|
|
There is quite possibly a name for what is going on with my Lizard. Lumbosacral Stenosis. Of course, that's my extremely educated diagnosis, but the vet did mention it as a possibility on Monday when we were there. That and a UTI.
Liz is on antibiotics now which may or may not be contributing to her lack of enthusiasm for her food. Her accidents inside have gotten a bit less frequent, but I'm watching her like a hawk. If it is the LS plaguing my girl, at least we will have a name for it other than just "she's getting old."
However, the downside is the lack of a cure or treatment for LS. The option is to manage symptoms. As I said on the Greyhound Crossroads board today, Liz deserves better than management of pain/symptoms. She's lived through pain and "management." My Lizzard deserves freedom from pain.
I just hope I'm strong enough to give it to her when the time comes. Meanwhile I will continue to love the look on her face when she is startled awake...one ear sticking straight up, her skin on her face all drawn up from being slept on, and her eyes wide. Or the way she sits in the chair with one front paw folded over the other one, looking at me as though it is beneath her to be in the same room with me.
And it is, really...I'm just the Mommy...my Lizzard is an angel.
Back to All Liz All the Time...
She goes into the vet today, and I'm officially terrified. I have to go by myself because Scott can't get out of his sales meeting (that happens after working hours) to go, so I'm sure that's part of my anxiety.
Yesterday I helped her off the couch to go out to potty (out the front door on lead, fewer stairs there) and as we were going out the door she balked. I did my usual and put a knee behind her to push her on out the door. Her back end was wet. I panicked, thinking it was blood, that one of the zillion mysterious "blood blisters" she has had burst...but it wasn't. Liz had already gone potty, apparently in her sleep and obviously all over herself and the sofa.
My rational mind says Enough is Enough. She's almost 15. She's had a longer life than most greyhounds do. She's had a rough life, and probably wouldn't be in the shape she's in if she'd been put into adoption before she was 10 and a half. We've loved her for four years almost, and done just about everything we can for her within reason.
My heart is screaming. My heart is crying. My heart is shattered. It pleads with my mind that maybe it's just low thyroid again. Lots of greyhounds have incontinence problems...lots of them. She's just old, but she's still spunky and silly.
What do I do? It rips me open to leave her to go to work, for fear that she won't be there when I get home. But at the same time, as much as I hate to admit it, a tiny part of my heart hopes that will be the case. I could not feel more guilty than I do everytime I wish that she just won't wake up when she falls asleep. I want it to be easy on both of us, and I know Liz...if we "help her to the bridge" she will fight it and I will DIE.
In the meantime, though, I am trying to keep happy thoughts and trying to be positive. As I'm cleaning up the umpteenth "accident" I remind myself that there will be a day when I don't have to do that anymore...and I can't decide if that makes me happy or sad.
|
|
|
