Doggy Tale

Pain meds, anti-inflammatories, sutures, range of motion, physical therapy.

Rough medical vocabulary.  Or, more like ruff, as in canine speak.

When the vet gave me the news that my dog was going to need surgery to repair a torn ACL, I thought, here we go again.  Only this time I took the news pretty well compared to the first time I received similar news ("oh no, please say it isn't so...").  Then it was about my son, who had injured his knee in a HS wrestling tournament.    My husband and I were listening intently to the surgeon explain the procedure using a plastic model of a knee (complete with ligaments), when, suddenly without warning, I felt lightheaded and a wave of nausea wafted over me.  Without even waiting to excuse myself (how rude) I exited the room and hightailed it to the restroom.  I stared at myself in the mirror as I leaned on the sink for support and struggled not to faint.  (do not fall, hit the sink and chip a tooth).  A few splashes of water and I could feel myself regaining composure.  I did make it back to the room to hear the doctor's final details.  Talk about a very emotional punch in the guts.

I felt the same way when I realized this was going to be a canine traumatic experience.  After all, the dog is part of the family.  How times have changed:  I don't recall a single dog from my childhood days that ever had ACL or meniscus surgery (who knew dogs had knees).  Now it's fairly commonplace, judging by shared stories from other pet owners.  Not to mention pets today can even undergo chemotherapy or  opthamology-related operations...but that's a whole 'nother paragraph or two.

My son's ACL surgery and recovery was the most serious and traumatic medical experience I'd had in recent times.  The evening that he was released from the hospital, I remember helping my son to the bathroom and then hearing a thud.  He had passed out, and only my middle-school- aged daughter and her friend were home to help.  We had difficulty getting the door opened because he was wedged behind it, but we did.  He was OK except for the awful ashen color of his face. The girls took one look and announced, "eeewh, he looks dead."  Wonderful.  But I have to admit they were right: he really looked like a corpse.

I'm happy to report we all survived that medical episode and even again four years later, when SAME son had the SAME surgery on  SAME knee when he was in college.  I know we (and the dog!) will get through this too, despite her humiliation wearing the ridiculous lampshade on her head.  And not to mention her pink shaved leg that resembles a raw turkey drumstick.  Ruff..