The Fisher King and his wonky liver

Blogs are supposed to be for chronicling every day life, right? I mean, that's the point of them, whether that's the approach you take or not. I'm not always so good about doing that because every day life? Let's face it, it's reeeeally boring sometimes.

Okay, most times. Sigh.

And when it's not boring there's not that much time to blog about it. What's a woman to do?

I vote for cry and then eat loads of chocolate and other fatty foods. It doesn't necessarily make me feel better but it makes my tummy feel happy. And, yes, I just referred to my stomach as my "tummy". I'm not ashamed of that.

Things just got a little more, uh, interesting around here and not in the good way unfortunately. And though I have time to blog about it I don't have the mental capacity to write about it as eloquently as I would like, because I'm kinda losing my mind over here.

I brought my dog Fisher in for a routine tooth cleaning yesterday. The dog, I'm afraid to say, has the breath of death. Really. It smells like something crawled in there and died. I know lots and lots of dogs and I can safely say that no other dog has breath like Fisher's. We thought a tooth cleaning was in order so that he may continue to be allowed to live inside with the rest of us slightly less stinky beings.


Fisher has a stomach issue, you see. I won't bore you with the details, but ever since he was one year old and swallowed a half bottle of Immodium that was left on a low window sill by some dumb punk at the kennel I was working at - ahem - and then was brought to the local emergency vet clinic for a lovely and expensive overnight stay, he's had these issues. That was almost five years ago and we suspect during the course of his throwing up the offending drugs (did you know Immodium in large quantities is an opiate? Now you do) he may have aspirated. Since then he has this problem with retching and bile, which has caused his teeth to get really nasty.

Hey, baby. I ain't nothin' but a hound dog. Thank you. Thank you very much.

Um, scratch what I said about boring you with the details. That's it in a nutshell.

Anyway.

Yesterday I was supposed to pick him up at the end of the day with pearly whites that even Paris Hilton would be envious of, but soon after I dropped him off I got a call from the vet. Never a good thing. Apparently they found in his routine screening before he was anesthetized (again with the anesthesia!) a problem with his liver.

A problem. With his liver. A PROBLEM. With his LIVER.

(I'm losing my freaking mind here. Losing. It. Now. Aaaand... It's gone.)

Take it from me, life is easier when you don't have much of a mind to begin with.

The routine procedure was scrapped, more tests were scheduled and I spent the next hour in my own doctor's office alternately fielding questions about how I was feeling (Quite shitty, thanks for asking) and freaking out about Fisher. I was so stressed out that I noticed later I had a fingernail sized cut in my palm because my fingers were pressed so tightly into balls all day.

I know that not every person feels the same about their pets but my dogs, Fisher especially, are very dear to me. Fisher goes to work with me. He was my first baby, so to speak, and he's my buddy. Even if he is stinky.

You might want to check and see just which of us is the stinky one right now.

I'm not ashamed to admit that he's my favorite. It's hard not to favor a dog who sticks by you when you cry your eyes out because your mom is dying or guards you more protectively when you're pregnant. Fisher has done all those things and more. I never have to worry about him around Chicky, except maybe to be concerned that they're licking yogurt off the same spoon. They play fetch every evening, he let's her take the ball out of his mouth and slowly runs after her when she plays keep-away. He let's her sit on him or use him as a foot stool. I don't even mind that he walks around with dirty socks in his mouth because I know he won't chew them. He just likes the taste of dirty socks. I love that damn dog.

I got news this morning that parts of his tests came back abnormal, as was suspected after the quick blood tests he had first thing yesterday. His blood was sent out and came back with an elevated white blood cell count and other initials I can't remember right now. He has an appointment for x-rays and other tests on Monday. Hopefully it's just a parasite but I can't help but freak out, thinking it could be something else. I'm little miss happiness that way.

I'm wishing for hum drum and boring right now. I'm hoping the vet will send us home with worming medication and antibiotics on Monday and that will be that. I'm praying it's absolutely nothing but a routine parasite. I'd really like for my life to be dull and not full of medical problems for my pup. My Fisher. My Squisher McFisher Fishy Fish.



I couldn't stand life without that face.