Just back from the vet with Kalli for her weekly bandage change.
All’s well now, but had quite a scare.
First, yesterday, as I was bringing her downstairs in the morning, reminding her “slow, easy, slow, easy,” she suddenly tried to leap from the 2nd or 3rd step to the floor (yes, it was either a squirrel or a chipmunk she’d spotted out the window.) I was in her way (on purpose) and tried to grab her. Her head slammed into my incision (ow!), which slowed her down, but she still came down fairly hard on the leg in the cast.
She didn’t cry, didn’t show any ill effects while my author pals were here for lunch.
But yesterday evening, I thought the bandage over the cast looked different – rather misshapen. I tried feeling it gently and she showed no discomfort. But her walking wasn’t as good as before.
This morning I checked it again and reinforced all my previous thoughts – something was weird, it didn’t seem to be causing her pain, but it was hampering her walking.
With the vet appointment already set for the bandage change today, I went through the process of loading her in the car (it’s like traveling with an infant – all the accoutrements.)
She was the most unsettled in the car she’d ever been since the first time I took her on a long road trip. (That was the thing of nightmares – she cried, yipped, howled, and barked from the Cincinnati metro area to Kankakee, Illinois. I thought I’d go nuts … and deaf.) This was considerably shorter, thank heavens, but clearly something was wrong. Even beyond the fact that she has to wear the E collar in the car to keep her from licking. (And we know how much she likes that E collar.)
At the vet, unloaded her carefully … and discovered she really couldn’t walk well at all.
Between the t-shirt that covers the top of her leg (another ploy to try to limit licking) and the booty that covers most of the leg when she’s outside, I couldn’t see what was going on, except that she wasn’t happy. My hope was that the booty had slipped down, so she was walking on folded-over booty. Nope. The bottom of the booty was solid.
With visions of her having rebroken something, requiring another surgery, and starting the clock all over on the “confined convalescence,” I stood in the parking lot, debating wither to call “Help!” or try to call them from my phone.
But knowing Kalli, I decided the hoopla would be more detrimental. So we walked in very slowly, with me holding onto her collar and trying to relieve some of her weight from that leg (though only a little, because I’ve still got weeks to go of the 5-pound lifting limit – are we having fun yet? <wg>)
Inside, I told her to lie down, got the booty off, with the receptionists’ help … and then we could see the cast had slid well down her leg. So it was like having a not very well secured stilt on that one leg.
Best I can figure is she loosened it with yesterday’s leap, then really got it moving in the car.
Her wonderful vet came out and carried her to the back. (I hope he doesn’t have back problems! She’s lost a few pounds, but she’s still 75 lb. I’d have to take 15 trips to carry her <wg>)
With the bandages and cast off, he could see that she hadn’t done any major damage. Phew!!!
He changed the bandage, secured the cast, and we’re back home now. She’s already asleep on her bed (in her pre-St. Patrick’s Day green bandage-covered cast) and I’m ready for a nap, too!
Who knew “confined convalescence” could include such drama?
Poor Kalli. And poor Pat!