MeghanIsMe

I am just a ball of stress today.

I took Piper to the vet to get her sling removed. Her hip is still out of place, so the next step is surgical correction. (Bonus: she also has a nasty rash under where the sling was.) The regular vets referred me to a specialty clinic for that. I cleared that with the shelter and drove her over, where they proceeded with the operation. The fur is still barely there from the last two times she's been shaved for sedation.

The doctor called when it was done with an update. There was a cracked bone in the area which led to complications. The bones can't be pinned as would normally be done, so instead he removed the head of the femur and reattached the trochator muscle further down the bone. Her leg will be about a centimeter shorter than the other, but he's had other patients who went through this procedure and did really well in the long run. So that's hopeful.

Except that she had some mammary nodules that the doctor wanted to do a lumpectomy on. They were more numerous and difficult than he'd expected, and he had to remove one of her nipples because the growth was extending into it. He thinks that one or more may be malignant, but we have to wait on test results to be sure.

She's in at the vet until tomorrow, when I get to bring her home again. She's going to be even more limited in mobility, and will probably be in significant pain for a while.

Part of me still feels like it's my fault, or that it looks like it's my fault. I expressed that when I talked to one of the shelter staff when I originally called from the regular vet. He expressed that all of these problems were not my fault (unless, he said, I could somehow make her think that she was pregnant), and that I was being a really good doggy daddy. That made me feel a lot better. On the way home from the surgeon, he called and I gave him the update and he thanked me again for taking good care of her. However, he said, "if it turns out you caused this, we'll have words."

I was fairly sure he was joking. I talked to the shift captain at the shelter tonight (since it's my volunteer day) and she agreed; he was joking. But there's a part of me that still doesn't believe that. When I got home from the surgeon, I was having a panic attack over that specifically and the situation in general. I called Danae and talked, then collapsed in bed with a stuffed animal for a few hours until it was time to go to the shelter. I'm feeling better after a nap and being with dogs, but I was still a distractable bundle of nerves. Looking at the little dogs at the shelter, I wanted to hold them and pet them as Piper surrogates. I was distracted, and occasionally leaning toward being teary.

I keep reminding myself that I'm taking good care of her, it's not my fault that these things have happened, that the shelter won't be mad at me for all of the expenses that Piper has incurred (this surgery is in the four figure range).

I'll let you know how it went when I bring her home tomorrow. For now, Danae and I are going to watch a silly movie and be distracted.