Early yesterday morning I rushed my setter back to the doctor's office. He was non responsive, and according to all appearances had suffered a stroke: his breathing was rapid and hard, eyes open, mouth open. My heart plummeted, my mind raced with despair and fright. I know it was wrong to do so, but I buried the needle on the Jeep bringing my setter to the doctor in record breaking time.
As most people do when rushing a loved one to the doctor, I looked at the faces of those that were standing on call, waiting to receive him, and tried to gauge my dog's fate. Their faces revealed that it wasn't good.
Sitting next to him rubbing his soft head while they struggled for over a half hour to find a vein that would accept an IV, I broke down into a silent, constricted cry. Leaving the doctor's office an hour later, I was told that his only hope was time.
The afternoon update from the doctor held no signs of improvement. Everything remained the same. I further broke down.
By evening I allowed my hand to hover over the phone momentarily before I answered the doctor's call. I braced myself for what I was about to hear. I hadn't braced myself to hear that there were signs of improvement. I choked down the overwhelming tears of joy that tried to interfere with my ability to speak. "He isn't out of the woods yet," the doctor said, "But I'm optimistic. Don't throw in the towel. I feel he has a better than 50% chance of pulling through."
So hear I sit, waiting for the time to arrive in which I am to call for the update. I'm scared. For those who are not dog lovers, they may never understand the special kind of connection some of us have with these beautiful, faithful creatures that offer only unconditional love. Right now, out of worry, my boxer has her head resting on my lap. Surely she isn't taking this peculiar position due to being tired, as she is standing. She is showing me that she is here. She is also showing me that she feels uneasy - as do I.
Sane
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