Welcome distractions

I've spent most of the weekend watching TV (the Democratic Party delegate debate), reading (a new Harlan Coben mystery), catching up on writing book reviews (boy, was I behind), and playing with all the dogs (the granddogs spent Friday and Saturday nights with us). Now it's Sunday night and I'm doing last-minute laundry that I could have done Friday night.

I'm trying to keep my mind preoccupied with trivial stuff so I won't worry about my best boy, Butch. We visited the vet again Saturday morning, following up after he completed four weeks of antibiotics to treat his anal sac infection. The infection seems to have cleared up, and Butch doesn't have his head up under his tail nearly so often, so I know he's more comfortable than he was. That's the good news.

The bad news is that the vet says there's a mass in his rectal area that seems to involve more than swollen anal sacs. She thinks he has a tumor. She actually said the "C-word." I'll take him in Tuesday for a biopsy, which means putting him under anesthesia again. Considering the problems he had last time, that's a scary enough concept without even thinking about the possible results of the biopsy.

So, I won't let myself think about it yet. At least not much. He's in good spirits and doesn't seem to be in any pain, and I owe it to him to keep my attitude as positive as his is.

I'll keep you posted.




(First published at Velvet Sacks on June 1, 2008.)

Butchy-Butchy-Bo-Butchy-Banana-Fana-Fo-Futchy

Yesterday was three months exactly since our veterinarians scuttled their attempt to remove Butch’s anal sacs. As we might have anticipated, those troublesome organs are still giving him problems.

Butch stayed on antibiotics for a few weeks after the aborted surgery, and for a few more weeks after that, I lived in a state of denial, trying to pretend I wouldn’t have to make a decision about what to do next. I obviously knew it isn’t healthy for Butch to have anal sac abscesses one after the other, and I knew he can’t stay on antibiotics indefinitely, but thinking about how close I came to losing him just scared the bejesus out of me. Finally, when he began spending way too much time with his nose stuck up under his tail, I knew I’d have to face my fears and take him back to the vet.

We did that two weeks ago yesterday. Butch does indeed have another abscess, and it needs to be cleared up before surgery is even an option. This time the vet did a bacterial culture, which identified three separate bacteria, and she prescribed a four-week course of antibiotics that are supposed to wipe out those specific bacteria. At the end of the four weeks, we’ll consider surgery again.

While I was at the vet’s office, I asked her to write down what anesthesia they were using when Butch stopped breathing. That’s information I want to keep handy in case Butch ever has to go to the emergency after-hours vet clinic. The vet gave me a written list and said she suspected either morphine or pentathol -- or the combination of both -- caused the problem. She also said it wasn’t that Butch had an allergic reaction to the anesthesia but rather that he went under too deeply. He’s had anesthesia on at least three previous occasions, so no one knows for sure why he had problems on that particular day.

The mention of morphine helped me to better understand Butch’s bizarre behavior in the hours after I brought him home following his near-death experience. During the hours he paced the floor and crashed into walls and furniture, he may well have been having morphine-induced hallucinations. I remember my mother’s description of something that happened when my over-90-year-old grandmother stayed with her for a while. Mammaw was taking morphine to reduce cancer pain. Mother woke up to noises in the middle of the night and discovered that my fragile Mammaw had pulled the mattress and all the bedding off her bed. She was also highly agitated about the "naked men" who were flying around the ceiling of her room. I don't know if Butch's hallucinations included naked men, but he was definitely agitated.

To wrap up this lengthy entry, let me tell you about one moment I treasured on Butch's most recent visit to the vet: I was sitting on the end of a cushioned bench in front of a window in the lobby, and Butch, on a leash, was standing at my feet. A woman across the room spotted Butch, did a double-take when she noticed he didn’t have eyes, and walked over to ask about him.

Butch accepted the woman's attention enthusiastically while I explained about the primary glaucoma, but he lost interest after she stopped petting him. After a few “oh, poor babies” and a couple of “bless his hearts,” the woman asked, “Does he have problems getting around the house?” Butch chose that exact moment to turn away from her, scrunch up his hindquarters and leap up onto the other end of the bench, where he sat facing the window, nosed the venetian blinds open wider, and basked in the sunshine on his face.

I was kind of surprised myself that he'd figured out the layout of the bench, the window, etc. That’s my good boy.



(First published at Velvet Sacks on April 23, 2008.)

Back to normal...almost

Butch seems to be fine now, if you don't count the problem that sent him to the vet in the first place. Otherwise, he's very much his old self.

I, however, am still struggling a little bit as a result of the scare. I wake up in the night and listen for the breathing of two dogs. If I can't hear two separate, distinct breathing patterns, I sit up, turn on the bedside lamp, and watch to make sure both chests are rising and falling as they should. Butch, bless his good-natured soul, may be getting tired of being rudely awakened by my calling his name or making an unusual noise to test his reaction.

I'm reminded of a complaint my stepfather made about my mother a few months after he'd been hospitalized for a stroke. "I'm tired," he said, "but everytime I lay down to take a nap, Wanda calls 911."



(First published at Velvet Sacks on January 25, 2008.)

Whew! My boy is back!

That was too close for comfort. Butch continued to improve as the day wore on today. I wouldn't say he's 100 percent yet, but he's very close to it. My relief is immeasurable.

We still face some tough medical choices in the near future if the anal sac infections persist, and there's every reason to believe they will. Obviously, it'll be especially difficult for me to drop him off for surgery again, but I realize that the repeated infections also take a toll on his health.

But those are worries for another night. Tonight we'll cuddle on the sofa and be thankful that yesterday is behind us. Tonight, we'll sleep.

Thanks, dear readers, for your prayers and good wishes. Every word of encouragement felt like a warm hug.

(First published at Velvet Sacks on January 23, 2008.)

How will I know when to panic?

Butch's surgery didn't happen today. He fasted all night (so did Kadi) so I could take him to the animal hospital first thing this morning, which I did. They told me they do surgeries between noon and 4:00 p.m. and would call me as soon as they were finished.

I got a call around ten saying his pre-surgery blood test results were in and everything looked fine. The next call came a little after two, and the news was not so good. The way I understand it is that after the pre-surgery drug was administered -- not the anesthetic, but the canine equivalent of "twilight sleep," I guess -- Butch stopped breathing. They couldn't get a breathing tube down his throat and didn't proceed with the anesthesia. I didn't have the presence of mind to ask how they got him breathing again, but my next-door neighbor, who's a nurse, says they must have had to resuscitate him.

The vet said they'd wait a few weeks and try again on the anal sac removal, using a different "protocol," one that wouldn't put him under quite so far. She assured me that he's okay and told me I could pick him up after 4:30. That's exactly when I arrived to pick him up and bring him home.

We've been home since 5:30, and he's spent the last two hours crying (a soft whimper), pacing, crashing into furniture. He doesn't seem to have any concept of where he is in the house, although when he finds himself at the back door, he asks to go out.

I fixed him a little soft food, which he ate greedily, but he's not interested in drinking water at this time. I don't want to give him too much and make him vomit.

I tried to hold him on my lap to settle him down, and that worked for about two minutes, then he wanted down and began pacing again. I'm telling myself this is just a residual effect from the medication, but it's scaring me. I'm gonna give it a couple more hours, and if he hasn't settled down by them, I'll take him to the emergency vet.

Please send prayers and good thoughts his way.

Wednesday morning update: Butch is doing better this morning. As I write this, he's scarfing down food from his dish (which he found on his own), and his navigational nose seems to be functioning better. He's bumped into a couple of things this morning, but they were soft bumps, subtle miscalculations, nothing like last night's disorientated crashes.

I decided about nine-thirty last night to see if nighttime procedures would settle him down, and they did somewhat. He didn't want to stay on his bed, so I put his favorite old bedspread (that he slept on when he was a puppy) on the floor by my bed, then pulled the T-shirt off my back and gave it to him. He held the wadded-up shirt between his front legs and drifted off to sleep.

He woke up just before three and began crying again, but after a brief trip to the backyard, he came in, settled down quickly, and slept until the alarm went off a short while ago. He isn't whimpering now.

I think he's gonna be okay. Kim is coming over early this morning to keep an eye on him while I'm at work.

I'll keep you posted.

(First published at Velvet Sacks on January 22, 2008 and updated on January 23, 2008.)

Running on cold feet

(Photo first published at Velvet Sacks on January 13, 2008.)

Veterinary veterans 2

Last Saturday I took Kadi to the vet to have her thyroid levels checked. In a little less than two months of twice-a-day thyroid pills, she’s gone from being considerably hypothyroid (levels too low) to just barely hyperthyroid (levels too high). She’s not shedding nearly as much hair now, and she’s lost almost four pounds since she began taking the meds. Low thyroid levels apparently cause weight gain, and Kadi was getting a little porky. The vet seems pleased with her progress and wants us to continue giving her the two pills a day until a recheck in three months’ time.

Monday, first thing in the morning, was Butch’s turn to see the doctor. For the third time in about three months, he has an anal sac infection, and this time the recommendation was surgery. The vet explained the procedure thoroughly (even going so far as to draw dog-butt diagrams on a dry-erase board), which made me feel very comfortable with the idea of having the worn-out, leaking, obsolete-in-the-first-place, anal sacs removed.

For now, Butch is on antibiotics again, to clear up the infection before he has surgery next Tuesday. I’ll be glad when he's finally able to put behind him the discomfort that has recently persisted...um...well, behind him.

I hope both dogs will soon be well enough that we can put an end to the frequent vet visits. They're already beginning to hesitate when I offer a ride in the car.

(First published at Velvet Sacks on January 17, 2008.)