My sweet boy, part 1

Rincon the day before the madness ensued.

I have been dragggggging my feet on writing this post. I'm not really sure why. I have the time, so it's not that. I guess I might be putting too much pressure on myself to string a bunch of words together that will do justice to the love I have for my dog, the craziness and out-of-controlness of life I have discovered over the past couple of weeks, and the immense gratitude I have for all of the amazing support we have received. I need to loosen up, lighten up, let the words flow and stop aiming for perfection. In any case, here is the beginning of the story of our last couple of weeks...


It all started close to two weeks ago (actually, two weeks tomorrow). It was a Saturday morning and not unlike every other Saturday morning, Rincon and I were headed out to Riverside Park around 7:30 to chuck and chase the ball. Rincon is a big dog--90 lbs give or take, and the boy needs his exercise. He is energetic, enthusiastic, often overeager, with problems that involve jumping on people, saying hello to everyone on the street, eating entire lasagnas off the counter, and nearly pulling my arm out of its socket on a regular basis. We are working on all of these issues, and the only reason I bring them up is to say that this dog is 90 lbs. of solid, young (nearly 3), golden retriever--rambunctiousness is in his blood. Of course he is also the most loyal, smiley, loving and cuddly dog, following me around the apartment all day long and always making sure he knows exactly where I am and what I'm doing. I love this big goofball, but he is a big goofball.


All this to say, we were headed out on Saturday morning and this dog, who usually bounds out the apartment door to go outside wasn't budging from my apartment. I had to pull him out the door. I tried to justify it, thinking, "wow, perhaps he has finally settled down!"Well, we got back into the apartment after I had to dragggg him around the block, and he wouldn't eat. He just drank enormous amounts of water and laid around. I decided to call the vet, knowing that he really needed to be seen because he was sooo not right. We usually go to a vet that is a good 20 minute walk uptown, but I knew he wouldn't be able to make it so I called the closest vet and got an appointment that morning. We made it to the vet, with me dragging him down the street, and came to find out he had a fever and an enlarged spleen. They did blood work--the wouldn't be in until later in the day--and just sent him home, saying I should monitor him closely. At this point, he was diagnosed with a "fever of unknown origin" which, I was told, could be caused by a million different things that cost thousands of dollars to work up, and oftentimes the search comes up with no answers. So, we went home.

My sweet boy doesn't feel good.

We got home and I could barely get him up the stairs. I sent this email to the vet around 9pm that night...  
        "Rincon is still not doing very well. He'll eat like a tablespoon of food at a time and has a hard time getting up and down the two flights of stairs in my building. I'm worried when I take him out that he is just going to like collapse on the sidewalk! He is still dry heaving, panting abnormally and his breathing, at times, can be really shallow, like he is struggling to catch his breath."


She was so sweet and got back to me really quickly, saying I should probably bring him back the next morning (Sunday). Well, the next morning he was still feeling horrible, and I managed to get him downstairs in the morning (moving like 3 stairs at a time) and then back upstairs. I called the vet at 9:00am on the dot and they had an appointment for me at 2:30.  I went out to run a few errands around 12:30 and came back at 2pm and he had really, really declined. At this point I got super scared and manhandled him down the stairs and rushed him to the vet, all while sobbing. It was so scary. I was on 72nd street, crying, trying to coax him to move just three steps at a time. I finally got him into the vet where I couldn't even get a sentence out to tell them who I was and what the problem was. They called for triage and then rushed him back. A different vet then the one I had seen the day before came out about 20 minutes later saying that his fever had skyrocketed and that they were going to do chest x-rays and he might need an ultrasound but that would have to wait until Monday. After doing the chest x-ray the new vet showed it to me and said "these look like 8 year old lungs, not 3 year old lungs." Uhh, ok? They had put him on IV fluids and antibiotics and were just continuing to run tests to see if it was a problem with his liver or perhaps a tick borne disease. At this point I was sent home and told he would need to spend the night. They were still treating for a "fever of unknown origin." 


The next day (Monday) I got a call from vet B in the afternoon who said the IV antibiotics seemed to be working. His fever had broken and he was eating. I have to be honest, this woman had zero bedside manner. She just spat medical jargon at me, none of which I understood, and was not at all open to questions from me. Not wanting to be an inconvenience and trusting she was a good vet, I just kept my mouth shut and looked SO forward to picking up my dog at 6pm that evening. I was so, so thrilled to see him. 


I took him home and immediately noticed something was not right. The right side of his abdomen was bulging out and he was breathing weird. His breaths were loud and labored--it sounded like he was wheezing. In the apartment he refused to lie down. If I could coax him, he would lie down for maybe 5 minutes and then get back up. All night long he stayed right next to my bed, standing up, panting and breathing heavily. He was so, so sick. At midnight I started counting down the hours until the vet opened again. 


OH! I forgot an important part. About an hour after we got home, I called the vet saying I noticed his side was bulging and his breathing was labored and heavy (I could hear him breathing even if I was in the other room). The receptionist answered, and I frantically told her what was going on, and she said, "let me see if I can talk to the vet." Well, she got back  on the phone and said, "You're lucky, I caught her on her way out. She said she listened to his lungs before she discharged him and his heavy breathing is because he needs to pee." Uhhh, ok. Thanks for getting on the phone vet B after I just spent close to $1500 in less than 24 hours at your practice. This was not the same level of care I had from vet A, who emailed me back within 10 minutes of receiving my email the night before. I have since thought about it (after going back in my mind to my CPR certifications) and realized breathing is like the most important component of life, before heart, before brain, etc. The body needs to get oxygen, and my dog was struggling mightily to get it. SO, how did she discharge a dog who clearly was in respiratory distress and had an enormously bulging side?!

Lying down for 5 minutes that night. 

Around 2am I hoisted him onto my bed, thinking a soft surface would help him sleep. He laid down on his side for 5 minutes and his breathing was so heavy it shook the bed. 


5am came and I knew it was 3.5 hours to go before I could take him to the vet. I thought I wouldn't even call, I would just be waiting there with him when everyone got there at 8:30. I wondered if it would be alright if I showed up around 7. Maybe they would take us in early.


This was a much, much sicker dog than I had dropped off to the vet two days before. 


At 7:49am after texting with my cousin Holly who said she thought it could be serious and I needed to take him in ASAP, we were on our way to the Animal Medical Center ER at 62nd and York. (God Bless the cab driver that picked us up.)


This couldn't wait a minute longer.


I later learned that my decision to take him when I did saved his life. Even a half hour later, he most likely wouldn't have made it.


To be continued....