Someone in This House is Getting the Good Drugs, But It's Not Me

 Lucy's surgery was on Wednesday, which was (counts on fingers) six days ago (probably seven by the time I get this posted). It was a TPLO (Tibial Plateau Leveling Osteotomy) - when dogs rupture their ACL they don't repair the ligament, they shave a piece of bone from the tibia and flip it over to reconfigure the knee joint and put in an implant to stabilize everything. I think. Don't quote me. 

We had debated whether we should wait for the surgery until Matt was back from Asia, but once we knew we were doing it I really just wanted to get it over with and start moving towards things getting better. I knew it was going to be grueling and I knew I wouldn't really have a right to complain since it was my decision. And I really love complaining, you guys. 

In a lot of ways it's been better than I expected. My house is destroyed and my back and neck and hands are toast, and in some ways it's been like bringing home a newborn. But babies only have two legs that they can't even USE, and Lucy has four and is booting around handily on three, so there's less carrying than their might be. Also, I can hoist her up in a football carry under one arm rather than using both, which is good because at this point in my physical life I would be pretty worried about going headlong down the stairs. Also, never mind the people that have to do this kind of caregiving with actual people, there are people whose dogs blow out their knees when they are only puppies, and people doing this with some big-ass dogs, and that must be much more difficult.

The first two or three days were pretty rough. She was still coming off the anesthesia, I couldn't leave the house, there were crates and towels and pee pads everywhere as I tried to figure out which configuration was going to work, as well as stuff piled all over the furniture so she wouldn't be tempted to try jumping up on it. I had a list of things I was supposed to do to help her recovery, including icing the leg and doing massage and passive range of motion exercises. And I am nothing if not a diligent student. You know what she didn't find awesome? Having me coming at her poor beleaguered leg with an ice pack and my pokey fingers. She didn't bite me, but she was definitely displeased. The secondary instructions were "if your dog hates all of this, just don't bother." Eek, okay, I was a little bummed, but let's be honest, we are aiming for the ability to walk comfortably, not a return to an Olympic career, so following her lead is probably fine. 

Naturally while I was preparing for her to come home I went to various pet stores and spent way too much money on various assorted beds, toys and treats with various spurious claims to magical healing properties. Most of these are piled on the table waiting to be returned. A few of them she spurned in the first few days and is more into now

Much like bringing a newborn home, or following a human's healing path, there has been a disproportionate level of rejoicing surrounding bodily functions and tiny milestones. She's tolerated the inflatable doughnut collar pretty well, but two friends came over and brought dinner Sunday night, and while we were eating and she was in her crate with my back to her, my friend Nat saw her wriggle out of the cone and try to lick the incision. So I promptly freaked out and worried I'd have to call in sick instead of going back to work on Monday because I would be a nervous wreck worrying she would hurt herself. I asked Sonia if she could come babysit, and she worked remotely in my kitchen while keeping an eye on Lucy. It was the first time I'd left the house, and it was really nice to get out and do a normal work day. 

Sort of counterintuitively, dogs are allowed - even encouraged - to put weight on the injured leg right away. The vet said many small dogs will hold off longer because it's easier for them to get around without it. After a couple of weeks there are exercises to try encouraging rebuilding muscle mass, but things will be on her timeline. As for her ridiculous naked shaved leg, when we looked up how long it should take the hair to grow back we found the terribly precise range of "one month to ONE YEAR". 

I told Eve about the surgery on Sunday before I came back to Ottawa so it wouldn't impact her performances. She was okay. Later we were texting about it and she asked if it was a back leg and said "back leg seems important" and I said yes it was, but maybe a little easier to get around without (meaning hopping on three legs). She said "hang on, is the surgery to REMOVE it?", which required a hasty clarification. 

Right now she's able to lie on the back small deck in the sun and is fine on the two steps down and to get over the sliding door lip into the house, so that's making her much happier and things feel a little more normal for me. I have refined my doggie massage technique (at one point I said "is 'my dog is having surgery' one of the the bougiest statements ever?' and then I remembered Jody sometimes has to tell people her horse is having a massage) and yesterday I texted the family chat "I have just made scrambled eggs and turned on classical music. For the dog".

Apologies for this being rambly and not terribly coherent. Things are okay. I have friends that have come over and brought food and held Lucy and kept me slightly saner and watched period dramas with me and that has really helped. I am still really glad that when Matt gets home things will seem that much easier when I'm not alone, and we'll be that much closer to complete recovery.