The last few days have been exhausting. Angus had a bad time with his oral surgery; the decay was much more extensive than even the vet knew, and he was in surgery for over four hours. He's eleven years old -- and now I know that doxies are more susceptible to gum disease; that would have been useful information several years ago -- and in pretty good health, but that was taxing. I brought him home that night (Wednesday) and he was totally out of it. As the anesthesia and pain meds wore off, he was in a great deal of pain. I couldn't give him any medicine until he ate, which he just wouldn't do. Mazie was so worried about him all night that she cried along with him in sympathy -- all night long.
Even yesterday morning, he wouldn't eat. The vet called to check on him, and I told her that he was obviously in a lot of pain. She asked me to bring him up to stay at the animal hospital for the day, where he received IV fluids and pain meds all day. He never did eat anything yesterday either. When I brought him home last night, he was pitiful. He just hung his head over the side of the soft new doggie bed I got him and looked at me with his huge eyes. There wasn't much I could do except stay close and offer him some snuggles. He's not generally much of a snuggler, but he did let me hold him like a baby, all wrapped up in a towel. He would only let me do that for short periods of time.
This morning, as soon as I got up, I offered him some food. No way. I took him outside and he peed for about five minutes. I thought that was probably a good sign. Prior to that he had just walked back inside on the two occasions when I'd tried to take him out. Still he wouldn't eat. I had to work until 12:30, but I called the vet as soon as my scoring shift ended. She said to try adding something to his food -- a little broth or rice, whatever might entice him. I had thought he couldn't have anything other than the soft food from the vet's office, but at this point I guess they were thinking we just needed to get something in him. She said if he wouldn't eat, I could bring him up for a pain shot, so I said I'd call back if I was bringing him.
I mixed tuna -- the good albacore stuff -- with his food and he wouldn't eat it. I opened a can of the soft food he had been eating before the surgery, and he wouldn't eat that either -- until I gave up and put it down for Mazie. Suddenly he wanted it! I shooed Mazie away and as Angus ate, I squeezed a syringe-full of his pain medicine onto the top. He never noticed, and scarfed down the full plate of food. (It was just a tiny plate.) I had already managed to get most of a dose of antibiotic in him, and this evening I gave him a different pain med in his last little meal. I am so relieved! I was crying along with him part of the time over the past few days; it just broke my heart to see him hurting so bad.
And all of that has to do with why I'm wearing sweatpants on a hot August day. Between working, class stuff, and tending to Angus I haven't had time to do much else. I did grab a quick shower this morning, but looking for anything to wear was a luxury I didn't have time for, not that I had many clean clothes. I had folded some workout clothes a few days ago and put them on the chest at the foot of my bed -- gray sweatpants and one of my kid's (not sure which one) old high school marching band t-shirts. Because they were the first clothes I saw, I put them on. Add in my pink flip-flops and my tightly-bunned hair and I'm sure I look terrific. But here's the upside: I put on clothes and worked at two different jobs today, my sink is clean and empty, and (most of) my laundry is done. And best of all, the old boy is on the road to recovery. He's lying in his bed at one end of the sofa. I'm going to get my pillow out and lie at the other end. We could all use some rest!
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