Planes, Trains and Veterinary Bills

I used to think that the worst sound to wake up to was the alarm clock on my now defunct iPhone. I was wrong. The worst sound in the world is waking up to your mother screaming, "Gabby got hit by a train."

Huh? My first thought was that I misunderstood her - growing up in a house that is literally across the street from train tracks, I've seen dogs hit by trains before and the end result is an unrecognizable mass of fur and blood that once caused my young brain to have nightmares for a week. My second thought was that she was probably dead. My third thought was more of a quiet prayer that this little incident would be undone immediately, because this wasn't supposed to happen today.  

After that, my thoughts and actions are a little fuzzy, but I'll try to recount them as much as possible.  

I felt like someone pulled me out of the bed. I grabbed for the first shirt I could find in my little pile of dirty clothes and ran out of the bedroom."Where is she?" I asked, still trying to figure out what had gone on while I was asleep. My mom told me she was in the living room.

I went to the living room, and she was lying in the floor, breathing really hard. She had a bloody nose and a few black marks on her, but overall, she looked fine. My dad, on the other hand, not so much. I've only seen him cry a few times in my life. All he could say was, "I'm so sorry; I'm so sorry. She can't walk." I bent down to pet her and say something to her, and then I had to go into "only grown-up in the house" mode, because my parents were both wrecks.

I went to my mom's computer, pulled up my vet's number and grabbed my dad's cell phone to make a call. I couldn't remember if they were open on Saturday or if I should take her to the emergency hospital. The receptionist told me that the only emergency hospital open at that time was one that is a good 30-45 minutes away. I kept thinking what kind of emergency hospital isn't open on Saturday morning (a few hours later, I would realize that it was actually Friday). They told me to bring her on in.

I put on some pants from my dirty clothes pile (and let me just tell you, I looked and smelled like something out of one of those Febreze commercials before they actually spray the Febreze on it to trick the unknowing victim), instructed my dad to put Gabby in the backseat of his truck, and we all piled in to drive her to the doctor. Ironically, she was hit by a car almost exactly eight years ago to the date. Her injuries then seemed a lot more life-threatening, but she survived. I kept thinking I was not lucky enough for her to survive this too.

I held her while my mom drove, and my dad continued his hysterics. She tried to move around a bit and slept a little, and she really didn't seem to be in as much pain as one would think she'd be in after being hit by a however many ton train. She didn't even go into shock. I asked that my dad not share any of the imagery he witnessed as I already have nightmares about both airplane and train accidents, but he kept saying that it was a sight he'd never be able to erase from his memory.

Later, I did find out that the entire length of the train had gone over her. She was positioned in just the right place on the tracks so that it didn't slice into or flatten her. For several minutes. My dad said she started to stand up at one point, but he screamed at her, and she went back down. Upon learning this, I decided that one does not survive an accident like that only to be euthanized, so I would do whatever it took to fix her.  

The vet seemed surprised at her condition. He checked out her head and saw a few signs of concussion, but they were all gone the next morning. He X-rayed her and saw that her pelvis was fractured in her hip joint. He feared that she could be permanently paralyzed or it would do something to her bladder (I can't remember the medical terminology as I was given so much information in that hour), but he squeezed one of her legs and she reacted, so all hope was not lost.  He gave her a 50/50 prognosis with a lot of "ifs" and "buts." 

He told me I could take her to an orthopedic surgeon who could fix her right up, but due to her age, he said putting her through that kind of surgery could do more harm than good. He said I could leave her there over night so they could start pumping her full of steroids (apparently, these types of fractures aren't usually handled with surgery) and monitor her condition more. I was worried that she'd be scared to stay overnight, but he told me that really could make the difference, and I agreed that they would probably take better care of her than I could.

We drove home feeling slightly optimistic. It wasn't the worst news, but euthanizing her had been talked about as an option. He said many people aren't willing to put the time and money in with these types of injuries, but I told him I'd do anything for her, and he told me to just be prepared for the worst. By the time we got home, I realized that it was indeed Friday and around 11 a.m.  I didn't know what to do with myself. I was too anxious to swim laps (remember that little swimming thing I said I was going to start...I have in a big way, but it's temporarily on hold). I sat and held Sadie for a while, and finally, my mom suggested we go somewhere.

Our first stop was back by the vet's office. I took the shirt I'd been wearing (and had been wearing the day before) and asked if they'd let me leave it with her so she'd have something that smelled like me. I went back to see her, and she got really happy and tried to climb out of her cage. In just an hour or two, she seemed a lot more relaxed. I was pleased with the girl who was taking care of her and her condition and that really helped.  So, my mom and I drove around for the next several hours. We went by a few garage sales, had lunch at Wendy's in a neighboring town, drove by some places where we used to shop that have since gone out of business and went by a little store that neither of us had been to in a long time.

Around 4, we decided to go home so my dad wouldn't be by himself since he was so freaked out. The vet actually called me that afternoon and told me that Gabby was doing really well but not out of the woods. When I got excited, he warned me again to be cautious. I honestly don't remember what I did the rest of the day. I know my mom and I got back out to get pizza for supper, so we wouldn't have to cook for a couple of days. And I know I did go get in the pool for a few minutes, just to cool off.

That night I was getting into bed and the phone rang (my mom let me keep her cell phone with me, since I've yet to order a new one for myself). It was the vet's office, and my heart jumped into my throat. I knew the doctor would be going back to check on her that night, but I really didn't expect him to call. I just knew the worst had happened. "Didn't mean to scare you," he said before I could get a word in, "but I just wanted to let you know she's doing remarkably well and you should be able to take her home in the morning if it stays this way." That was all it took for me to actually get some sleep.

On Saturday morning, the vet called again and let me know that some things had deteriorated a little, but it was possible that it was just because she was there and not at home. He gave the okay to send her home, but he did say he would be willing to keep her there until Monday if I wanted. We talked it over, and we both decided it'd be okay for her to come home. I'm so glad I made that decision.

Again, we piled into the truck, and drove across the county. Let me just say now that there are other vets closer to my house, but I really love this guy. He's great with my dogs and has an excellent bedside manner. He's actually the first doctor Gabby saw when he was fresh out of school, working with another local doctor, and she was six weeks old. He went over her condition with us (not going to lie, he seemed a little grim at first, which worried me, but now I think he was more concerned that I wasn't up for the task), went over her medications and what kind of round-the-clock nursing care she would need (more on that in a minute). He joked that I might want to buy a back brace and ibuprofen.

They brought Gabby into the room, we said our hellos, and my dad carried her out to the truck. She was very happy to be in the car. She gave us kisses, and tried to climb about, but that is a big no-no. She ate the meat out of two roast beef sandwiches from Arby's. We went to PetSmart and Wal-Mart to look for the kind of bed he suggested and a cage he suggested we keep her in it so she couldn't move around, none of which we found.

We did get her an orthopedic bed, though, and we've got it set up in front of the window in my parents' living room, with a twin mattress next to her for me to sleep (and sit and eat and watch TV and do computer things) on. Ironically, I've been sleeping on the dog bed, while she sleeps on the mattress. Hmm.... We borrowed an indoor pen from my cousin's mother-in-law, but we have yet to set it up. I'm good sitting next to her for now, but it's killing me not to swim every day. Or shower. Because I haven't in nearly a week.

She's improved quite a bit since we brought her home. When we first got home, my parents left to get the pen, and she cried and tried to get up nearly the entire time. Her crying and whimpering was is the worst sound in the world, and I almost decided I'd made the wrong decision until we finally got her settled down. Her appetite is great. My mom has been giving her chicken and broth every few hours, and she gobbles it down. Yesterday, she finally started drinking water without me scooping it up in my hand. When she saw my dad take Sadie and my parents' two dogs outside yesterday, she cried until they came back inside. She is more alert and notices sounds and smells that are familiar to her. She went almost 24 hours without pain medication, and I really only gave it to her because I wanted her to sleep more. She slept for a long time last night without waking up every hour. She's moving her back legs a little bit. The one that's broken not so much, but she can completely lift the other one. They still dangle when I get her up, though. And she really isn't supposed to get up much for a few weeks; I've just found that's the only way I can get her to pee.

Yeah, that's the fun part! She can't use the bathroom on her own, so I have to express her bladder, though it comes out on its own when she's in a deep, pain pill-induced sleep. And last night - skip the next line if you're squeamish - it came out really dark and syrupy looking, but when I called the office this morning, he said it was most likely a bladder infection, which he anticipated anyway, and prescribed an antibiotic, so my mom just went to get that.   

I have no idea what the future holds for the Gabs, but if I have to sit by her for months, I will.  I guess it's a good thing we are staying with my parents at the moment, though I could also argue there were no trains across the street from the Unabomber Cabin. I'm pretty confident she will survive, and I will do whatever it takes to make that happen. Even if she never regains the use of her back legs or the ability to use the bathroom on her own, as long as she's not in pain that can't be treated, I'll deal with it. Gabby was with me through my twenties, and I'd like to at least let her make a dent into my thirties. And no matter where we lived or who else was in or out of our lives, we had each other. She's helped me through so much, so I can't turn my back on her now.

When I was waiting for the vet to x-ray her on Friday, I began thinking about what my life would be like without her. I still have Sadie, mind you, and I would most likely get another dog in the future, but it's just not the same. I love Sadie to death, but it's not the same kind of bond. I do fear that we won't be able to go hike miles and miles at the park in the future anymore, even if she makes a full recovery, because she will most likely have arthritis, but that's okay. The vet and a friend of mine even suggested buying her some wheels for her backside if that's necessary. 

The one regret I could come up with is that I did not get to take her to the beach. The dog loves water and up until Thursday night would sneak back to the pool and open up the gate when I took her out. She swims in every lake or creek we pass on our hikes.  Over the last year or so, I've been thinking that she needs to discover the ocean but my time and finances have been limited. In that little room, waiting for the x-ray, I cursed myself for not just doing it anyway.

So, as soon as she's able, this girl is going to the beach, even if I have to carry her into the water. (And even if I go broke buying this $3.50 a gallon gas to get her to the coast.)

P.S. If you go back in my blog, there's a huge, long post that I wrote about Gabby. I am not much in the mood to go find it, but it's got lots of pictures and stuff should you wonder what kind of dog has me giving up my great plans for now to sit at her side 24/7.