The mind is a powerful thing. As is science. As is the belief in the impossible. The vet said he didn't think he could cure Stella, and I chose not to believe him. I rode the rollercoaster, feeling my stomach rise into my throat on the plummeting downward, and feeling the elation every time a tiny tail wag lifted my spirits. I've watched Stella try to chase squirrels, go for long walks, and take a nap in the good grass (finally!):
She's been awake more often these days, and when she sleeps it's a deep sleep that usually involves snoring. Her nose has just about stopped leaking green goo completely, although now I do as my friend did with her child, and have to pick crusty "boogies" from Stella's nose in the morning. I actually call them "snotsies" but I probably should stop since a passerby might mistakenly hear, "Stella, you have some Nazi's on your face."
She doesn't like breakfast anymore, but she eventually eats in the afternoon and ends her day with a midnight snack. She's become strong enough to fight off Angie and me as we try to give her the injections. Sure, she still coughs a lot during the night, and she isn't completely snot-free, but it's clear now, not green.
I told Stella last night and that she had to do whatever it took to appear better this morning. Our appointment with the vet was at 11:30, and she needed to give the impression of a dog feeling well so he didn't think she hadn't improved at all. At the very least, I didn't want to subject Stella to any more injections.
Stella rose to the challenge. We slept in, as she had completed her two weeks of antibiotics and could start her morning needle-free, and rather than a quick pee at the end of the driveway, she wanted to go for a brief fifteen minute walk around the 'hood. She had a spring in her step and wanted to meet another dog that was up ahead of us on a walk.
On the ride to the vet's, her left nostril dribbled slightly, but just as it would with any nervous dog. The moment we got to the front door, Stella turned to head back to the car--just like any healthy dog would. I told her she was doing really well at appearing healthier than before and she sat with me while we waited for the vet. But she didn't even wag her tail for Mia, the receptionist who had given her that orange bunny toy. She knew damn well that coming here was never a pleasant experience.
The doc was in better spirits since I last I saw him, and he was patient and kind to both Stella and me. He clipped her toenails, gave her some eye drops (he said she had eye infection...I guess it wasn't bad enough to warrant me giving her meds for it though), and Stella didn't dribble nose-goo at all. Instead, she enacted her latest defense mechanism: like a porcupine loosening his grip on his spines when stressed, Stella lets loose a flurry of dander, and it appears if she has just returned from running around in a blizzard.
I waited twenty minutes while they took her in the back for her blood tests and x-rays and hoped and wished and prayed that the tests would confirm her increasing health. I was already dismayed to see the scale betrayed me: Stella still weighed 28.5 pounds. But with how much more energy Stella's had, I assumed the x-rays would confirm that she wasn't as sick as before.
The vet brought me in to look at Stella's x-ray. He showed me her first x-ray when she came in almost a month ago, and that there was a little bit of fluid in her lungs. The one taken five days later showed more fluid. And the one today: you could barely make out her heart. And there was an odd something near the top of her lung, which had been there from the first x-ray, but seemed to have enlarged. A tumor? Maybe. But was it worth putting this poor pup through all that pain to find out? Probably not. He did extract some fluid from her lungs, and he said it was milky white. I think he might send it out for testing, but I'm not sure.
He didn't think the antibiotics had done any good, so Stella will no longer be subjected to injections anymore. He did give her subcutaneous fluids, as she was lacking potassium and sodium. He suggested I give her Gatorade or PediaLight to help her get a bit more vitamins and minerals with her fluids. Her bloodwork showed that she wasn't metabolizing food at all. No matter how much food we gave her, it just wasn't being processed. I wondered, then, where did it all go?
Her white blood cell count was high again--meaning that she is still fighting a bacterial infection. He did mention that when she looked awful and sick, her count was low, but when she appeared better, her count was high. And here's why I'm not a doctor: doesn't that make sense? I mean, wouldn't she look better if her body was fighting off an infection and look worse if the infection was winning?
The vet asked, "Is she happy?" and I said, "Yes, I think she's improved. She's more into doing things now."
"Then that's what we want," was his reply.
Now that the facts were in front of me, hearing him say, "I think we just need to make her comfortable and let her be happy in her last remaining....however long she has" (I thought he was going to say weeks, but didn't specify), didn't sound as mean as it had the first time.
He's a man of Science. And Science has spoken. But I am a woman of Mystery...kidding. I'm a Woman of Science as well, but I leave room for Faith, Miracles, and Hope.
For instance, there's room in my life for that whoever/whatever that appears to the canine guests. Two nights ago, whoever/whatever it is that visits at the end of my couch appeared to Stella. I was actually hugging her and her head was buried in my chest when she whipped her head around as if startled by a noise and looked up to lock eyes with something at human head height, next to the piano. She didn't wag her tail, but she didn't take her eyes away. I don't know who it is, but I know it can't be the Angel of Death as the other dogs have seen it too. I actually was hoping that this visitation was a sign of good luck for the dogs who have spent time here. But perhaps it's just someone checking in.
I've been bewildered by everyone asking how I've been doing and "Are you still okay doing this?" I have been too naïve to understand--or too stubborn to accept--their line of questioning. I want to believe that Stella will still get better. I don't want to give up on her. I don't want to think that she had to spend her last few days here with me rather than in a home with other dogs to play with and a big backyard to lay in the sunshine.
What if I hadn't seen those x-rays? What if I didn't know the blood test results? That's how I started out two weeks ago. I was going to let a dog with kennel cough stay with me while she recovered. Now it's evolved into me running hospice care. But that's not because that's what I believed; it's what science is trying to tell me. And I'm trying to understand why it is then, that she got out of the shelter, that she was rescued and her journey has taken her here.
Science has spoken. It says Stella is still sick. But Science is like that asshole in the cubicle down the way: he's quick to point out the problems, but never seems to have any solutions. I guess that's where I step in with all the things that fill up the holes Science leaves behind; I come with Hope and the power of belief.
It has taken me all afternoon to write this. Usually I write these in an hour. But this afternoon has been a rollercoaster, and I'm a bit nauseous. I have spent time crying, writing, sobbing, writing, and trying to figure out how not to let my energy affect Stella. I think it has affected her. She's been shut down all day after a morning more traumatic than last Saturday when I made her bleed. She needs time to recoup. I vowed to not allow negative energy around Stella. I need to keep my promise.
After writing a relatively hopeless email to Stephanie updating her on Stella, I went out to the living room to see how Stella was doing. She wanted to lie up on the couch so I put her up there. I then held her snow-cone ice-cup for her while she licked it, and then she stopped, shivering from her brain freeze. While I was involved caring for her, not only did my sadness disappear, but Hope whispered in my ear:
The antibiotics DID work. They DID rid her nose (and my couch, the carpet, and my bed) of gross green goo. That was what the doc cultured and that's why she was on the meds she was on. But now he has the fluid from her lungs. What if he cultures that? What if all this time Stella's been fighting more than one illness? I had said from the beginning that her nose was doing better but she was still coughing. The antibiotics were curing her from the nasal stuff...but NOT the lung issue. So we need to find out what's in her lungs.
I couldn't finish writing this blog until now because I wanted to have Hope in it. It took all afternoon, but the sounds of my crying finally stopped drowning out Hope who had been trying to tell me all day not to give up. Science gave up; Hope never will. And if it takes Hope kicking Science's ass to get Stella better, then I'm willing to build the fighting ring.
Enjoy every second with her with positive, fun energy.
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