Slapped in the face

I’ve spent a lot of time in doctors’ offices lately. In addition to being boring, anxiety-driven experiences, there’s also the fact that the price tag is never cheap. I have nothing against doctors. In fact, the ones I’ve visited recently have been some of the most helpful and thorough I’ve ever encountered. And there’s no greater pain in the tuckus than going through those expensive, nerve-wracking, time-consuming visits only to find out that the distracted idiot you spoke with didn’t find the problem.

The first batch of doctor’s visits centered around my nana, who came up with my papa to visit me and Mr. A Crazy Towhead, their only great-granddaughter. After three visits to urgent care and nearly half a dozen conversations with the advice nurse (who we got to know by name), we figured out that she had a urinary infection followed by viral pneumonia. And the rain/pour adage comes in here as well. On the second, and probably most serious of these trips to the hospital, I herded nana, papa, and towhead out the door only to find the car with a dead battery. Helping (read: lifting) two 80+ year old seniors and a toddler into a one-ton pick-up truck takes some ingenuity, let me tell you. The upside is we all got a bit of a laugh out of it – what else are you going to do in those circumstances?

Today was not near as much fun. I had to take my dog (read: first child) to the vet. Mutt Butt has had some stomach issues. The worst offender has been her awful farts, but she’s also been eating a lot of grass, stretching like her stomach’s upset, and yesterday she wouldn’t eat. Ask anyone we know, this is huge. Mutt Butt is very food-driven. And I mean stand-on-her-head (or on yours)-for-the-chance-at-a-snack-even-though-she-just-ate driven. So to the vet we went.

The news was not good. The short version is that she has pancreatitis. The initial treatment is to keep her away from all food for 2-3 days and let the pancreas rest and hopefully decrease the inflamation. All I could think of while she’s telling me this is, “You don’t know my dog. In this case the cure may be worse than the disease. There is no greater torture for this dog than telling her she can’t eat for 3 days.” Pancreatitits is serious and sometimes fatal, so we’ll do what it takes. But poor Mutt Butt is going to think I am a mean mean bitch by the end of this.

In diagnosing the main problem I also found out from the X-rays that Mutt Butt has severe arthritis in her spine and hip dysplasia. Mr. A and I were both shocked. She has never acted like her spine or hips hurt her. And this is not a sedentary dog. She walks and hikes with me regularly, goes up and down stairs frequently during the day in our new house, and loves to run around the yard. This is typically described as a genetic problem, so it’s likely been there her whole life. And all I can think of are the long, grueling days we put her through snow-shoeing, hiking up and over mountains in the Sierras, and walking around for upwards of 8-9 hours a day at Mr. A’s field site. She’s always run at least twice as far as we ever hiked, chasing bunnies and smelling every bush and tree. And now this woman is telling me that my dog’s hips are barely in the socket? I believe her. I saw the evidence on the X-ray. My dog either has no pain sensors or is just the most massochistic, buff, and amazing dog ever. Or she’s just dumb and loves me a lot. I think there’s ample proof of both.

In the end I came home, put Towhead down for a nap, and sat down nearly in tears. I’m still not sure why. It could have been worse. She could be hospitalized, or I could have had to put her down. So far I’m only out $300. But even as financially strapped as we are, it’s not the money. It’s the realization that my dog is not the indestructible, immortal, ever-present companion I want her to be. I figured out she wasn’t immortal when she began to gray around the muzzle at age 6 (Man, was that a blow). But she has been a constant source of love, devotion, and companionship in my life for nearly a decade. Mr. A falls in that catagory as well and while he is a more important figure in my life in some ways, I can’t ignore the fact that in many ways Mutt Butt has had an equally significant role. She’s been by my side when Mr. A was gone for this or that job, or out doing fieldwork for his degree. She licked my tears when I was sad or depressed and had no one else to turn to. She followed me from room to room when I was pregnant, at one point seating herself directly in front of my crotch to guard whatever it was inside. She used to sit in my lap on long car drives, and at 65 lbs. this is no mean accomplishment for either of us. She has slept next to me or on me every night whether we were in a truck, on the ground, or in a bed. She pee-ed in a cup for me when I asked her to for crying out loud! (This is another long, entertaining story. Suffice to say my dog understands English better than trickery). Needless to say I don’t deal well with finding out that my girl, my furry girl that is, might somehow be falling apart.

I can deal with animals dying. I helped my friend euthanize her dog, who was one of my favorites, without shedding tear. I’ve euthanized small rodents and held dying birds in my hands. It sucks but I know it’s part of life and it happens to all animals, pets especially, numerous times in our lifetimes. But this one is not going to be that easy. My baby is going to be a different story. I got slapped in the face with that one today. And it hurt.