Post-op Post

It was 4:45 a.m. Godzilla was climbing the stairs. I heard a crash, then scraping, and then a soft plasticy thud as Ray's Elizabethan collar knocked something over, scraped along the staircase wall, and then ran into the closet at the top of the stairs.

The surgery to remove a growth on Ray's back leg had gone well. The teeth cleaning had revealed a large paddle of gum that had grown down over one canine (which I knew about and had asked to be removed) and a swath of gum that had grown up over all of his bottom front teeth (which I didn't). The vet had removed the paddle and cut back the gum on the bottom to reveal his teeth.

The pre-surgery bloodwork had also discovered that one of Ray's liver values was up. While Ray was under anesthesia, the vet had done a scan of his liver to look for masses but found nothing. We were given liver-health supplements and told that monitoring was the order-of-the-day, for now.

For two days after his ordeal, Ray was a living misery. The mouth rinse given to us by the vet had an added numbing agent. After a day, I also asked her for some pain killers for the poor, miserable hound. Gregg and I kept Ray well-drugged for two days. After that, except for the fact that he wouldn't leave his bandage alone, it was as if nothing had happened.

Superdog. We live with Superdog.

I think the orange complimented my coloring better, don't you?

We tried keeping Ray from his leg using the flotation device (inflatable donut) but the determined dog was no match for it and by Saturday I was bringing him back to the vet to get the wet dressing changed. "No matter what, keep it dry" was the number one instruction. Ray was licking it so much there was a hole through it and it was soaking wet. His florescent orange bandage was swapped out with a florescent yellow one and he came away with a new hat. The cats were oddly unfazed at the appearance of the bizarre fashion statement.

Shhhhhhhh. I'm trying to pick up signals from the mothership.

I always knew that a blind dog wearing a large, protruding, semi-hard plastic collar would not be a good thing to have around, but I had no idea how badly it would affect Ray's navigation. The pitiful hound had absolutely no idea where he was in space. He got lost in his own house and also, apparently, when on the end of his picket in the front yard. After half-an-hour out front on his bed enjoying a nap in the sunshine, I found him on the front porch standing with his collar pressed up against my spinning wheel waiting for me to open the 'door.' He had gone from Superdog to Patheticdog with the donning of his hat.

I'm glad they had this tree down.
It's much more comfortable as a pillow

Ray had his post-op checkup yesterday. We've gone five years without Ray being afraid of going to the vet but that is now over. Although he entered the reception area happily enough, he refused point-blank to retreat to one of the examination rooms. Since no one else was waiting, the vet and vet tech took pity on the poor, blind dog and did his checkup on the spot. The bandage was cut away to reveal a tidy, Frankenstinian-looking, stapled-together incision, perfect for Halloween, and his healing gums were examined. Everything was on track. The hat, however, remains until the middle of next week when Ray gets his staples out.

Ummmmm. Hey, Ray.
You know there's a towel hanging off of your hat, don't you?*

*I was prepping for a party when Ray wandered into the dining room like this. Absolutely pathetic and oh so very funny.