Paul's Heart

The Happy Golden

When we first bought Pollo, he was 8 weeks old, this little ball of energetic blonde  fur.  He was a golden retriever, and from the time he came home, his tail has always wagged.  In the eleven years with Wendy and I, and eight years with our daughters, he has never been want for attention and affection.  All he expected was to be fed, have his stomach rubbed, and occasionally allowed to swim in the pool.  The tail always wagged.  Pollo is the first pet (and I hate to call him that at this point in our lives) that I have had for its entire life.  That tail.  On the other end, is the biggest smile a dog could ever have.  You have probably seen the greeting cards with the animals with the huge bulging eyes and exagerated smiles.  That is Pollo.  Even his groomer refers to Pollo as “the happy golden”, his tail never stops wagging and a grin that never quits.

A couple of weeks ago I wrote that our fine furry family member had fallen ill.  Rapidly increasing symptoms gave me just cause to take him into the vet for an emergency visit.  Pollo walked in on his own will, but something was clearly wrong.  He spent the next forty-eight hours there undergoing tests and observation.  I received a call early Sunday morning that his symptoms had cleared up and was good to go home.  It has been a long and emotional weekend, not great company for long distance visitors who came up from Viriginia to spend some time.

An exam room door opened and there was that smile and wagging tail.  He saw me and wants to come home.  And in that same moment, he collapses.  The vet reacts that it must be the slippery floors and he cannot get his footing.  I just wanted to get him home.  I got him outside, and walked him to the grass, collapsing every two or three steps.  The final time, as he lay, a puddle of urine appears from under his belly.  Something is horribly wrong.

We get him back in to the building, and x-rays and bloodwork are ordered.  We are approaching a very unwanted territory, “how much do we afford to go” with not having pet insurance?  Everything is coming back negative, but he cannot stand up.  We made the decision to talk him home.  If anything were to happen, he would die at home.  Over the next several days, we confined him to our den, not having to deal with any steps.  It looked so hopeless.  We had to do everything for him.  Put his feed and water bowl right under his nose.  Standing up without our assistance as a major goal, so far from where we are.  On Tuesday, I call our regular vet for his opinion.  Alright, I was calling him to see if he would consider euthanasia.  Pollo was getting better only barely.  We spoke on the phone for near half an hour,  but not one time did he ever mention putting him down.  “It’s going to take time to recover.”  It was hard to keep him confined to the one room in our house to prevent any further injury by slipping on our hardwood floors.  It was sad just to see him lay there nearly every minute of every day, unable and unwilling to do anything.  And so, from that moment, I put everything into making that dog get well.  I take care of animals for a living.  But now, my skills would be recheaching a value of reward to me that had no reason to be hoped to be seen.

Each day brought a new measure, eating, walking, standing, laying down, get up into a sitting position, lifting himself which he is now doing 75% alone.  I still get to hear his heavy sighs which means you know he is relaxed.  His tail at 12 years old still won’t stop wagging.  He is now trotting across the yard.  I have gotten so much time with my friend, Pollo.  We get to take walks again as he gets excited to see his leash.  I miss him when we go away which fortunately we don’t travel great distances.  To have him at the vet hospital for those few days left a huge hole in our house.

I am so thankful to everyone for offering prayers of hope and recovery, Dr. Wagner and Dr. Alvwerniri.  I am going to be spending yet more time with my “box of rocks”.

What Goes Up, Must Come Down

Over recent years, I have had a number of people, personal and professional, make the comment, “you really live for drama”.  While I do handle crisis with precision and patience, nothing could be further from the truth that I seek out stressful situations.  I have been dealing with one thing or another for over three decades.  An argument can be made that maybe even longer.

This post is not about my survival or its issues, but an answer to one situation, and as usual, forced into another one.  I have come to accept, this is what I do.

I have my answer to the thyroid nodule.  Fortunately, it is not cancer.  In particular, it is not lymphoma as was mentioned to be the potential diagnosis.  While relieved the nodule issue is closed, it is still unnerving to hear lymphoma once again.  I have not dealt with lymphoma, in particular, Hodgkin’s Disease in twenty two years.  Whether new disease, or after all this time, recurrence, neither way is desirable.  Because of the module’s makeup, follow-up ultrasounds and of course bloodwork will be the plan for the next couple of years.  Perhaps before that time expires, I will be dealing with more nodules but for now, one door closes…

Pollo is the perfect example of “man’s best friend”.  For twelve years, our Golden Retriever has been just that to us.  A product of a puppy mill outside of Lancaster, we have given him refuge from a life no animal should ever have to endure.  Wendy and I have done our best to care for him and to make sure he lives up to his nickname, the Happy Golden”.  With unquestionable loyalty, his tail wags constantly whether we have a treat in our hand, or he has been by himself while we are at work.

On Friday, I took our friend to the vet, under emergency circumstances.  Not putting symptoms of the prior evening as something developing, Friday, he would have multiple episodes of vomiting.  In the past, this was usually caused by consuming mushrooms from the backyard.  But things are totally different this time.  He had become lethargic, something I am not accustomed to when he has been surrounded by children or at the vet hospital.  Over the next 24 hours, he seemed to improve enough for me to get the call to take him home this morning.

When I arrived, I saw his wagging tail as he was clearly happy to see me.  But that excitement was only temporary as his legs gave out from under him.  For the next half hour, I tried to coax him to come home as the vet told me that symptoms were clearing up with the medicine taking its course.  Prior to getting him to my car, and multiple attempts of walking under his own power, he once again collapsed, this time his blatter was uncontrolled,  and he release urine while never attempting to avoid contact with it by moving aside.  He had gotten worse, not better.

Repeated bloodwork confirms that certain levels have gotten worse.  And following my departure this morning, a bruising has appeared on his abdomen, with no apparent cause.  A phone call from the vet has increased my anxiety, and once again, revved up my logical persona.  Like every crisis before, I need to maintain composure, and make rational, emotionless decisions for what is best for my canine friend.  But I cannot this time.  He has been by our side, no matter what event has occurred.  Each time, simply satisfied just to have his belly scratched.

Tomorrow, they will repeat the bloodwork again, to see if the levels continue the prior tests’ progress, or improve.  But in the morning, a decision will be made either way.  I can either bring him home, and continue to help him recover, or perhaps, be faced with having to choose how much more to put him through.

Pollo, I miss you my friend.  I am totally off my game without your here.  The routines that I have carried out for twelve years currently are displayed in silence and awkward absence.   I pray that tomorrow morning when I wake, and the first part of the day is gone, the voice on the other end of the phone says, “his tail is wagging, he stands when we enter the room, and he looks ‘happy”, and I will be there to bring you home.