We are cat people.  I mean, even the dog that has been a part of the family for almost seventeen years thinks of herself as a cat I think.  But if we've learned anything it is that Linus is an exception in so many respects.  As much as the cats protested at first, we couldn't manage to turn him away when he wandered into our lives a couple months ago.  Within twenty-four hours, I found myself wrapped up in the most delicious doggy cuddle as we let him inside due to the unseasonably chilly nights.  By the time we took him in for his first vet visit, we were already hopelessly in love with the guy and could barely imagine our family without him.  So, I hope we will be forgiven that we were relieved to find that the lack of "missing dog" posters was followed by the absence of a microchip.*

Because we had discovered at the vet that Linus was capable of the most fantastic tantrums when being prodded, we almost missed the first sign of trouble.  He jumped onto the couch one night (did I say he was a "good" dog?) and yipped when he hit his back on a TV tray.  Yet, as is so typical with him, he seemed to get over it quickly and we figured he had mostly just startled himself.  The next day however, a huge bump formed on his back that quickly ballooned with fluid.  We were approaching the weekend at that point and decided to wait it out.  The decision seemed to be rewarded as the size decreased by Sunday, but Monday saw a dramatic return and by Tuesday, Linus was showing the first signs of discomfort.  He was rushed into surgery Wednesday morning as it was determined he probably had an abscess that needed draining (and heaven knows he wasn't going to allow any needles near him unsedated).  During the surgery, it was discovered that a highly developed cyst was at the root of the problem, but since it was imbedded in muscle near the spine, it was left mostly alone in hopes the skin would heal on its surface and impede the buildup of fluid.  Two days later, we were finally able to take him home with the daunting task of draining his back twice daily with no way of explaining to him why we would do such an outrageous thing.

Somehow he put up with it, and we had hope it would work out that first week.  The second week the tubes were removed, and then things got bad.  To flush the wound, we now had to rub the scabs off at each treatment, and this he was not so understanding of.  The cats took to perching on the table to watch with a sort of, "We still don't like him, but no one deserves this guys," look on their faces.  What made it unbearable was the quickly growing realization that it was not working.  The fluid was building faster than we could drain it.  He would need another surgery.

 

At the point that laser surgery was mentioned, I had to admit that we were already having to get creative with our finances as it was.  That said, it was completely understood that we would just have to figure out however creative we needed to be to get Linus whatever he needed.  It is one of the great shames that money should even compete with the well being of a loved one, but we are far from alone in dealing with that particular dichotomy.

 

My apprehension built as the afternoon wore on without hearing from the clinic how Linus had done in surgery.  When the call finally came, I had to take a breath to clear the terror that something awful had happened.  As such, it took me a moment when I answered and heard Dr. Russell tell me that she had been able to remove the cyst.  None of us had thought it would be possible, including her, but she had known what it would mean if she couldn't and gave it a heroic and successful effort.  She tried to caution my building enthusiasm by letting me know the surgery had been pretty extreme and that we should expect a good deal of pain for our guy while he healed.  But this was in the context of the hopeless and torturous previous weeks in which we had seen him in pain but without any reasonable expectation of recovery.  Solid hope makes many things bearable.

In light of this miracle, I am a little ashamed to say that I walked into that clinic to pick Linus up with a very heavy heart: how were we going to pay for all that had been done for him?  Still, there was such an air of celebration in the office with Linus being a secret favorite of everyone's and such unexpectedly good news.  I was a little distracted by the exuberance as I was handed the bill, and only the huge grins all around clued me in.  Looking down I saw a total I simply could not believe: fifty dollars.  The clinic had already given us so much pro bono I couldn't see how they could do any more than they had.  Finally I looked at the itemizations and saw the huge donation from the humane society.  Dr. Russell had made a call, and we had been given another miracle.  If there hadn't been a desk between us, I would have hugged them all.  And as a matter of fact I did manage to hug Dr. Russell when she brought out our guy since I found myself unable to find any other way to say thank you through the tears.

 

Not even a week later, Linus seems to have most assuredly put the whole thing behind him. 

Almost a week after the surgery

He had one rough night coming off the sedative and has acted carefree ever since.  Well, the cone is a huge travesty in his opinion, but he only throws the occasional tantrum over it.  And this too shall pass.    



The demise of the first cone

I still cannot adequately thank everyone that has been with us through this time.  This blog is my way of letting you all know how our guy is doing and to let his unbound joy be our constant thanks. 

 

 

*We know all too well how painful it is too lose one of our four-legged loved ones.  As such, if anyone knows who Linus' previous family is, we would like to be in touch with them.  Obviously, we are very much looking forward to living with this special guy, but we are not willing to inflict pain on others to do so.