This past weekend was anything but relaxing.
Hunky is back home now, and none of us are exactly sure what was wrong with him. Saturday morning the vet from the emergency clinic called to say that Hunky was not going to be admitted to the regular animal hospital and was not going to have the ultrasound. Seems they took more film and the second x ray didn’t look anything like the first, so they decided to keep him under observation (and on IV fluids and pain medication, remember that, it will be important later) on Saturday because of some apparent cognitive impairment and mobility issues.
Remember what I told you to remember? IV pain meds + Hunky = STUPOR. When he came into the exam room for me to collect him and take him home, he didn’t know who I was. Seriously. He looked through me. He was stumbling and his hind end was wet with urine. Color me an angry dog-mama at that point. He didn’t go IN to the clinic that way. All I knew about what meds he’d had and his care over the last 24 hours went out the window. I wanted to get my Hunky Man HOME.
Saturday night was rough. I have not been that afraid in a long time. Hunky didn’t seem to know me or the girls or Mills. He didn’t know where he was. He wasn’t putting weight on one of his back legs. He was soaking the dog beds rather than telling me he had to go out. Simon and I honestly wondered if the clinic had sent my Handsome Fella home to die.
I had a long phone conversation with a member of my adoption group who happens to also be a vet. With her blessing, I decided to NOT give him the pain medication that night that he’d been given at the clinic and see what happened. I slept on the sofa…if you can call two hours of tossing and turning actual SLEEP…that night, not knowing if I’d have a Hunky Man when I woke up. (Ah, THAT’S why the insomnia!)
Sunday morning he was showing flickers of his normal self. By Sunday evening, sans pain medication, he had eaten half a bowl of food. Monday morning he was dancing around, albeit slowly and carefully, for his breakfast. Monday night he hopped up and down with his front feet, back feet carefully planted, wanting a chicken thigh.
Outcome? Result? I think my boy had a bad case of gas. But God BLESS my vet at Electric City Animal Clinic for agreeing to send him for an ultrasound rather than cutting him open on the spot to see what was causing his tummy troubles.
Hunky’s home, and our furry family is whole.