Captain Destructo Strikes Again…
in Thoughtful Thursdays on December 9, 2015
It occurred to me that many of my international readers missed out on Captain Destructo’s summer ordeal. For those of you who may be new to my circus, welcome, and please don’t forget to check your sanity at the door. For the rest of you, I know why y’all keep coming back—my life makes your life look life a walk in the park with a fist full of daffodils.
Captain Destructo is my golden retriever. Her real name is Charley. She is twenty months old. I have written about her before. She is a hot mess. She has been known to tear stuff up, get car sick in the back of brand-new vehicles, and eat the feces left behind from my other other dog.
I am not even kidding.
Yet, through all of her antics, I love her dearly. I wouldn’t trade her for the world. They say dogs come to mimic certain behaviors of their owners. Well, if that is true, I’m in real trouble. My Charley-Girl is a drama queen deluxe. Can y’all even imagine what a double handful she is after hanging out with me for the last year and a half?
Look closely at the picture above, and notice that she’s wearing a T-shirt. No, she is not being festive. No, it is not freezing down here. I live in Houston. It doesn’t get cold here until February—and Charley regularly swims in our pool until then anyway. She is not cold.
No, she is wearing a T-shirt because it helps me keep her 18-inch long incision site clean. The site is healed up, but with all the rain we have had down here, my backyard looks like the Okeechobee Swamp down in Florida. She kicks up so much mud every time she goes outside, it is easier for me to change out a T-shirt, than to give her a bath.
Why does she have such a massive incision? I’m glad you asked.
On August 12 of this year, she started acted really weird. She wouldn’t get up. She wouldn’t eat. She simply lay in the kitchen by the back door. I seriously thought she was pouting. We had been gone away to Disney for about 10 days and left her with the sitter. I thought she was being cranky. But by the next morning, she had not moved. She was in the same spot, and she was drooling. All of my “Mommy Radar” senses went into a full-blown five-alarm alert. I needed to get her to the vet. Slight hiccup: I was the only one home. She weighs 65 pounds.
I managed to get her into the back of my Suburban and to the vet. They immediately assessed her and rushed her into X-ray. We all thought she had swallowed something—she had been drooling, and her breathing was incredibly shallow.
No such luck.
Within minutes, the doctor was standing in front of me, grim-faced, explaining that her spleen was in danger and he needed to operate that minute, if I agreed to move forward.
Seriously?
I numbly nodded. And the biggest doctor I have ever seen, vanished without a trace, rushing to save my dog’s life. Ten minutes later, his nurse came in with tears in her eyes, and told me to sit down. It turns out that it was not Charley’s spleen, but rather her right kidney that was causing all of the commotion.
It had ruptured.
It had been blocked for quite some time and slowly filling like a water balloon. And then sometime in the night, it popped, filling her abdomen with poison. Her survival chances were less than 5%. I was heartbroken.
Our vet’s office is wonderful. They called me every hour with an update. Most of the phone calls reported “alive, but no change.” The next morning, Jeff and I headed up there to see her and say goodbye. We couldn’t stand to keep her in a state of flux. We both have DNR and living wills, so we decided that we could not put Charley through something that we, ourselves, would not do.
But when we arrived at the vet’s office, the doctor told us that her clinical numbers showed a slight improvement—very slight—and recommended transferring her to the critical care animal hospital across the street.
So we did.
We were going to give her one more day. We went back the next morning (without the kids) to say goodbye. She couldn’t raise her head or open her eyes. She didn’t know I was there. This is a dog who slept with me when Jeff was away on business and tried her hardest to kick him out of his own bed when he was home. She greeted me at the door when I came home with a hug from her back legs and stood as tall as I am. That dog was gone.
Three times Jeff took me up there. Three times I told the doctors to put her down, to put her out of her suffering, and three times, through my tears, Jeff told the doctors to give Captain Destructo one more day.
On the fourth day, when I walked into the back to see her, she raised her head and wagged her tail.
By the sixth day, she walked into an exam room.
And on the seventh day, she came home.
They still don’t why her kidney just stopped working. I am thankful her left kidney remained in tact. She is still a hot mess. It took her several months to get back to her old self. She still has moments when she tires out, but for the most part, she is back to being a mess. She still digs in my flower beds, then gets into the pool, and then tries to come into the house. I have muddy paws prints ALL ACROSS my patio.
She still begs for food. Admittedly, she gets more treats now, than before. Jeff is a bit more forgiving about letting her sleep in the bed with us. Thank you to everyone who prayed for the health and well-being of my dog. It meant the world to me.
Here’s hoping you get the most out of one more day!
Dallas
One thought on “Captain Destructo Strikes Again…”
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Lesli says:
Sweet Charley!