A Night at the Animal E.R.

Of course, now she’s trotting alongside the nurse to run some tests. An hour ago she couldn’t stand on her own. I’m glad I had the presence of mind to bring along a book to read. I’ll have gone through five chapters before I leave tonight. Don’t ask me what any of it is about. My eyes scan the words, but my head is elsewhere.

Through the closed door I hear the voice of the receptionist on the phone. “Are you in the car now? Is there someone there with you? Is he still breathing? It’s okay, honey. I need you to calm down. We have to get you here safely and then we can help. Is there someone there with you? Do you know where the exit is? Take a left. It’s okay, honey.”

I wonder, how can this be just another night at work for her? But it must be. Add it to the list of jobs I would hate worse than the one I have. The nurse brings my girl back to me. I remove the muzzle while we wait for test results. I look into brown eyes turned a little cloudy with age. Trusting eyes. Loving eyes. Eyes that have been glad to see me every. single. day. for nearly 14 years. Astounding.

“I’m not ready to let you go,” I tell her. She thumps her tail a couple times and then lies on the tile floor. I go back to staring at the pages of my book. And we wait.

The doctor shows me the EKG printout. Her heart is beating irregularly. “The chambers are like dancers listening to different songs,” he says. The familiar lub-DUB lub-DUB lub-DUB is reduced to lub-lub-lub-DUB lub-lub…DUB. Meanwhile my heart is beating wildly. We don’t know what causes it. Drugs are rarely effective in treating it. There are pacemakers. [Dog pacemakers. Really?]

I promise to make an appointment with her regular doctor. There’s nothing more we can do tonight. Come on, baby. Let’s go home.

Laura Eno says:

2010/02/22 at 08:13

You’ve made me sniffle… Very well done, natural and I hope it’s fictional. If not, my heart goes out to you.

Thank you, Laura. Unfortunately, it’s a pretty factual account of one night last week. ~Tim

Marisa Birns says:

2010/02/22 at 18:45

Yes, got teary reading this. As you know, I lost my 14-year-old dog in December. One never is really ready to let them go.

Thank you, Marisa. I’m very sorry for your loss. My girl is doing better this week. ~Tim

karenfrommentor says:

You big meanie. I was even braced and I’m still sitting here crying. The trusting eyes got me. This was worse than hearing about it the night it happened I think.

man. You owe me a cookie.

Sorry I made you cry, Karen. I’ll get you a whole box of cookies. ~Tim

aymiee says:

2010/02/23 at 00:46

Gosh, never cease to amaze me. Do you leave it unfinished on purpose? Are these excerpt from completed novels? I read this to my little girl and she thought it was a scene from Marley and Me.

Oh, Aymiee, that’s so sweet that you read it to your daughter. I may put this into something longer, but for now it’s just recounting a recent event. The unfinished form is because it is as much as I was prepared to write about. Even this much was very difficult. ~Tim

Jenn says:

2010/02/23 at 18:14

I really hope that your four-legged friend is better this week, and can rally for a bit longer. My brother’s beloved black Lab, Sigma, is approaching 15 and she is very, very weak. Rough days.

Much love to you and your pet.

Thanks, Jenn. ~Tim

Carol Benedict says:

2010/02/23 at 21:43

This is a touching slice of life portrait. The love between pets and their people is awesome. My best friend, a lab-chow mix, had serious health problems toward the end of his life, and watching him get slowly worse was tough. We were blessed that his final day was spent sitting in the grass, sniffing the breeze and staring into the heavens until his spirit quietly ebbed away.

Thank you, Carol. I’m sorry for your loss. ~Tim

lime says:

2010/02/25 at 12:04

that line about eyes glad to see yo uevery morning for 14 years…i’m not a pet person but that got to me. glad to know through the comments that she’s doing a bit better.

Thank you, Lime. ~Tim