July 11, 2013

Alfie Emergency, Surgery, Recovery...

As I write this it is Thursday evening, I am watching the cheese-tastic premiere of the new Jane Lynch game show, and it feels like the first hour of calm in my week. The stress is subsiding as I watch over Anderson curled up on our bed and Alfred napping across my chest, which actually makes typing quite challenging. Both are peaceful and well.

Last night was a stressful and exhausting one around here, though in many ways calmer than the previous ones. Alfie came home last night after a stint in the animal hospital.

One Sunday night Alfie took a stumble or tumble outside and destroyed his something ligament (it's a technical term) which essentially serves as a knee. He was limping and in pain, which is bad for him and not so good for his over-protective pet parent who went into super-worry the-world-is-ending mode.

We went to the emergency animal hospital that night, and then our vet the next day, for a combination of examinations, blood tests, X-rays and painkillers for Alfred. Nobody gave stressed out weepy me a damn thing.

This ligament cannot be fixed, as it was pretty much destroyed, so in his surgery on Tuesday the vet opened up Alfie's leg, scraped out what is left of that ligament, and replaced it with a man-made one made of something like a thick fishing wire that is then screwed into his upper and lower leg bones (more technical medical terms); for the next two weeks these are held in place by clamp sutures, with the little dude in a head cone to keep him away from said sutures.

Alfred stayed overnight at the hospital, and was likely fine as was very was heavily drugged. I was a mess.

I picked him up yesterday afternoon, and having his drugged-up rag doll self in my arms was a huge relief. And then came the worry about the cone, the drugs, the care.

The little dude is heading into 8 to 12 weeks of recovery... the next two weeks immobilized in bed rest. Already a certain pooch is not happy about this. He will be in his kennel or in our arms, period. I feed him piece by piece. His grandmother cares for him during the day, taking care of bathroom breaks. He is on four kinds of medication, so good thing the little fur-ball will eat anything if it is wrapped in peanut butter.

Oh and his beagle brother wants to play.

All will be ok. Alfred is home, is safe, has lots of love, and will recover. And now he has to go pee, and I have to go hold him. Parenting is so glamorous...

Alfie relaxing on our bed last night: shaved leg shows scar, yes I briefly removed his head cone as I was supervising. And because for an hour before this he was snuggling on my shoulder.