Okay, so I lied about the “getting back on the wagon” thing. We will probably be a little Fiona side-tracked this week as well.
We woke-up this morning, and Fiona was looking a little worse than she had the past couple of days. I knew in my heart that something still wasn’t right, and she needed more doctor attention. Plus, my nerves were shot, and I needed a doctor to see my baby girl and either tell me, (a) She looks good, progressing like she should be, or (b) We need to do something different/more because she still looks wrecked. I came to work this morning with plans to call the vet’s office when they opened at 7:30 am and request an appointment asap. I was hoping to get in early so we would have time to see a specialist today, if it came to that. They could fit us in at 8:20 am, LOVE THEM. I sent a few pertinent emails, and then I rushed home to grab Fiona and hurry to the vet.
When I open the door, I see a bloodied Fiona, and I LOOSE it. I lost control of the emotions I had been trying to keep a lid on for a week now. She somehow managed to Houdini around her cone and break-open her left eye lid (which is three times its normal size these days). When I really think about it, I don’t think she was able to access her eye with one of her paws. I think she ran into something or scraped her face on a pillow while jumping onto the couch. Something like that. She didn’t bark when I got home and unlocked the door, so I knew something was up. Knowing isn’t the same as KNOWING (read: seeing). Bring on the waterworks. My first real pregnant cry (I’m not counting commercials, tv shows, and movies) - Holy hormones.
I didn’t have time to wipe her eye and the fur around her eye, but I knew Vet Lady would do it (she had lots of crusties that needed to the wiped away). We hop in the car, and I call Mr. H. He picks-up, and I bawl. After a fairly incoherent conversation where he asked, “Are you okay?” And I respond, “No, I am not okay. I am NOT OKAY,” I hang up and try to collect myself for the Vet Lady. I managed fairly well, that is until I opened the vet office’s front door. Fiona recognized the smell (and the pain she had experienced there twice last week), and she started to shake VIOLENTLY. Cue breakdown numero dos. I said little to the receptionists because I knew more than I word or two at a time would release a fury of emotions. I had to pee, so I took Fiona into the bathroom, where she huddled close to the legs/feet and shook. There went my chances to recover gracefully in the privacy of the bathroom. I say zero to the technician in the exam room as she weighed Fiona and took her temperature (normal, a good sign) for the same reason mentioned above.
We’re left alone in quiet for a few minutes. Usually they don’t close the exam room door during the exams, but the technician was smart enough to shut it nice and tight when she walked-in and when she left. In walks Vet Lady, and I LOOSE IT. Really loose it this time. The entire time Vet Lady looked like she wanted to give me a hug, which I would have gladly accepted. I turned my back so I couldn’t see Fiona shaking like a leaf, bloody, and looking smaller than usual on the exam table. Vet Lady takes her into the back to clean her up and assess the situation. Five minutes later she comes back and says she called an eye specialist, and he can fit me in right now if we have the time. YES, we have the time. Vet Lady informs that she’s here all weekend if we need her, don’t worry about anything for this visit (as in you don’t have to pay for a thing), just take Fiona and go to the Eye Guy. I could have hugged her.
We scurry out the front door and b-line it for the grass so Fiona can do her business, which she does proficiently because she’s a champion marker and there was A LOT of unfamiliar pee spots in that small patch of grass. Ring, ring - it’s my mom calling my cell phone (what is it about moms and their perfect timing? It’s creepy). I contemplated not answering because I knew what would happen if I did. I answered, and I BAWLED (just as I expected). We hop in the car and head to the Eye Guy, which was only a few miles away (NICE). I hang-up with Mom and try, once again, to collect myself. We arrive at the eye office, and the two receptionists are total Bs. A complete 180 from the nice, concerned, pet-loving receptionists at our vet. I wanted to yell at them, “DO YOU EVEN OWN A DOG!?!?!” Fiona and I cower from the Evil Bs in a corner, and wait.
We’re ushered into an exam room by B #1, and we meet the Eye Guy two minutes later. Nicest guy ever. He takes a look at Fiona with his fancy eye instruments, and steps back to explain to me exactly what he sees in detail. Not only did he take the time to explain, but he graciously and gently fielded all of my questions. He also took the time to type-up his diagnosis and our discussion, which appeared on our invoice (um, awesome idea considering (1) I have pregnancy brain and can’t remember a thing, and (2) I was concentrating so hard on NOT crying that I hardly heard a word he said). She has severe inflammation likely caused by toxins on the eyelids or in the eyes (stupid phantom snake), which has been exacerbated by Fiona scratching her eyes. There’s a real word for it (starts with a B), I just wanted remember it, and I’m too lazy to look at the invoice. He prescribed more of the pill she has been taking, a new (amped-up) eye drop, and an additional antibiotic in pill form. He explained that she will take WEEKS (three to four) for Fiona to really start looking like herself. And he said this kind of thing needs to be treated for a few weeks because it’ll flare right back up if treatment is for only a couple weeks. But he did say that there should be a noticeable difference by the weekend.
All of that from Eye Guy, and it only cost $170. I have to say that I’ve been pleasantly surprised by how inexpensive this ordeal has been. We’ve paid much less than we expected, which has been nice.
After a few “awwww’s” from people in the waiting room (that’s right Evil Bs, my dog is cute, adorable, and WRECKED, and you would have noticed that if your heart wasn’t BLACK and FROZEN), Fiona and I head home with our new medicine bounty. F is panting and exhausted, which I am hoping will be to her benefit (read: she’ll sleep all afternoon instead of claw at her eyes). I have to go back to work, so I have a quiet conversation with F where I ask her nicely to leave her eyes alone. I came back at lunch to check-on the patient, and I open the door and say, “NO BLOOD!” to my step mom who is on the phone. And she barked when I got home, a good sign.
I am cautiously optimistic, although I am trying desperately to have 100% Faith. I hope to see a sleepy, non-bloodied Fiona when I get home from work today. Pray for her? And selfishly, pray for me and my sanity (all of this worrying, freaking out, crying, bawling, and not sleeping can’t be good for L Bean). I’m ready to turn a corner - a big fat happy, healthy corner.
P.S. - sorry about the length. The story required details, and I looooove details (obvi).