Oh, my. Buster is putting A. and I through an emotional wringer.
He stopped eating again. Friday's visit to the vet involved phrases such as "last resort," exploratory surgery," and "get emotionally prepared."
A. and I were to discuss whether we wanted to have the vet perform exploratory surgery on Buster, and what to do depending on what she found. Do we wake him up, or say goodbye?
I was a fucking mess on Friday. So was A.
Buster continued to get weaker and weaker. The dark, dark color of his diarrhea scared both A. and I into immediately thinking he was dying. I mean, it was one of those instances where you just know what you are seeing is wrong. (Although, he has had no accidents inside; he still asks to "go outside to go potty.")
So we took him to another vet on Saturday (because they were open. And maybe because I wanted another opinion.). I asked the new vet to do a complete exam, blood work and an ultrasound on his belly.
Again, his blood work came back perfect. The only thing she found on the ultrasound was his spleen looks slightly enlarged, but she could not find any masses, pockets, or fluid in his belly. His coat is shiny and soft. His eyes are bright. His tongue is pink and his gums are healthy. She did not see any reason to rush into immediate surgery, and thought he was healthy enough to try and give a cocktail of meds some time to make him comfortable.
Good? Bad? What is wrong with my baby?
The second vet has him on steroids, a morphine derivative, antacid and nausea pills for the next few days. The concoction seems to be helping him feel better. Buster eats his treats and spits out the pills, so I have been prying open his jaw and shoving them down his throat. He loves me.
The meds seem to be helping keep him more comfortable. He is eating treats like nobody's business, but still has no interest in food in his bowl. He trots over when he hears the word "treat" and enthusiastically gobbles them up, then looks up in anticipation for more.
Yesterday, he trotted around outside with us for well over a half an hour, wagging his tail and looking much perkier. But he is still not near his normal, happy self.
Then, last night, he started panting heavily and kept asking to go outside every hour. He would try to poop, but couldn't. Is he constipated from too many treats? Is there some sort of fucking tumor pushing on his belly and innards making him feel like he has to poop, but of course, can't? Do we get biopsies? Are those possible without major surgery? Do we do major surgery? If it is early cancer, do we treat him? Jesus Fucking Christ, I am losing my mind.
And I know that A. is going through hell. He is so tender and caring and loves this dog so much. He just wants to make him happy and do what is right for him. It is killing him that he can't just make it better for Buster, like he always does.
I am so frustrated and scared and sad. I am scared to be optimistic. I am scared not to be.