Stella's health is not getting progressively better on an even-paced slow upslope. She's just having more good moments than bad moments. But the bad moments truly are bad, and the good moments are getting better by the day.
Friday marked my 33rd birthday and the first birthday I've had in which I've woken up to the sounds of a dog snoring at the end of my bed. As much as this gave me great joy, it also did not allow me to sleep in. I think running the vaporizer all night helps her breathe, and thus she's done slumbering earlier in the morning, but it really is making me want to sleep longer.
However, not having a job means that like Stella, once a few menial tasks are completed, I can take a nap. Feeding her is priority number one, but giving her an injection without help involves her and I playing a life-size game of chess in my living room. I don't want to stress her out, so I try to just sit next to her, but she reads me so clearly that as soon as I sit down, she's up and across the room to get comfy as far away from me as possible.
I did finally get the injection in, and with minimal shrieking. I was on my own for the day as Lou had a gig so he and his mom were busy, and Linda was still sick. But I didn't mind. I wanted to be able to do this on my own. (Did I mention my friend who injects his cat on a daily basis? If he can do that, I can do this. Failure to do so was not only detrimental to Stella's health, but also my pride).
We spent the early afternoon outside. Stella had gone for a walk - a real walk, as in down the street - on Thursday, and Friday she wanted to just soak up the sun in the parking lot. She immediately plopped down in front of the first garage, and since I didn't feel like just standing there for an hour, I grabbed a chair and finally put to use the second dog bed I had bought--the indoor/outdoor water repellant one. At first Stella didn't understand why she would have a dogbed, but once I put it down, she got cozy.
That evening, a friend stopped by and saw Stella for the first time. He saw her chow down and couldn't believe she was that thin. I wish I had Stella's metabolism (but not her hairloss). When it came time for the injection, my friend tried to help me by telling me, "Oh, just grow a pair and do it. She knows what you're up to. Just do it and get it over with." So as he sat there reading a book, not helping at all, I did it, but half of it didn't make it in.
When I was finished my friend looked at the After-Injection-Stella, her face shoved into the pillow, her eyes half-closed, and groaning with every exhale. "Awww, I've felt like that when I've been sick too." Stella is very expressive with her discomfort.
However, in only an hour's time she was peacefully sleeping and I actually went out for the evening. And when I returned, she was still on the couch. My birthday ended as it had begun: with a dog on my bed. (Note: once again, not really on her section of the bed.)
Saturday was not so good. Stella has gotten to the point that when I simply take a bit of scruff in my hands, she shrieks as if I've injected her. In fact, she went through the entire gamut of emotions this time, and I hadn't even done it. When she finished her dramatics I informed her I hadn't injected her, so she should prepare herself for a repeat performance.
An hour of chess-playing in the living room, and I finally "grew a pair and just did it." Stella shrieked, louder than usual, and rolled over. I got all the medicine in, and I ignored her shrieking to the best of my ability as I tried to rub the injection site to make it feel better, but she refused to stand up. I looked down at the carpet and saw a spec of blood. I looked at my hand: blood. I tried to flip Stella over to see where the blood was coming from, and she went limp and heavy, trying to stop me from flipping her over.
I got her half up, and to my horror, her fur was soaked in blood. I got a paper towel so I could see how much was really coming out. Her black fur covered the real damage. I checked the needle, thinking I broke it off, but I hadn't. I couldn't figure out how I had really hurt her. But I had. Now not only did I need her to forgive me, but I had a crisis on my hands. I kept pressure where the largest amount of blood was, since I honestly couldn't find the source of bleeding. The paper towel was covered in blood, and I was worried she might not make it to the vet's. I called Diana, but I got voicemail. I called her cell: voicemail again. I called Lou, since Diana said I could call him if she didn't pick up. He is, after all, a teenager so his phone is always handy. His phone too, went to voicemail. Before I could fully acknowledge that I had just called a fourteen year old to ask him to ask his mom to give me a ride someplace, Stella stopped bleeding.
I had two parties to attend on Saturday: one at 2:00 which Harry was rumored to be at, and I wanted to reunite with my little foster boy. And the other was a friend's birthday party at 8:00. However, after the bleeding incident, Stella shut down for the day. She looked miserable. She felt miserable. Two o'clock came and went and I just couldn't tear myself away from the sad girl on my couch. But I really wanted to see Harry.
At four o'clock I finally left the apartment. I drove all the way to the party, and when I got out of the truck to walk up the street to the house, I realized I couldn't. I was torn. Stella was probably just sleeping, but my gut was telling me I was needed at home. I went into the party, learned that Harry wasn't there yet, attempted to converse with one person, and found myself on the verge of tears. I needed to go home. Stella needed me. I can't ignore my gut feeling.
I went home, and within ten minutes of walking in the door, Stella got up to finish her breakfast and since she was eating again, I put down more food for her so she could continue. And then she rushed to the door. She really, really had to take a dump. There's no way she would have made it three hours without me there. Sometimes the gut instinct you're listening to is actually your dog talking.
I didn't attend the second party of the night either. The fact was, I was traumatized by the morning. I had really hurt Stella. I didn't want to ever do that again. I needed to find a solution. I got approval from Stephanie to find a professional to come in and give her the injections. Taking her to the vet's every day is way too traumatic, and I was stressing Stella out and making things worse. The only option was a vet tech or someone of the sort that made housecalls.
Oddly, there isn't such a thing available on a Saturday night in Los Angeles...at least not one I could find that wouldn't cost something exorbitant. My friend had mentioned that her pet sitter gave injections. Duh. Pet sitters totally could do the job! So, I called Angie and she not only could do it--she could do it Saturday night!
That first injection didn't go terribly well. Not all of the meds went in, but given my state of inability to ever wield a needle to Stella without shaking, I think she did much better than I could have. I'm trying not to think of it as failure; I'm thinking of it as knowing my limitations. I respect other people for recognizing their shortcomings, so I respect myself for realizing that giving injections to dogs is simply beyond my capability.
It really was less stressful than any injection before. I got to be the comfort person for Stella, not the mean one. And she didn't shriek.
Today was even better. Angie got the full injection in, and with minimal crying from Stella, and then we were on with our day. I didn't grow a pair, but at least I found someone who had. I think Stella appreciated it too.
It was a good day for Stella. The sun was shining, and we spent some more time in front of my neighbor's driveway, Stella's favorite spot to sit.
We walked around the neighborhood for half an hour, and Stella explored. She found the softest spot under a staircase of an apartment building.
I was happy she sat there, since usually her grass-choice decisions are quite ghetto. Unlike Harry who went for the softest, deepest, most aromatic lawns, Stella went for the anthill-ridden, never-watered, weedy, dirty, wet lawns that looked like "before pictures" in a landscaping instruction manual.
On our way back from our walk, we stopped to watch one squirrel chase another in the alley. I wondered if it was a game or if one of them really was pissed off at the other. As the one being chased headed toward us--me standing next to a dog--I had a brief moment of panic suspecting the squirrel might have rabies. It literally was barreling forward, directly at us, without pausing. Even Stella was so shocked she forgot to make a grab for him as he sped by within inches of her. The moment he was behind us, Stella registered the event and actually took chase.
The squirrel jumped up on a tree, and if Stella had 100% of her canine capacities in order, that squirrel would have been roadkill. He was at her head height. Again, the element of surprise was to his advantage as Stella wasn't sure what she was supposed to do. She lunged in a half-hearted attempt and the squirrel went a few more feet up the tree.
Since the squirrel wasn't foaming at the mouth (and I could see that clearly since he was within a couple of feet of my head), I stopped worrying about rabies and was excited to see Stella engaged in her surroundings. She lay by the tree for a spell, just taking in the 'hood, and keeping an eye out for any other squirrels.
Stella had many good moments today. It was a day filled with tail wags, even for Angie who returned in the evening to give Stella another injection. That sparkle in Stella's eye was starting to shine brighter and the rest of her body was following suit. Sure, she's scrawny and she's missing some fur, but she's alive and happy to be so. She wagged her tail all through her lunch and dinner, and said a shy hello to my neighbor with a tiny tail wag.
I finally believe it: Stella is getting better. Her nose isn't runny in the morning anymore, and she doesn't cough quite so much. And now that she's not worried about me coming at her with a needle and making her bleed to death, she's much more relaxed. As am I. Now Stella's only concern is: which bed now?
Beautiful. I love the pictures of her sitting up. She looks so perky and happy! So glad Angie is working out. She has such a calming presence! And of course glad that Stella is getting better (she is) and not afraid of you and the needle!
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