It all happened so fast, I didn't know they would find an enlarged lymph node mid-surgery and tell me it has to be removed causing such an invasive procedure. I was prepared for another skin tumor to be removed from his limb not a big chunk taken from his body. I'm exhausted even though I haven't left the house in days save for making trips to and from the animal hospital. Switching on and off between the bedroom and the living room couch or floor. Where ever he's more comfortable. I'm not sure how you can be comfortable with both legs stitched up and a drain and swelling.

My jaw hurts from clenching. I can't smoke or drink with bronchitis so I convince myself that I need some Vicodin after an hour of chipping away the ice on my walkway yesterday caused a pinched nerve in my neck. I had to do it so he doesn't slip and fall. I'm pulling out unused drugs from last year to medicate now. It was a rough day and night. Cleaning dressings and propping blankets. Sleeping when he sleeps in between every 8 hours of Tramadol. It's hard for him to sleep with both legs sewn and there's the plastic drain and swelling. He sleeps in ½ hour increments then wakes up trembling. I hold him and tell him it will be okay. Mama's here.

But that makes him cry and when he cries, I cry.

One commenter said I should let go, now. But that's so very wrong. Now is when I hold on tighter than ever, bracing for a bumpy ride. It may last 2 weeks or 2 years. This is just a rough patch; we'll get through it and then ride this thing out together like good Christian soldiers but not like this. No more cutting, no more drains, no more pain from surgeries. I want him to be at peace. Suffering is not acceptable at any stage of the game.

12:01 AM. I lay there waiting for sleep to find me. Stewing and hurting for my little friend, hurting for myself truth be known. Tossing and turning. A Black berry sits on my night stand and I wait for the familiar vibration. I've come to love the sound of it fluttering against porous wood, the same way I imagine a junkie loves hearing the sound of their fingernails tap tapping against a vial. A simple text message to say he cares, but it never comes. I hate that even if he did it will only hurt more because he'll never tell me what I want to hear. I can't believe I'm going through this alone with no emotional support. I hate that I care and he doesn't. I hate that at 2:00AM I'm accepting less than what I'm worth and mostly I hate how my mind wanders for even a minute from what matters. But it's desperate times and in my minds requisite for distraction I resist all urges to pick up the phone and call or text. I do not. Because I hate that boys are so cold and girls are so needy. And if he cared he would do it on his own. Another loss. I've grown accustom to them. But it doesn't make it hurt any less.

7:00AM. I feel him stirring. He sits next to me trembling. I hate when he trembles and why is he still trembling after 2 days? I think he has a fever. Lights on, check both incisions, check drain. See huge bubble in the center of his chest has formed overnight. Scary. Looks like a large pocket of fluid has collected near the drain site. Maybe it's not draining and this is why he's in pain. I don't know how much more I can take.

45 more minutes until the vet opens. I hold him in my arms until then and I get him to eat but his spits out his pain pill. Crafty even when under duress.

7:53AM. I call the animal hospital.

Concerned, "Its Lori _____, Pugsley has some swelling in his chest and he's still in pain. I want to bring him in first thing this morning."

On Hold [his regular doctor is off today so I have to settle for a different one]

"The Dr. said he can see you at 10:15."

Concern turns to agitation, "I don't want to wait 2 hours, he's in pain and has a big bubble in his chest.

"Hold on please"

"Okay he'll see you if you can be here at 8:00 sharp."

Luckily I live only 1 minute away from the vet.

"I'll be there in 5 minutes"

I carry Pugsley without disturbing either incision or drain and somehow maneuver him through 3 doors and three parking lots of black ice and manage to open three doors myself while holding him strategically in my arms.

8:04AM

"Okay, let's see what we've got going on with Pugsley," the Dr. says,

I undo the makeshift dressing that I have constructed over the top portion of his body which has already been hand washed 3 times to keep the areas clean. Unfortunately it's a pink toddler onesie that I found tucked in the back of my closet meant for my God daughter. I'd cut it up to protect the sutures and drains from getting infected and to keep him from interfering with them. It was either that or the cone.

It occurs to me that this is so much worse than the beanie baby episode of 2002.

I show him the big bubble in Pugs' chest.

"Ah, this isn't swelling from the drain fluid this is edema."

"Edema??? What's edema, is it bad?"

[I've heard the word on episodes of ER and Grey's Anatomy but don't know what it means]

Once he convinced me that it's just normal post surgical swelling, I asked him to take his temperature.

It's 103.8. I knew he had a fever.

"It's probably from the swelling; I'll inject him with an anti inflammatory."

He was also injected with an anti-biotic in case the fever is due to infection and they gave him a shot of morphine for the pain.

I don't think I would have put him through this surgery if I knew how awful it would be. He's not bouncing back quickly like all the others.

The vet isn't overly concerned about the fever or swelling. In fact he makes me feel like I'm over reacting. I wish his regular doctor was here. He indulges my over reacting and I'll take any emotional support I can get right now.

In the parking lot he manages to have a runny bowel movement but his legs hurt too much to lift and pee. He hobbles back to the car as if to say; "take me home I've had enough."

In the yard he goes again, diarrhea. He struggles to get it all out, even whimpering while trying. It breaks my heart all up inside. I love him so much it hurts. I think there's a reason why I don't have children. I don't think I could handle it because I would love them too much like this and my heart would cave in from too much loving.

9:15AM I prop up blankets in the bed and make him a fort hoping we can sleep for a few hours more and that he'll feel better when he wakes up. Truthfully, hoping I'll feel better too. We need some good news.
The drugs have kicked in and his body is totally limp. He's doubled in weight. It slides effortlessly from the position I've put him into a side lay, he's almost asleep. My weary head hits the pillow ready for relief. Almost there...

Suddenly Pugsley jumps up and violently starts scratching with his back paw onto his neck, near the sutures. Upon inspection I see there's a big lump there. It's red, swollen, and hot to the touch. Damnit if he isn't having an allergic reaction to the antibiotic they injected him with.

He's just like his mama and that makes me want to cry some more. This may be the thing that pushes me right over the edge. The straw that broke the camels back.

10:01AM - call the vet back

"Its Lori ______, Puglsey is scratching at his neck and there's a big red lump. He's panting heavy and breathing weird. I can't tell if it's from the morphine or an allergic reaction to the injection he just had."

On hold

"The doctor said he can see you at 11:30."

Irritated "I'm afraid he may be going into anaphylactic shock, I can't wait until 11:30. Please ask him if I can give him a Benadryl with all these other medicines."

On hold

"The doctor really wants you to bring him up"

"I'll be right there"

Three parking lots of black ice, three doors to open with a now limp pug in my arms. His normal 25 pounds now feels like 50.

The vet tech comes out to talk to me

"Okay, we'd like to leave Pugsley here and monitor him for the day"

[I quickly realize what's going on here. They must think I'm the crazy dog lady whose going to keep calling throughout the day and they don't want to deal with me]

They were ready to take him from me....

Fuck that. I'm not having him sit in some metal cage trembling and alone all day just because they don't want me to call when there's a problem.

Annoyed "Wait, I don't know if I want to leave him here, I just want to see the doctor and find out if he's having an allergic reaction"

"Okay, well you'll have to wait until he's between patients."

"That's fine"

Other pet owners in the waiting room look sad. I can see it on their face; he looks like he's been through a war, a Franken pug. I feel like a bad mommy for putting him through this. Their kindness touches me but makes me more blue. He can't stand or sit up with all the drugs so he looks especially sad and pathetic but still oh so cute, dapper, and stoic. I used to be one of those other patients in the waiting room feeling sorry for the older dogs with problems. And now it's us. It makes me feel old and alone.

The doctor comes out and asks me to bring Pugsley in ahead of all the others appointments.

I point to the new lump on his neck.

"That was there before"

I showed him the swelling in his neck

"I injected him in the back."

He made me feel like I was over reacting again. And maybe I was. I am sleep deprived and emotionally spent after all.

"I was afraid he was having an allergic reaction because he was itching like mad and its red here, see..."

I pointed to it and he answered with a pacifying "It's better to be safe then sorry, it's okay I know he's your baby."

I wonder if they read my blog. At this point I'm paranoid and clearly delusional but anything is possible...

"Give him a Benadryl when you get home just to be safe. It might help him sleep too which would be a good thing."

"Yes it would, I need him to sleep. I need to sleep."

The one good thing is they took his temperature again and this time it was down to 101.3

I'm thankful for little blessings now.

11:30 back at home. We hit the bed again, back into the mountainous fort of pillows, pug propped with no sea legs all wobbly and stoned. My eyes hurt from being open too long. He slips into a comfort zone and my head hits the pillow......but morphine makes him cry.