Doubling-down on that Second Chance–A not so typical story about Viagra.

“Oh, it’s sensible! Everything she does is sensible. It can’t be argued with. I just wonder sometimes if she knows people have feelings.” —Crossing to Safety by Wallace Stegner

Pretty sure Stegner had me in mind when writing that piece of dialogue. Of course, that’s complete bullshit, I was 9-years old when it was published, but you know the feeling I’m talking about. You read a particular line or passage in a book and have the distinct feeling the author is looking right at you in that moment and describing what they see. Then you’re owl-necking around the room hunting for the hiding author. Waving into glass reflections of framed pictures, rubbing the white ring on the coffee table left by that chilled whiskey drink you maybe had one too many of, searching under the lid of the toilet tank. Are they under the flapper valve? We find authors that have pulled us from the firmament and written us so purely onto the page like some people seem to find Jesus.

Or maybe not. The point is, I’ve been faulted quite a few times in relationships with family, friends, or significant others for holding too tightly to reason, but there is one area of my life in which emotion reigns supreme—my pets. Reason be damned when it comes to their lives. Last Wednesday, I got a call from my neighbor that filled me with  body-racking emotion. My sweet, old boy, Jet, had collapsed on a walk.

Almost one year ago now, Jet was brought into Last Hope Rescue as a senior foster. His story of getting a second chance at life was tough for all of us involved. One of the good parts of the story is that I became a foster failure and adopted him as a Bronson.

The past year has been calm and uneventful. He’s been active, healthy, and naturally old-man grumpy, so getting that call threw me straight into the aww-hell-naw zone. On the rare occasions I do feel emotion, my brain has no idea how to deal with it and I usually end up going through a battery of extremes. My initial response to anything that scares me is pure rage. Although this may be helpful for personal safety in most of life, it is not helpful at all in circumstances involving something you can’t actually punch or stab.

I resorted to temporary flight instead of fight after hanging up the phone and realizing what might be happening. Once again, Jet had decided to wait until the busiest time of the year for me at work to need help, but luckily I work with a close-knit team, so there was no question that I leave and go be with him.

My truly awesome neighbors had worked together to get him back to my house by luring him with treats by the time I got home. I was able to get some food in him and his regular pain meds before he fell asleep. Thursday saw some improvement during the morning hours, but by evening, he was back to collapsing after barely walking ten feet. I resorted to carrying him in and out of the house and realized it must be true what people say about women’s strength increasing tenfold when they are emotionally invested in whatever is happening that requires brute force.

Friday, Jet spent the afternoon at our vet’s office having blood work, x-rays, and other scans done while I spent another day trying to be present for work while listening to depressing songs like this one and sporadically crying my face into a puffed mess. When our vet sent the results over to a specialist in town, the specialist told her that he needed to see Jet as soon as possible. GAH! *insert more20180312_104246136459660.jpg emotion here* She said it looked like either signs of heart failure or cancer. What?

No.

By early Saturday morning , I was pretty sure I’d be coming home from the specialist office without my boy. He could barely stand and his eyes were spiritless. Two hours and numerous ultrasound images later, doc came into the room to tell me the news. It’s his heart. There appears to be a tumor along the top, which actually isn’t causing any issue and is smooth and even, meaning likely benign. For now, nothing to worry about there. But then there was the inflamed right ventricle causing blood flow issues which explained his sudden need to lie down after even minimal physical exertion.

The good news, it’s treatable. SWEET RELIEF. So doc starts telling me about the med, using the scientific name, and the dosage and that I should see results pretty quickly, but given my own personal health history, I keep asking questions about what exactly the med does and possible side effects and so on and such. Finally, he stops me, puts his hands out, shrugs his shoulders, and demurely says, “It’s Viagra.”

*insert instant flushed face here*

I wasn’t the only one to turn red though. Doc stumbled over some words trying to tell me the history of Viagra and it’s origination as a heart medication and that the happy side effect wasn’t expected but the company soon realized they’d make way more money off the happy side effect than the original intent of the drug and so forth and…blah blah blah…my 14-year old dog is on Viagra. For heart issues.

I’ll say it—it’s a miracle drug. Just two does in and Jet was back on his feet, walking the garden, going out to bark at neighbors. Life lit his eyes and he was up to his usual trick of tappin’ for treats. These doctors have stepped up twice now for my boy and me, pulling us through some dark zones. I can’t thank them enough.

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Jet the wonder dog has now seconded his second chance at life.

It’s Wednesday again and I am just now feeling recovered from the emotional typhoon of the last week. No clue how you people that have the feels on a regular basis can live this way. It’s exhausting.

 

On a lighter note, it’s Pi(e) Day. Pie. Mmmmm. Should I make one?

 

 

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Jet the Wonder Dog–A Story of Foster Failure

Today was Jetski Kev T. Bronson’s Gotcha Day celebration. His true adoption date was May 22, but that was a Monday and who can have a proper party on a Monday? So today, we celebrated Jet. The wonder dog.

The story of how Jet, and his numerous nicknames, came to our humble home is not a long one, but was a giga coaster on emotional rails.

It started with a death. Jet came into the rescue because his human dad died and the family couldn’t keep him. At 13 1/2 years old, we knew it would be hard to place him in a new forever home, but we try to save as many as possible regardless, so we jumped on the opportunity to take in the old guy. My previous foster, Bugsy, had just been adopted by my next door neighbors, so my home was open and I’ve always had a soft spot for the senior dogos. Those who know me, know I can’t not love a grey face.

Old man Jet arrived at my house mid-March. We had just started our busy season at work and I thought a senior dog that was already trained and used to another dog and cat would fit in fine even with my long work hours. The granddaughter of Jet’s former pop brought him over and told me everything she knew about his personality and quirks. After an introduction to my girl, RJ, and a stroll around the yard, it was determined that he would do well with us.

I pretty much knew immediately that he wasn’t going anywhere. There was something in20170423_164023 the way his ears bounced when he walked and his foggy eyes that made me know he was home.

And he did fit in well. He learned our routines and went right along with the feed times, work schedule, treat times, bed times, and walks. During the day he’d sleep in the front room that he claimed as his own and at night he’d sleep across my doorway. We were now a pack of four and we were all happy.

I had noticed that Jet limped a bit and really didn’t like you to touch his side or his stomach. Figuring the limping and touchiness was due to age-related issues, I started him on high quality food and supplements of glucosamine/chondroitin and Wobenzyme. In a few weeks, there was a clear turn around in his ability to walk without a limp and get up off the floor easier. Seemed like we were on the right path to keeping him as mobile as possible.

Then he went in for his checkup and microchip. Our vet informed us that he had never been neutered, at some point he was shot and the bullet was still in him, and something bad was going on in his stomach. This was a Monday They wanted to do x-rays before the neuter, which was scheduled for Friday. Friday came and they put him just in twilight to do the x-rays first. They were shocked by what they saw—a softball-sized and shaped tumor in the area of his spleen and possible swollen pulmonary arteries. There would be no neuter that day. I remember, I was stuck at work where I couldn’t check my cell phone or email, but a note was sent to me that he was “okay.”

After the call to tell me the full facts, we immediately scheduled an appointment for an echo-cardiogram and ultrasound for the following Monday. These showed that he had a slight heart arrhythmia, but his pulmonary arteries looked okay. The tumor was clear and it was on the spleen. Once they had the results, our vets wanted to go in and do the surgery Tuesday morning. No waiting. It was too risky with a tumor that size. Even if benign, it could have burst  at any moment causing him to internally bleed out.

By this time it was the first week of May—our absolute busiest week at work. My emotions were out of control and I’m not one to ever show much emotion. I was so scared that I would lose him after he just came into my life.

Two amazing vets went into surgery to remove the spleen, tumors, and do the neuter on Tuesday morning. Again, I was away from all communication at work and having to try and focus on what was happening before me instead of getting caught up in my thoughts of what was happening to my Jet boy right then and whether he would make it through. At his age, putting a dog under is dangerous, but I knew he was in the absolute best hands for the job. And I was right.

20170505_113129They took the spleen with the massive tumor, which also had two other smaller also perfectly round tumors on it…and his balls. So in total, Jet lost five balls that day. But he made it through the tough surgery and was awake and grumpy! I took his grumpiness as a good sign. The next day, another note was delivered to me at work where I was once again away from communication that read, “Jet is eating, but only if hand fed. He’s being spoiled.” He ended up spending the rest of the week at the vet’s office and they continued to spoil and fall in love with him. It’s really impossible not to. By the end of the week, we were all missing him at the house, even RJ.

Jet was home. Finally. Again. He started his slow healing process with a lot of rest and painkillers.20170416_093556 Each day he got a little more mobile, ate more food, and his personality started coming back. I remembered his Easter morning face that I captured right as he woke up. He had the biggest smile and looked like my own little pun dog pup. That boy was coming back little by little. The biggest difference was his mobility. Once off the heavy duty painkillers, he was walking without any limp and even trotting a bit! Another new revelation, he enjoyed a belly rub. Before, I couldn’t get near his belly.

And then, on my birthday, I got the call from the vet that the tumor was BENIGN. Best birthday present ever!

Needless to say, Jet has made a wonder-dog recovery. He demands nightly walks now and is so much more comfortable. No more constant panting or barely being able to make it up one stair. He still has some pretty intense arthritis in his spine, but we’ve got the right combo to keep him pain free and moving.

The emotional roller coaster seems to have rolled back into the station. For now. Nobody knows or is promised the future though, so today we celebrated Jet and his official adoption into the Bronson family. And it truly has been a family trip. Without the emotional and financial support of my huge-hearted parents, none of this would have been possible. It’s things like this that make me believe in the connectedness of everything. Jet landed exactly where he needed to be. And more so, where I needed him to be. The pack grew unexpectedly, but we can’t imagine how we were before him.

Jet’s Gotcha Day party included his sister, Ruby Joon, and two former fosters, Lolly (and her mom) and Bugsy. Ol boy didn’t really want to play or have anything to do with the young’uns, and he wasn’t overly thrilled about the doggie cake with the candle, but I did catch him a couple times with a smile on his face.

We all wished for many more healthy years for Jetski Kev T. Bronson when blowing out the candle on his Gotcha Day cake.

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