Molly

It’s been over a month and every day Molly still manages to surprise me.  The fur is finally growing back and I know we will all feel better when the daily reminder of what she went through is covered over with a nice thick coat of fur.  The crescent shaped scar is still so visible.  I’m more used to it all than my husband is though.  I’m with her more.  He says it still breaks his heart when he looks at her sometimes. 

He doesn’t get to watch the transformation like I do,  and to see her do all the amazing things I never thought I would see again, like watching her dig holes.  I watched as she dug a hole in the lawn so she could roll in it.  With one front leg.  Amazing … however, now there are four holes like the first one and each day she works on them, making them deeper and wider. 

She can tear after a stick like she has six legs instead of three.  I noticed she tilts her head when she runs and I suppose this is to give her better balance.

Picking her up is difficult and we had to relearn how to do it since she only really has one armpit.  It was a little awkward at first but when she knows she is going to be picked up, she stands with her side to you so you can scoop her, instead of standing face on like she used to. 

How amazing these creatures are that when faced with what to a human would be a life altering event, to them is just a little bump in the road to hop over.

Has it already been three weeks?  This is Molly’s life now and it’s a good life.  It’s not perfect and face plants in the grass are probably not too much fun for her, but she’s alive, she’s happy, her pain is gone, and her tail wags just as much as it always did.  Her personality has not changed one bit … still feisty, still mouthy, still lovable, still Molly.

It’s been over two weeks.  Molly’s stitches are out and she has a pretty good handle on what her limitations are but we are still not used to this.  She’s adapting just fine.  But we still look at her with her obviously missing leg and think that this sucks … big time … it’s just not fair.  My poor baby girl.  Yes, I know … better this than not have her here at all, but it still sucks.

It’s been a week and a day, and I’m amazed at Molly.  She’s handling this so well.  She’s creating her new path on her own.  We helped her in any way we could, and strangely she seems to know that we are there for her.  She can fly up the two steps leading from outside to the kitchen like she still has four legs, yet coming down in another story.  She tried it a few times and it must have hurt.  Now she will wait for us to pick her up.  When her incision heals, we can put the harness on her. 

She tires easily, and sleeps a lot but she sleeps with us … in bed, on our laps, beside us on the couch where we can pet her and pet her.   Love helps the healing … it really does, but not just for dogs.  And the dog-love we feel from her is healing us.

Yesterday I had a bit of a meltdown.  I looked at her, sitting at my feet with her same Molly-face, mooching for a bit of my chicken wrap, same Molly-mooch, and when I asked, “Are you mooching?” she gave me that same guilty look that generally has me caving in.  And I ached for her.  Needless to say, she ended up with most of the chicken wrap. 

When she hopped out of the room to see if anyone else had something she could work off them with her “I’m starving here and that food looks like it will stave off the starvation” look, I cried.  I hate that life is not fair.  She is adapting so well that it’s amazing.  But it’s still not fair. 

Today was a vet appointment and I was curious to see how she would react going back to that place,where they put her in that cage and gave her pain and kept her from her family.  As soon as I got her out of the car and she realized where she was, the tail started wagging and she strained to get in to the office.  Everyone came out to see her and she hopped around on her back legs, and rushed up to each of them like they were her long-lost best friends.  To Molly, this place is just one more adventure and road trip stopover … not a place of torture and terror.  One staff member even rushed outside as we were about to get in the car, because she had been busy when we first came in and didn’t want to miss out on seeing her.  The vet, as well, is amazed at her progress … he’s a quiet sort but came right out when we came in, a huge smile on his face.  “It’s hard to believe she just went home three days ago,”  he said. 

They saved her life … I will always remember that.

I slept on the couch last night, with foam pads, blankets and pet beds all around the living room.  Molly didn’t sleep on any of the beds I made for her and chose to sleep on the couch with me, which made me so nervous.  She doesn’t seem to realize she is missing a leg and is flying up onto the couches and chairs.  I cringe everytime.  I blocked her way up on the rest of the furniture, but the couch was a different story since I could be ready to help her up or down. 

She slept at my feet all night and it was a fitful night, moreso for me actually.  I woke up every time she moved, afraid she would jump off the couch and break her leg.  Granted, I had laid out six inches of foam along the edge of the couch, just in case, but it still didn’t stop me from being a wreck all night.

Molly slept.  She does tire easily, as the vet said she would, but it seems as if her missing leg is more of an annoyance to her than a tragedy.  And when I take her outside, it’s almost like there is nothing wrong with her.  I think she gets great traction in the grass and it gives her quite a bit of life.  She’s still exploring, still barking when she hears another dog bark, still lying under the table, still sitting next to me if I’m pulling weeds.  She just hops.  And she’s turning it into an olympic sport … gettin’ darn good at it, I might add … lol

Molly’s home.  And it’s like I have the world’s most disobedient two year old hopping around my house.

Nothing prepared me for the shock of the missing leg though.  I thought I was ready but when I went into the room to see her I almost fell apart.  The staff was great … reassuring me that it’s normal to be shocked.  My son had to leave the room.   I just said, “oh gawd!” and turned away to compose myself.  It’s not the huge incision, or the shunt, or the large shaved area that’s so shocking.  It’s the enormity of it … the void where a leg once was … it’s so “not there” anymore.  I hugged her and made a huge fuss and the tail was wagging like crazy but I felt like I had been hit by a truck. 

They showed me how to pick her up and told me she was adapting so well that they had no concerns about her recovery.   And they told me to let her do whatever she wants, within reason, and to keep her away from the stairs, and she will adapt just fine without the molly-coddling.  She will forge her own path, I believe. The funny part about this is that when we went to pick her up from the breeder, I said to my sons and my husband, “We will not molly-coddle this dog” and then we all thought that Molly would actually be a cute name for her.  Little did I know that today the “no molly-coddling” rule would be what will help her get through this.

I warned my husband and my oldest son of what to expect when they get home.  As I said to the vet though, while the horror of it all was overwhelming me in the office, “and I’m the strong one,” … lol.

I still plan to spoil her though.  Tonight we are having spagetti … her absolute all time favorite food.

And, while I was setting up an area of the couch for her, so she can sleep beside me when I’m watching TV, I turned my head for a second and turned back to find her right beside me, getting ready to have a nap.  Thank heavens I didn’t see her jump up.  My heart would have stopped.  This is what we are going to really have to watch.  She is such an active dog that I don’t think she realizes she is just not ready yet to fly through the house and all over the furniture.  The last thing she needs is to break her other front leg from misjudging a leaping and flying moment of Molly-frolick.

Yup … major disobedient two year old in a world not safe enough yet.  It’s going to be a long few weeks. The odd part is that it’s Molly and her amazing powers of adaptation, along with her incredible positive attitude,  that is going to help us all get through it.  I’m not sorry one bit that we chose this route, and I know it’s going to be rough.  And I don’t envy her, for the discomfort and pain we will have to help her manage.

We’re going to get through this.  We really are.  And we have a small border terrier courageously leading the way.

And we have the people here, offering the most incredible support … thank you so much.

I called this morning to see how Molly fared overnight, and to find out when I can bring her home.  I told the receptionist who I was and that my dog was Molly, who had her leg amputated yesterday.
 
She hollered out, “Oh yes!  Molly!  We are all amazed!  We had her outside twice already and she’s even turning around.” 

“So turning around is a good thing?” I asked.

“Most definitely, ” she replied.  “She’s even been barking at the other dogs.  We can’t believe how fast she adapted!”

“So when can I come get her?”

“Any time after 1:30.”

“Great!  I’ll be there at 1:35.”

Then I asked for the total cost of it all, already having a rough idea but hoping I was wrong.”  When she told me, I hollered out to my eighteen year old son, “Danny, it’s Kraft Dinner and fried bologna for the next month, ok?”  I don’t care.  I’d eat if for a year if I had to. 🙂

I am so relieved.  Now we can move forward.  I know it’s still a tough road ahead, but she “turned around”, and I was told that was a good thing.

I phoned from work, around 1:00, and was told that Molly’s surgery went well and she was resting comfortably but still quite out of it from the anesthetic. 

Surviving the surgery was crossing the first bridge.  I admit, I was worried about it.  Now that’s it’s done, it’s time to move forward.  I have to phone tomorrow morning to find out if I can bring her home.  I don’t feel as mournful now.  It’s odd. 

I had my share of tears though.

• After dropping her off at the vet’s, in the car on the way to work
• Speaking with a few of my co-workers when I first went in.
• After I called to find out how she was doing
• On my lunch hour when I mentioned that when I phoned the vet a part of me was still hoping for a miracle, unrealistically hoping that they would say, “Good News! We didn’t need to amputate!” 
• On the way home in the car, for a few minutes.
• While reading the comments here.

And now I’m done crying for awhile, I hope.  Molly’s not here tonight and I miss her.  There was no frantic barking at the door when I walked in, which would drive me crazy and I can’t say I miss it, but it showed me she was here.  No wagging her whole body in excitement, then running around the living room like a raving maniac, with her favorite toy in her mouth.  There was no little furry body sitting at my feet while I was cooking, waiting for that stray morsel to fall at her feet which usually did because I would push the odd bit of her favorite food off the counter, as if it were an accident.   There was no dog to let out to tear across the lawn chasing any possible creature away from our yard, barking loud enough to wake the dead.  Okay, that I don’t miss since I’m sure the neighbours just love when she does that.

But she’s not here … and I’m selfish.  I want her here, three legs, eight legs, two heads, I don’t care.  I want her home.

It’s been a really sad day.  Her last day with four legs.  We spent a lot of time outside, just wandering around the backyard together.  She follows me around the yard whenever we are outside, then she goes off and does her own exploring … then back she comes to check out what I’m doing.  It’s like we own the Ponderosa or something and she’s surveying the vast expanse of acreage …. lol.  (it’s not a large backyard but she still manages to make it seem like there is so much to explore)

She’s uncomfortable though.  We don’t have her on pain medication since the vet didn’t want them in her system before the operation.  Apparently, they can thin the blood too much.  But she’s been nursing the banadaged leg on a constant basis now.  She keeps licking the area of the incision.  I’m not stopping her anymore.  I don’t think she’s in pain … I think it’s just a really uncomfortable feeling, with the cancer mass exposed under the bandage.  The vet gave us a bottle of some substance that tastes really bitter, when he first went in to see if it was a benign fatty deposit, and the bitterness is supposed to turn them off of licking the wound or bandage.  What’s the point of stopping her now though? 

This is so hard.  I had a talk with the family today … told them that it’s probably going to be a rough few weeks and it’s going to have to be up to all of us to get her, and each other, through it and no matter how we feel, we can’t doubt our decision. 

I know that once it’s done, then it’s time to jump into recovery mode, and at least then we’ll feel like we are doing something for her.  As it stands now, it’s just a painful waiting game. 

My main concern though isn’t so much her surviving with three legs.  Right now, it’s her surviving the surgery.  One bridge at a time, I suppose.