Lilly had a lot of health issues (aside from needing an abortion that is). The original plan was to take her to the one vet in town that will perform a spay procedure on dogs with kennel cough on Monday, and then drive her to half way to San Diego on Tuesday where I would meet up with another transporter and he would take her on to the rescue in San Diego.
However, Monday was a disaster. I brought her in to the vet and simply had a bad feeling about it all. I admit it--I had grown attached to this little girl, and I wanted to advocate for her but wasn't sure how I could. It wasn't my money, it wasn't my decision, she wasn't my dog. I had the rescuer on the phone while trying to relay what was needed during surgery for her (extra precautions) since she needed an abortion, which meant it was even riskier. She also said that if Lilly had even a slight upper respiratory infection, to call off the whole thing.
I hate being in the middle of the things, especially when I have no idea what I'm talking about. The vet had me call the rescuer while he was still in the room, and I couldn't voice my concerns (I think pissing off a doctor before surgery is a little like pissing off a waiter before you get your food...just not smart at all). But the rescuer seemed comfortable with the answers he was relaying to her through me, so we made it a go.
I took Lilly's harness off and said good bye to her after the vet gave her an injection. He said it was a relaxant since she'd be going into surgery in only three hours. I walked out of the office with leash and harness in hand and still didn't like my gut reaction.
I called back the rescuer and informed her of the total she would be charged, and that's when things went bad--or maybe good really--because moments later she called the vet and then called me and told me I would be picking Lilly back up and she should not be having the surgery there. She would be going to her own vet in San Diego that she was more comfortable with. I agreed.
I absolutely agree it being the right decision, but it gave me a lot of worry, because no one informed me of what happens to an animal who is prepped for surgery but doesn't have it. Hell, I didn't even know what to expect if she had had surgery.
Lilly couldn't even walk straight. She hadn't had food or water since 10pm the night before in preparation for her surgery, and then she was given drugs of some sort. What kind, I don't know since I was told it was called off before it began. Her eyes were glassy and bloodshot and red. She dragged her paws. He breathing was shallow. I know she wasn't healthy when I brought her in, but by the time I got her back home, I was ready to take her to another vet on my own dime I was so convinced she was about to die.
I spent a lot of time on the phone with various rescuers, trying to discern what was wrong with her. I obviously didn't trust the one she came from, but I finally had to call to ask what they had given her. Sadly they couldn't tell me. They didn't know. (See why I didn't like this place?) They just said she might be groggy for a few hours. Then one rescuer told me that when they prep an animal for surgery sometimes they put something in their eyes so they don't dry out--which might have explained her eyes looking wierd. I started giving her water and feeding her little bits at a time. She had developed worms in her feces a few days earlier, and a green goo was coming out of her vaginal regions. This dog was a mess.
I had been trained in Pet CPR and First Aid back in May of 2007, but two years later I don't remember any of it aside from how to check pulse, breath, and capillary refill. I felt helpless. I couldn't take her to a new vet without the rescue's permission, but I didn't know a good vet anyway, and it was already closing time so it would have to be an emergency call which would costs tons of money.
I can care for dogs emotionally, and even physically (walking and feeding), but medically, I'm just not cut out for it. Finally the rescuer asked me to check her temperature. If she had a fever, it meant there was an infection and I should take her to the vet. If not, she would be okay until she got to San Diego.
Half an hour later after asking neighbors if they had a thermometer, I remembered I did have one, but not of the anal variety. It would have to do. Surprisingly, Lilly let me insert it into her rectum with only a brief glance to ask what I was going (this nonchalance of what goes into her back end might be how she came to be with puppies...). No fever. And while I spent my time freaking out and making phone calls, running in circles not knowing how to get this dog better, simple Time was working.
By 8pm, her eyes had cleared up. Her grogginess was gone. She could walk without dragging her paws. She was not in tip-top shape, but she would make it to San Diego.
But because of this, because of all I had gone through with her and my bond to her, I called the transporter I was supposed to meet and called it off. I had come this far with Lilly. I could drive the extra hour to see her to her destination: which was a brief stop at her foster family/rescuer's home, and then on to her vet appointment to get her the best care possible.
I'm sure Lilly would have been fine with the transporter, but I needed to see this through; I needed to see her through this. I wanted to know where she would be going and to send her off well. It's the longest I've ever had a dog. She was supposed to have gone this weekend. And it's not time that matter but connection, intensity. I was connected to Lilly, and I wouldn't let go until I knew she was in not just safe and kind hands, but the best hands for her.
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