We get into the vet, I must have looked like a big fat idiot. You know and you feel that pressing guilt that really isn't there but you think it is there and that everyone is thinking, 'you terrible dog owner, you let your dog get hit by a car!' Maybe people do think like that... and then if so, I challenge them to a day in my house, and seriously, we are lucky we made it this long. Quickly Stan is swept away to be assessed and I am left sitting on the bench in the waiting room, with a two year old giving treats out of the treat jar to every animal in the waiting room....'aww....dat's a good meow, you want treat?...sit puppy...treat?' (he calls cats meows. I have attempted to tell him that our cats name is Lillian, even Lily. He does not respond until I say for instance, 'MEOW!!! Go and give meow her breakfast!' Then I see the light go on and he gets to business. #childlabor)
After what feels like 10 years the doctor comes out to grab us and tell us she has Stan stabilized, (highly medicated), and needs my o.k. to start more treatment to see what is wrong and attempt to fix it, they won't know the full extent of the injuries until they do this. And here I sat at the crossroads. I ask her what she would do. I am dumb like that. I ask her if he is suffering, as like snot is literally all over my face by now and Jake is jumping off the exam table. She tells me he is comfortable, but medicated and that she can't make decisions like this for her patients, but that she thinks since Stan was hit in the lower half and is showing signs of pain and discomfort that his spine is still intact. So I sign the papers. I didn't even look at the total. I just signed. I mean what am I going to do barter over treatment of my dog? 'Uh, so listen hold off on the x ray just feel the bones and tell me what you think.' Not going to happen. Stan wouldn't do that to me. I do think like that. I really do. We are allowed to go back to the ICU for animals at this point to see him, and I just all out break down and apologize at the foot of my dog, who is licking me and whimpering. My two year old patting my back, asking me where my boo boo is.
You know you hear the criticism of, it is just a dog. But Stan is a part of our family. Naughty as he is. He also is a pet that I agreed to care for, good and bad, and unless I hear he was suffering, I was going to take care of Stanley. When I got home, Kendall was sobbing asking about Stan and not wanting him to die...this sealed the deal...WE MUST SAVE STANLEY!! She then looked down and asked me why I was holding Stan's leash. Here's me. For the past 3 hours I have been holding a dog's leash; since he ran out of the house. Ever hold anything tightly for 3 hours? My hand was stuck in a grip position for like 5 days..
The doctor called late at night to tell me what she thought was going on right at that moment. Stanley had a broken femur and his hip was out of socket on the other side. So basically the back end is broken. I imagine Stanley better running around with one of those wheel carts attached to him because he has no back legs. She doesn't know the extent of internal injuries since everything has been traumatized and they need to wait for some swelling to go down.
A few days go by. In this time, I of course visit Stanley daily, if not a few times, with the kids, alone. I see Pug things everywhere just to exaggerate the guilt and worry I feel. Pug on card, pug on walks, pug in a commerical. Salt on wounds I tell you. But they say Stan is improving and getting strong for surgery. Progress People.
Let me just tell you. This surgeon? A-maz-ing. I can't say his name and I can't even say where I went for treatment because of privacy stuff on this blog.(but if you look closely you might get some hints) But this man has an incredible heart. You need a pet surgeon, message me. He did the surgery on the femur and put a pin right on in it. He attempted to put the other leg back into the hip socket, but it popped back out. We decided to wait on this side of Stan until some major healing occurred on the other side. And then consider some fancy named surgery on the hip. Stanley's extent of internal injuries were swelling and bruising, that lucky son of a, well you know the rest.
After ten days. Stan got his catheter out, was wobbling around and pooping and peeing on his own, so he was able to come home, but on a strict bed rest. He was using the leg that was out of socket and babying the broken one. The dr. wasn't sure about prognosis yet because Stan had a long way to go. So here's me. 3 children. A dog to take care of that can't move from a crate unless its to go to the bathroom. I about die from anxiety inside convinced someone isn't going to make it through this recovery, like russian roulette, it could have been any one of us.
But here's what. I have this woman in my life who is incredible. She keeps my head above water on a daily basis and makes sure I am ok. What's that? Oh yes, she puts my needs first. It's like that big fluffy cloud you want to land on when your life is a mess and it will encase you for even just a few moments? That's my Mom Mom. Without me even saying a word about my worry, she lets me know that Stanley will be recovering at her house and she will see that he is taken care of and that I would be crazy and then committed to think that I could do this with the kids, more specifically Jacob.
Stan was estatic to come home,...well to his second home, kissing and crying for everyone. I was stressed beyond belief worried about his every move, his med regimen, his eating, his pooping, his sleeping. Beyond me being an incredibly guilt ridden pet owner, this dog now has an immense price tag and live or die, it will still be there...so this dog is going to make it at least seven more years!!! He however was in a ton of pain and of course you always think, 'did I make the right choice?'Ah but you see, no turning back now. I kept reminding myself and everyone, 'hit by a car', it would be like me getting hit by an airplane. Recovery is going to take some time.
I visited that darn dog almost daily.
He had weekly visits to see his surgeon.
He came home, home on Halloween.
Stanley babied and still babies that leg that was broken, and walks on the leg with the hip, 'issue.' He limps. I tried all the doctors suggestions to get him to use it, he wants no parts of it. He still visits the surgeon every 4 weeks. He would like to see Stan use that leg again, and so the pin is coming out next week. But Stan has adapted to life with 3 legs for now. Up and down stairs, off the bed in the morning, after the cat, and following the kids around. He has even managed to sneak his way out the door a few times, but now when you yell 'STAAAAAAAAAAAAAN!!' He freezes. Plus, he really ain't all that fast on 3 legs.
The hip. The surgeon states he has never not fixed a hip but that Stan seems to have fit his life to live with this out of joint. We agree, why mess with a good thing?
Most importantly, Stan is pain free.
However now, he is always on the hunt for me, is under my feet, and basically for lack of better words, up my butt. So I suppose he is thankful to be alive and with us.
I guess we aren't so bad.
Below is Stan a few weeks ago playing with his cousin Donovan....sure he slept for 3 days after this...but I would call this a recovery:
P.S. Our Stan-lo turns five on the 19th....big shout outs for a better year.