Dog-Days (Or: One Very Long Week Down)

When Saturday rolled around, it hit me how exhausted I truly was from the events of the week. The surgery took a toll not only on Jack but me as well, trudging along as needed but still ... under the busy-ness, the trips back and forth to the vet, the diligence and care (not to mention that I still have two kids to care of, one of whom was quite sick), the emotional streak runs silently underneath it all. By the time I woke up yesterday, a "free" day, I had a hard time moving.

Thankfully, Jack is doing very well -- at least on the surgical front. His incision is healing nicely, and now that the despised cone is off he is a much happier pup. It did indeed seem to be the culprit, as his shorn belly is a nice shade of pink now, instead of that horrible hue of an angry red-purple. His energy is slowly returning, and he doesn't seem to need the pain medication anymore, which is a good thing -- a zombie dog isn't much fun. If he could shout with glee he would, gobbling up his new canned food this morning as if it was a feast from heaven. "I should get bladder stones more often!" he's probably thinking. We'll be monitoring this switch for quite a while -- digestively (to make sure his stomach is settled with the quick-switch), as well as keeping an eye on the potential packing on o' the pounds.

His lower spine and back legs, however, are proving to be the bigger - and pestering -- problem. He is struggling with going up stairs, which at first we wrote off as a surgery-thing, but now I'm not so sure. Despite the steroids (more than a week to go), his back legs aren't responding -- they're still weak and wobbly. The vet described it very clearly -- it's just the "luck of the draw," in a sense, that the particular nerve that's being pinched is the communication line from the brain to his legs. If Jack wants to walk, the brain commands: "Walk!" The front legs get the message loud and clear, and begin to move immediately. The message, however, takes longer to get to the back legs because of the pinched line of communication, so there is a bit of a delayed reaction. "It's as if the brain sort of forgets the back legs are there," she explained.

OK -- it makes sense. So how do we fix it? "Back surgery," she said -- that's the most sure-fire way of correction. "But that's not an option for you guys right now, is it?" Ummm ... no. Well then, first we just wait and see what happens until the course of steroids is over. Maybe -- just maybe -- it will correct itself, the pressure will be relieved, and the messages will start rolling again. If not, then we have two things to look at and weigh: pain vs. wobbly legs. "I'd much rather have him pain-free," she said. "He might just have to live with wobbly legs for the rest of his life." So ... even though he's struggling, he does not seem to be in pain, but then again -- who knows. She suggested he might need to be on a steady, low dose of pain medication for the rest of his life. The rest of his life? We're talking (potentially, hopefully) years here!

That's kind of when my brain shut down. She said she would do some research and come up with options -- different avenues we can explore. OK -- you do that. I told her all I can do right now is concentrate on his healing, and when that's over and done with, then we'll keep a closer eye on his back and legs. My plate can only hold so much.

But I'm relieved he's turned a corner. He's still having accidents in the house (ugh!) but chalk that up to the steroids. Once the drugs are all out of his system, we're hoping our good ol' Jack will be back in our midst ...

Wobbly legs and all.