Surgery #2? Say It Ain’t So!

Lordy. You know how you sometimes think you are at the bottom of the barrel and then something else happens and you think, “Well, that should be it!” I was there… and now I’m back, swirling down the drain.

This time, the surgery for for my best boy, (sorry husband) Riley. Riley is our Weimaraner who managed to tear his ACL while jumping off of the bed on Sunday. Luckily, I already had an appointment with the Vet for Monday morning for another issue! As soon as Dr. Welch looked at him he said, “Torn ACL.”

“Surely, it’s just a sprain…? Give him a shot of something and we’ll get outta here.”

No way, Jose. If you don’t know our beloved, 4-legged friend, he has separation anxiety. Not enough for medication, but enough that he gets REALLY upset when he’s crated. Enter my new best friend, Trouble.

The office called us on Tuesday at 11:15 to let us know it was time to bring him in. We couldn’t drop him off in the AM like normal pet owners… you know, the ANXIETY gets in the way of that. So, I brought him in, and sat with him while he was sedated. I knew then that I was in trouble. The tears were flowing uncontrollably as my baby drifted off into a drunken slumber. Eyes wide open, he crashed on the floor, looking off into who-knows-where, and I balled my eyes out and stroked his floppy ears telling him I loved him. I knew it was bad when they came to get him and had to ask if I was alright. I am pitiful. This is what he looked like before they carried him off: pitiful. He and I, we have that in common, I suppose.

So, I collected myself (blew my nose and wiped my face with scratchy paper towels) and left to run an errand. And by “run an errand” I mean “Call my Mom, and then Dad, and cry like a big, giant baby.”

I was back at the Vet’s by 1:15 so I could be there when the finished  carving his leg open repairing the damage. He pulled through like a trooper and was placed in a big cage in the back. Enter ANXIETY. I needed to be there when he woke-up to avoid the eminent freak-out, which eventually ensued. I called for the vet, Riley got another shot and was out like a light. Me? I sat on the tiled, cold, HARD floor, patting his head and telling him he’d be fine, for several hours.

Luckily, we are very friendly with the staff (mostly because we are there all the time) and they let me stay close to him. And they let us take him home, even though they do NOT recommend it. We were given very specific instructions – NO MOVEMENT. KEEP HIM CALM AND QUIET. DO NOT STRAY FROM THE RULES. We trust you.

Needless to say, Riley didn’t want to stay still, or remain calm or quiet. He whined and cried all night. “He wants to be on the floor” so Chip picked him up and put him on the floor. “He wants to be on the couch” so on the cough he was placed… all… night… long. It was so frustrating so see him so uncomfortable. I cried all night, too, despite the fact that Chip kept telling/asking/pleading/yelling not to.

Around 3AM the weirdness started, “I would have been a horrible mother.” Chip’s reply, “Colleen, shut up.”

“I didn’t cry and boo-hoo while YOU were hurt before and after YOUR surgery! Why can’t you just stop crying?” Chip says in an irritated tone.

“Because you were a fireman and have had to master loosing all of your feelings.” Chip’s reply? “Colleen, shut up.” Good times.

LUCKILY, Ri-Ri is MUCH better today. He peed, and ate b’fast and drank some water. WHEW. Now, the 3 of us just need a long nap.

Have a look at his very manly, purple bandage! We’ll be fine and he will heal. But 6 weeks of keeping him on a leash and restricting movement will be HARD! Especially since 99% of this responsibility will fall on my husband’s shoulders. Thank God he is here to help manage this, and me, and us. I don’t know where we’d all be without him.

Until the next ball falls…