sure Truffles was still breathing:
She was still off all morning, puking after my husband tried to get her to play, but after her Pepcid dose at 11, along with some yogurt, she started to whine for food. Did I try to make her an appointment with her vet in New Haven, planning to drive the three hours because nobody in Philly would be good enough since this city is clearly killing her? Maybe. It was an anxious day of monitoring everything she did, taking her out every hour or so because she was still leaking fluids from where they embedded them under her skin so she wouldn't dehydrate, and could get sick at any moment. In an effort to get healthier, my husband and I gave up booze for a few days, but I cracked today and had to buy a magnum of Pinot Grigio just to "settle my nerves" after the ordeal. Did I spend $450 because my dog had bad gas? It's possible.
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