Three Days at VEG

How in this world where everything seems to be going wrong, I found an oasis of something going so right.

Harriet bolted out of bed, and ran down the hall, into the kitchen. I peered at the nightstand clock that read 1:36 am. I dragged myself out of bed, having just gone to bed two hours earlier, which for me was late. I found Harriet standing with her nose pressed up against the sliding glass door that goes into the backyard. There must be some big ass animal outside for her to be this excited. I opened the slider expecting her to run the acre yard we have, searching for whatever creature dared cross her kingdom. Instead, she ran to the lawn and started to eat grass. Voraciously. She ate grass like cat food had just been spilled all over the floor. Harriet’s dream has always been to eat cat food. We keep Sally’s cat food up high so the temptation isn’t overwhelming for her. Sometimes, Harriet will lick the sides of the cat food bowl just to be close to the tasty morsels inside. She’s even just stood and barked at it like she’s super pissed off at it that she can’t have it. If she really wanted to, she could get into that bowl, but she knows better and doesn’t. But if that food goes anywhere near the floor, all bets are off.

From the slider, I watched her for a few seconds and realized I needed to stop this insane eating of grass, so I grabbed her by the scruff of her neck and practically had to drag her away. I got her near the sliding glass door and she broke free and ran back to eating grass like it was crack. I finally got her inside and back into bed. Fifteen minutes later she bolted up and ran back to the slider. I let her out again as clearly, something is bothering her, maybe she needed to poop, but no, it was a repeat of the previous outing. She ended up pacing through the house for an hour and I finally decided to head to the emergency vet. This wasn’t a real emergency, because after being a firefighter/paramedic, a real emergency was only if you were about to die or lose a limb. My family members have all been instructed to never call an ambulance for me unless I am in the state of having no idea that you are calling an ambulance. Plus it was Saturday night/Sunday morning and I wouldn’t be able to get into the regular vets on a Sunday anyways and clearly Harriet was uncomfortable. That night I had taken my niece to a concert in SF and gotten home way after Lisa had gone to bed. I had changed into my PJs in the bathroom and left my clothes in there. So I just dressed back into those clothes which included long pants. If you know me I never wear pants unless it’s a wedding or funeral or I’m sick. I was sick and wanted to stay extra warm in SF.

Harriet and I have been to the emergency vet hospital twice. The first time the doc blew us off, telling me to put some Neosporin on the “cut” she had on her side. I had to split apart her fur and show him myself how I could stick my finger through the full-thickness puncture hole she had on her side. The second time was during COVID at a different emergency vet hospital, which was clearly overwhelmed. A vet tech met us in the parking lot, took Harriet back and we had phone calls back and forth with the doc until she was well enough to go home a couple of days later. I had no desire to go back to either of those places. I had just seen a friend’s FB post about an emergency vet hospital that opened a few months back and was seven minutes from my house. I’m going there. If it wasn’t for the hope of going to a great place, I might have waited longer to bring Harriet in.

I parked and Harriet jumped out of the car with her tail wagging, excited for a new in-the-middle-of-the-night adventure. We walked through the front door and Harriet’s tail wagged even harder and she had a smile on her face. I looked around the brightly lit, approximately 3500 square foot room. On one side, the walls were lined with cabinets and kennels. On the other side were couches and chairs, and a coffee, water, and snack station. In the middle were examination tables. There were five staff members all dressed in gray, red, and black, and even though it was about 2:30 am, they all had smiles on their faces. I breathed a sigh of relief they weren’t busy and the only other people/animals there were a couple and their cat, sitting on a couch in a little enclave they called “Kitty Corner.”

We were greeted right away as Harriet pulled on her leash to say hi to everyone. We walked straight to the scale and then directly to the vet doctor. “So what brings you in tonight?” she asked. I said, “Well, I know she looks fine but for an hour she’s been pacing and running through the house. When I let her outside she eats grass insanely - like we aren’t just here because she ate some grass, she does that. But we are here because she ate like something is wrong and she’s just been pacing around the house for an hour and I don’t know what to do.” The doc kneeled on the ground and took a few minutes to look Harriet over. “Well her color is good and I don’t see anything obvious. We could give her an anti-nausea medication, send her home, and see how she does. Or we could take some X-rays and do some blood work and see if that tells us anything.”

I paused a bit trying to figure out what’s the right call. I tried to read between the lines of what the vet was saying as I know they have to deal with such a wide swing of people from those who will pay anything for their pet, to those who will withhold care the minute the bill is over a few hundred dollars. Even for my health, I struggle with the in-between illnesses or injuries, the ones where it’s not obvious whether you should go to the doctor or not, almost always choosing not to go. So I asked, “What would you do if this was your dog?” She answered, “Well, I’d probably do the blood work and X-rays.” I said, “Alright let’s do that.” “OK, I’ll write up an estimate and you’ll get it in an email.” I sat on a couch and waited while Harriet continued to pull on the leash to say hi to everyone. About 5 minutes later the estimate came, I approved it, and paid the amount you would expect to pay at an emergency vet hospital at 2:30 on a Sunday morning. A few minutes later, two vet techs came over, got on the ground with Harriet, and sweet-talked her into letting them draw blood. They smiled the entire time. About 10 minutes later, they were all dressed up in lead gowns and all four of us headed to the X-ray room, right off the main room. The tech said, “You can come stand by the window and watch.” Harriet said no way you are going to hold me still and pull my legs back so you can X-ray my abdomen, so they gave her some calming medication. We waited a few minutes for that to take effect and they were able to get the X-rays.

About 15 minutes later the doc sat next to me with her computer with Harriet’s X-rays displayed on the screen. “As you can see here her intestines are full of poop. There’s “stuff” in her stomach but nothing obvious that signifies a blockage. I recommend giving her some fluids and anti-nausea medication, taking her home, and bringing her back in 12 hours for a fasted repeat X-ray, to see if things have moved.” I concurred. Harriet and I got back home at 4:30 am. She crawled up on the couch so I too crawled on the couch, in my clothes, and we both fell asleep.

My wife got up around 7:30 and saw that I had pulled my sweatshirt hood over my head and was tightly curled up - looking like I was cold. I was freezing. She put another blanket on me and I finally felt the chill melt away and slept hard until 9:00. Even after I got up, Harriet stayed on the couch and didn’t bug me for breakfast. Huge red flag. Her entire existence is about food. (Seemingly so is mine) The rest of the Sunday we chilled on the couch until 2:00 in the afternoon rolled around. It was a few hours early, but I didn’t couldn’t wait around anymore to see what was going on with Harriet so I loaded her up, and off to VEG we went. We were greeted by a different group of staff, but they were made up of the same amazingness as the night before. We dragged/pushed a reluctant Harriet into the X-ray room. She was not excited to explore or see anyone. She didn’t need any calming medication this time.

The doc came back and sat next to me on the couch again and showed me her X-rays, nothing had changed or moved. Something sat at the bottom of her stomach but the question remained if it was a blockage or not. When she began to thoroughly explain medical stuff I said, “I was a firefighter/paramedic for 25 years so I totally understand what you are talking about.” “She replied, “Oh great. That makes it easy.” The Doc recommended she get IV fluids this time and be hospitalized. I agreed and the doc wrote up an estimate that shortly arrived in my inbox. I paid the pre-bill and again a couple of smiley vet techs came to the couch Harriet and I sat on. One of them asked me, “Are you ok if we start the IV here and are you ok with seeing blood?” I paused then answered, “Ya, I was a firefighter/paramedic for 25 years. I’ve seen a lot of blood.” “Oh good,” she replied. They sat on the floor and sweetly talked to Harriet, shaved part of her leg, drew some more blood, and started an IV. They set up a kennel for her and pulled up a chair for me to sit next to her. After the 7:00 pm shift change of staff, and seeing yet again another group of extraordinarily kind smiling people show up, I left around 8:00. They had offered to make up a room so I could spend the night with her. I felt so torn. I guess if were an amazing dog mom I would have stayed the night. But I’d also been sick as a dog (no pun intended here but totally appropriate) for two weeks and had only a couple of hours of sleep in me, so I decided to go home, get some sleep, and come back early the next morning. I got home, took a shower, and collapsed into bed. I normally don’t bring my phone into my room with me but I didn’t want to miss a call from the vet. I also knew how much I needed sleep so I carefully set up my phone to not receive notifications except for a phone call from VEG.

6:00 the next morning, Monday morning to be exact, I woke up before my alarm went off and I saw VEG had called in the middle of the night. Son of a bitch! I crawled out of bed and called the Vets. The doc said there wasn’t really any news, they just took another set of X-rays and still nothing had moved. She added, “I’d like to wait until we can do an Ultrasound because that could possibly tell us whether we don’t need to do surgery. The Ultrasound doc should be here in a few hours. You are more than welcome to come in and see her.” I answered, “I really want to come and see her but I am so afraid of getting her excited and wound up thinking we are going home and then her being disappointed.” The doc said, “Well, it’s up to you. You know her best.” I said fuck it, (to myself, not the doc) took a quick shower, poured myself a travel mug of coffee, and headed out the door.

I walked into VEG and to Harriet’s kennel. She looked up at me and then put her head back down and whimpered. She didn’t get excited or jump around. I’m an idiot. She feels like shit and is drugged. Thank God I came in right away. The doc came over and talked to me and a tech opened Harriet’s kennel so I could squeeze in and sit with her. I took off the giant cone engulfing her head. Harriet had a ton of chucks under her as she was leaking runny poop. I just gently stroked her head with one hand and wiped away my tears with the other.

The night shift was still on duty and 3 different techs came by and showed me pictures they took on their personal phones of them and Harriet. In one picture, a tech put on a matching blue cone and sat with Harriet in her kennel. Another tech showed me a picture of the doctor laying in the kennel with her and told me how the doc got locked in the kennel and couldn’t get herself out.

About 15 feet away, the procedure table had techs around it holding a cat. The doc manipulated an esophageal scope to remove a large red bead the cat had eaten. When she pulled it out they all cheered and the doc triumphantly held up the red bead. I watched the whole thing on the monitor. I told a tech seated close to us, “You all seem so happy working here.” She replied, “Ya we really like working for VEG. Some of us had contemplated finding a totally different career until this place came along.”

“What’s it like working in this open environment? I mean you don’t have any place to be yourselves or create some separation with a difficult animal parent.”

“Ya, it can be hard sometimes. We do get some strange and difficult people in here. But we really like it. The animals do so much better when their people are with them.”

I said, “I imagine it can be hard. I was a firefighter/paramedic and when we had someone who was being very difficult we could remove them or at least create some separation. The emergency rooms can separate difficult people. But there is nowhere to make a separation here.”

We chatted some more. She looked in Harriet’s kennel and decided to change the chucks. She brought over another soft bed for Harriet to lay on outside of her kennel so she could change the chucks. I saw the doc hang up the phone and she said to the staff, “A husky is coming in that needs a pericardiocentesis.” The Husky had a large mass in its heart and fluid was building up inside the pericardium, the sac around the heart. The fluid needs to be drained so the heart can contract freely. They began setting up the kennel next to Harriet’s. I said to the tech, “Let me get out of your way.” She answered, “You’re totally fine. I’ll work around you. And you know I’d be happy to make up a room for you guys. You might be more comfortable.” Despite her assurances, we were clearly making it more difficult for her. “That is super kind but you don’t have to do that. We’ll move over to the couches.”

Lisa (Harriet’s other mom) was done with her own appointment and came to sit with us. The three of us hung out on one of the couches against the wall. A tech came over to give Harriet some more anti-nausea medication and realized her IV had slightly pulled out. So another tech came over to help start another IV. Harriet wasn’t having it and she kicked the best she could. As they were shaving a spot on her other front leg, one of them asked, “Are you ok if we start the IV here? Are you ok with seeing blood?” Lisa and I looked at each other both thinking do you want to tell them or should I — Lisa cannot stand the sight of blood and well, you know my story as I’ve said it 500 times. We both chuckled, “One of us cannot stand the sight of blood and the other one was a paramedic for a long time and has seen plenty of blood.” Why can’t I just say “We will be fine?” Why do I keep telling everyone I was a firefighter/paramedic? For the love of God, just keep your mouth shut Christy.

A little while later, the ultrasound lady arrived. I guess that’s not fair, she’s not just an ultrasound lady, but a veterinarian internist. We pushed/pulled Harriet into the small room where everything was set up. When they were done, the internist told us there was a lot of “material” in Harriet’s stomach and intestines. There doesn’t appear to be a blockage in her intestines but her stomach has a ball of something in it. She’s going to need surgery.

The regular doc came over, talked about the details of the surgery, and asked if that’s what we wanted to do. We said, “Of course.”

She said, “OK. I will send you an estimate. I’m the only doc on duty and the swing shift doctor comes on in about an hour. Since this can wait a bit I would prefer to wait until she arrives so there is another doc on duty for everyone else. If this needed to be done right now or if anything changes before the doc gets here, I will absolutely start it.” She headed to the desk in the middle of the room and started typing away on the computer. Ten minutes later another estimate landed in my inbox. I didn’t even look it over, I just paid the bill.

Harriet’s kennel was all clean and we put Harriet back in. Lisa and I went around the corner to grab a quick lunch and then Lisa went home. I sent her updates but not enough as she asked several times how Harriet was doing and what was going on. Lisa’s always been one to spend as little time as possible in hospitals. Harriet leaned against me while we sat on the floor and waited for the swing doctor. Around that time the Husky came in. I watched the staff do what they do — get on the floor, start an IV, give him some medication, wait until he was sedated enough to lift, and put him on the procedure table. The techs prepped him and the doc came over, stuck a long needle in his side, and drained the fluid.

Finally, the swing doc arrived. She was right on time but to me, it felt like forever. A tech came over and gave Harriet some medication to sedate her. It’s weird— I don’t remember them putting her on the table. The tech said, “You can stay here and watch as much as you want. Are you ok with seeing all this?” Oh, there’s that question again — “Yeah, I was a firefighter/paramedic for 25 years. And actually, I’ve always wanted to see how you intubate a dog.” She replied, “My husband is a paramedic for San Francisco Fire.” And we continued to chit-chat about all of that. She used the same laryngoscope that I used in the field and slid the tube in the exact same way I would. She commented that the way she intubated a dog was probably different than a human. I said, “Nope. It’s the exact same except Harriet is right side up where all my patients were upside down.” (Meaning Harriet laid on her stomach and most people were on their backs.) I texted Lisa, “They are prepping her for surgery. I think they’re going to do it right here in the middle of this place!” The other tech started cutting Harriet’s nails. This has nothing to do with anything that is going on right now but they still thought to do it. Anyone who owns a dog knows toenails are a lifetime of pain-in-the-assness. It’s almost like having to get your oil changed in your car. It really needs it but it’s so easy to put off. To cut her nails I have to wait until she is sound asleep, sneak up on her and I can get one toenail. I get her groomed by a professional groomer because somehow they can get her nails cut. I said, “OMG you are cutting her nails. That is almost worth the $9000.00 surgery bill.” She replied, “Oh ya this is the best time to do it!” Me and the techs continued to chit-chat while I kept a close eye on my pup who was knocked out cold. I just kept telling myself she would be fine, they do this surgery all the time because dogs, especially Golden’s like to eat everything and just about anything. The sentence I most often say to Harriet is, “What are you eating?!!”

The techs told the doc they were about ten minutes out and the two of them lifted Harriet off the table and carried her into the operating suite. Thank God they aren’t doing surgery out here! The doc came over and started that familiar routine surgeons do right before surgery. The hand scrubbing, the putting on the sterile gown and gloves, and then the backward walk through the swinging door while holding her hands up in front of her.

I watched everything through a huge window. On the far wall of the operating suite, a note taped to the wall said, “DO NOT TURN ON THE AC OR PLUG ANYTHING INTO THESE OUTLETS UNLESS YOU WANT TO BE ELECTROCUTED. A work order has been submitted.” The doc and the surgical tech did their thing, just like you see on TV, except there was only a doc and a nonsterile vet tech, so there was no sterile nurse to hand the doc instruments or help with anything in the sterile field.

As the doc started making the incision, Harriet’s heart rate began to drop. My heart rate began to increase — I knew they’d manage it, that’s what they do and I pushed away the thought I can’t watch this and fought the urge to leave and sit on the couch. The tech gave her some Atropine and Harriet’s heart rate came back up, and everything was fine. It’s exactly the same in a human operating room. And that’s why it’s not normal to watch a surgery on someone you love.

The doctor-now-surgeon carefully cut through the abdominal wall and carefully examined every inch of her intestines to make sure there wasn’t a hard lump that she’d need to take out. She traversed the length of Harriet’s intestines three times. Then she opened Harriet’s stomach. She reached her fingers in and started pulling out undigested grass. The grass was compacted into a ball so she pulled out a little at a time, being patient and deliberate because letting any stomach contents spill into the abdominal cavity could be disastrous. As the ball started to come apart, she was able to grab bigger lumps of grass. The first big lump she pulled out I accidentally said out loud, “Holy shit!” The doc turned around, looked at me, and said, “Seriously right??” The doc then asked me how I was doing. I couldn’t believe she asked how I was doing. I asked her back, “How are you doing?” She replied, “She’s doing great.” I repeated, “No, how are YOU doing?” The doctor looked at me, relaxed her shoulders, smiled, and said, “I’m good. I’m really hot though.” I immediately thought about how every operating room I’ve been in (and I am embarrassed to say but I’ve had 7 orthopedic surgeries, so I’ve been in my fair share of ORs) and how they were all freezing cold.

When she was finally done meticulously pulling grass out of Harriet’s stomach, she changed her sterile gloves, since they weren’t sterile anymore. She sewed Harriet back up and stapled the skin shut. I updated Lisa my wife and Lisa my MBBFF (Most Bestest Best Friend Forever who loves Harriet and is considered her aunt, and has first right of refusal to watch her when we go out of town.) As a tech got Harriet’s kennel ready, I stood by waiting. The OR door opened and the surgical tech walked out carrying my 70lb Harriet in her arms, holding her like a mother holds a baby. She walked to the kennel, did a deep squat, and ever so gently lowered my sweet dog onto a soft mat covered in chucks on the ground. Harriet laid her head against the metal corner bracket that connected the partition wall to the floor. That’s my girl, always putting her head against the most uncomfortable corner of things. Then that same tech came back with a folded-up towel and put it under her head. She brought a warming blanket since Harriet’s core temperature was a little low. It was the same one I’ve woken up under after surgery, just a little smaller.

Over the next several hours I just sat in the kennel with Harriet, petting her and talking to her about what a good girl she is. Techs would come and go and each time they would carefully step on whatever piece of the floor wasn’t occupied by a dog or me. Every time I tried to get up to make it easier for them to get in there, they insisted I stay and there was no need to move. We stayed in the kennel for several hours. Harriet slept. Often the techs came and checked on Harriet and me. From time to time, I’d get up, stretch my legs, and get some water. The receptionist, who I think they called the Customer Service Tech, offered me coffee and snacks several times. Around 7:30 pm I stood up and said, “I think I’m going to go home.” Someone said, “We can set up a room for you and you can stay.” I replied, “Thank you so much but I’m super tired. It’ll be so much better for me and Harriet if I go get some sleep.” I felt like I was abandoning my kid. But sleep has become as important to me as water and oxygen. And I knew she was in amazing hands. I won’t leave someone alone overnight in the hospital but I felt comfortable leaving Harriet with these incredible people.

When I went to bed I made sure my phone would ring and wake me up. I set my alarm for 6:00 am. I planned to get up, take a shower, and head to VEG. Again I woke up before my alarm went off at 5:00 am, got dressed, and headed to VEG by 5:15. I needed to see my pup. I did stop for coffee on the way because I am forever beholden to coffee. They unlocked the door, I walked into VEG and saw my Harriet. Over the last couple of days, every time I felt tears welling up from underneath my eyes, I fought them back. This morning I couldn’t. The welling was too hard and too fierce. The tech opened her kennel door and said, “We just put her back in about 20 minutes ago. She’s been out all night and we have been taking turns laying with her. I gotta show you the pics.” Same as last time, she showed me several pictures of the staff laying with Harriet on the floor (anytime Harriet was on the floor, she was on a soft, fluffy bed.) “We had this belligerent woman come in and cuss us all out. She was super angry and we almost called the cops. When she finally left we all took turns cuddling with Harriet and she made us all feel better. She didn’t know it but she was our emotional support dog last night.” The tech and I kept talking while I sat on a big soft pillow on the floor with Harriet and the tech sat in a tall chair looking at a computer screen.

She said, “You know I would have wanted to do what you do, a paramedic in a fire department.” I replied, “I could never do what you do. Seeing animals hurt ruins me. Crumpled up people, no problem. A dog with a limp and I am in tears.”

“I’m the exactly the opposite. I can’t handle people blood but I am good with that in animals.”

“I was on a call one time where there was a guy and a dog in a bad car wreck. The guy was critically injured and the dog was ok but scared and shaking. I had to consciously work to focus on the person cuz all I was worried about was the dog. From the moment I started working on the guy right up to when I climbed into the ambulance with him, I just kept telling the cops on scene to make sure the dog gets taken care of.”

The doc who sat at a computer in the same station area overheard our conversation. She said, “You know, that was my dream job, to do what you do. Was it hard?’ I answered, “Sometimes it was hard. Mostly it was amazing and fun and the hard parts were even satisfying. But then I paid a huge price and got PTSD really bad.”

“Ya, we deal with that as Vets too.”

“I know. I’ve heard that veterinarians are the occupation with the highest suicide rate. At first, I was surprised but when you think about what you guys deal with day in and day out, I can’t even imagine. Dealing with people is so black and white — you do everything to save them, no matter what. When you are dealing with animals so much more goes into a decision as to whether or not to save them. I mean my God you have to put perfectly sweet animals down because someone doesn’t want to spend the money. And for fuck’s sake you guys put animals down all the time. Anyways - I don’t know how you guys do what you do. Personally, I am glad you became a vet instead of a paramedic. So I thank you.”

We all chit-chatted some more while I rubbed Harriet’s ears. I listened while a couple of staff talking about what scrubs they like to wear and ‘I really like that jacket you are wearing do you know if it comes in black?’ — that kind of stuff. Another tech was putting together surgical instrument kits. I watched as she folded the green cloth covering and tried to make it into a perfectly tight envelope. She folded it and unfolded it and refolded it and just couldn’t get it perfect. Soon, another tech came over and showed her the technique she used to make it perfectly tight. She was kind and showed her in a way that was empowering, not belittling.

A few hours later the day shift started trickling in. I watched as they went through the motions of shift change, passing the night’s tasks onto the day. The entire time I was at VEG during a shift change, and a tech whom I’d had conversations with left without saying goodbye, I felt a little let down. I felt I had made a connection and there they go, just leaving without any acknowledgment. Later I reflected on my own career and after my part in the patient’s care was done, how many times I practically ran away from family, not wanting to invest any more pieces of myself.

The oncoming doctor came over to talk to me. She said, “So I heard you’re an EMT” I replied, “I was a firefighter/paramedic for 25 years.” Geezus Christy, do you really need to keep telling people all of that?! Why can’t you just say yes to what she just asked you? While I was working and people asked me what I did for a living, I was reluctant to tell them. I didn’t want to hear the dumb questions so many people ask like “What’s the worst thing you’ve ever seen,” or ask to tell stories. But now that I am retired, it’s like I need to say it over and over to tell myself, ya I really did do that job, I really was part of something. Because when I was a part of a fire department one day and then the very next day I was an outsider, my brain almost felt like I never really did belong. It’s like did that just happen?

As we were talking she asked, “Do you ever have dreams about work? Like I spend 12 to 13 hours a day doing this, and I love what I do, but do I need to go home and spend my time asleep here?” I replied, “I went through a period where I dreamed about work a lot. Actually, I got PTSD and for a few years I had nightmares about work almost every night.” “Ya, I keep having dreams of giving people estimates, asking them if their pet is worth the cost to them.”

A tech from the day shift walked over to me and instead of offering to make up a room for us, she told me she was making up a room for us. She said, “You both will be so much more comfortable.” I had been offered this many times while we were here and I always said no. There was no need to make up a room, I really was totally fine on the floor. Harriet and I walked into the room and Harriet immediately jumped on the pull-out couch. She’s always happiest on the couch. I could sit and stretch my legs out. I was so much more comfortable. Why hadn’t I said yes to this before? But really I knew why —because I was just fine on the floor. Harriet looked at me like What in the hell? YOU may feel just fine on the floor but you know I don’t lay on the floor unless it’s hot out. I belong on a couch.

Shortly after, the doc came in and we talked all things Harriet. She said if we could get Harriet to eat she could go home. My MBBFF came and hung out with us. A tech came in with a cardboard container, one that you would get BBQ in, full of shredded chicken in a pool of Gerber’s chicken baby food. The tech held it in front of Harriet. She turned her nose away like we’d just offered her leftovers. The tech then dipped her finger in the stuff and Harriet sniffed a bunch and then licked the food off her finger. The tech repeated this a few times and then handed me the container of Chicken Bliss. I put more food on two fingers, then three fingers worth, and then finally after about 7 minutes of that, Harriet began to eat straight out of the container. Harriet ate everything. In a restrained run, I left the room with the now empty cardboard container lifted above my head in victory because this was the moment I had been waiting for and praying for. Just as I entered the main area, I let out a “Look what just happened!!!” and saw a handful of techs, the doc, and a woman with tears rolling down her face, all standing around an examination table. On that examination table was a small dog that looked very sick. I quickly felt like an asshole. The doc said, “I will come in in a minute and we can talk about sending Harriet home.” I felt my whole body deflate and I slunk back into our room. I closed the door and let the feelings of gratitude, elation, and happiness inflate me again.

A little while later the doc came in and gave Harriet the thumbs up to go home. The tech came in and took the IV out. She handed me discharge paperwork and three bottles of medication — a pain medication, an anti-nausea medication, and Gabapentin. Gabapentin is for pain and mellowing cuz how in the hell do you tell a dog to “take it easy and rest”? This is kinda funny because for years I have had people tell me to take it easy and rest. I to have been put on Gabapentin. Maybe my doctors have realized this is the only way to get me to take it easy and rest.

It was time to leave and as we walked out I thanked everyone profusely and told them I’d bring Harriet back so they could see her when she was in all her glory. What I really wanted to do was hug every single person working. I did hug the doctor who operated on Harriet. I just couldn’t help myself. My MBBFF helped me carefully pick Harriet up and put her into the back of my 4Runner and we headed home.

Harriet and I walked into the house and she climbed into her perch on the back of the couch and fell asleep. I tried to get her to eat the rest of the day but she wouldn’t eat the canned food they sent home with us —or the rice, chicken, or carrots I made for her. I was getting a little worried. The next morning she turned her nose up at all of that again. Then it dawned on me—cat food. I opened a can of cat food and put a huge glop into her bowl. She f’ing inhaled it. Was this entire episode just a ploy to get cat food? The next meal, same thing. She turned her nose up to all the food meant for dogs and inhaled the cat food. I’d been duped. Frickin’ Harriet. She is so smart like that. Finally, she began eating the food meant for dogs and was weened off the cat food.

The next test was for her to poop. When she finally did, we celebrated and I could finally breathe. She’s going to be fine. Thank God cuz I don’t know what I’d do if she wasn’t. For the next two weeks, she slowly gained her energy and goofiness and demanded to be petted and filled with treats. She started doing her get-crazy in the evenings and jumping around all crazy like. At this point, I finally had my Harriet back but I had to give her Gabapentin to mellow her out so she didn’t blow any of the 26 staples out of her abdomen.

I am happy to report that Harriet is back to barking and stretching and jumping and getting the zoomies and carrying around her stuffed animals and rolling on her back in the dirt and barking at the neighbor’s dog Gus (her nemesis.) She’s eating and poopin’ like a world champ.

I’m sure some people might read this and think how ridiculous all of this is. She’s just a dog. Some surgeons perform surgery on human beings in deplorable conditions all over the world and the stakes are so much higher. I am sure some folks think spending all that money, time, and effort on a dog is a waste. As they say, beauty is in the eye of the beholder, so I think the same is true here - value is in the judgment of the beholder. For us, the volume of joy Harriet brings to our lives skirts right on the brink of being priceless. For some people, adventures or a nice house brings them great joy so they spend their money on those things.

In my case, it’s the continuous unconditional love and silliness and sweetness of my dog Harriet that does it for me.