19 February Clean and Sober & Snookered

Okay, for those of you who read the 15 February 2011 confessional, well, let's say if I had an delusions of intelligence, I've been disabused of them.

Thursday night, I was really, really tired and didn't notice I hadn't plugged in my cell phone (which I was using as an alarm clock for Razzle's meds). I feel asleep around 8:00 PM. Surprise, surprise, the miraculous Verizon paperweight ran out of juice, the upshot of which was that I missed his 11:00 PM Tramadol dose and ....

and ...

and ...

The fink slept through the night like a baby on bendryl. Not a peep, not a whimper. I wake up around 7:00 AM when his NEXT dose of Tramadol and Gabapentin was due and he was still sleeping like an innocent angel (which he is NEITHER). He got up out of bed without so much as stretch-and-rumble and ambled up to me for a pet. Had I been shoving pills down him for days, no, for MORE THAN a week, for no apparent reason? Really?

Yep.

Maybe I was wrong. Maybe it takes a while for the drugs to work out of his system. But there was only one way to know. I decided to take a risk. I'd make him go cold turkey.(Cruella has nothing on me!) Nothing. No drugs at all. No Tramadol, no Gabapentin, no Codeine, Nada. So we went for a walk (even had a tail wag), had our breakfast (okay, we had it in bed) and waited.

and waited ...

and waited ...

and ...

and ...

Nothing. Not a peep. The only drug he got yesterday was the Pepcid (as he is still trying to eat grass when we walk I know his tummy is upset). He's been more mobile, more engaged and DRINKING MORE WATER (he did not drink much water at all over the last couple weeks, which, for flushing out our insides is not a good sign). Dr. Neary suggested fresh ground ginger to settle his stomach and the long stares at his sides have stopped.

So I guess I should slap on the handcuffs and turn myself in for puppy pill pushing or abuse by medication or something. The only thing I know for sure is that I was utterly taken in by the random screaming, the prolonged wails and moans and the irrational clinging guilt my utterly rational mind refused to acknowledge I was capable of. I couldn't be taken in, after all. I'm too hard, too disciplined, too intellectual to turn into a blithering guilt ridden idiot whose soul is being torn out by the slightest cry from a dog ... right? Forget it, marshmallow insides, wimp, pushover, (a.k.a. pusher), you've been busted. You've been HAD. By a great big brown-eyed con-artist.

So. Here we are 36 hours after his last pain meds and he's sleeping like a baby, pooing up a storm, drinking like a fish and whizzing wonder pee.

Anyone know where I can get "Sucker" tattooed on my forehead ... cheap? Oh, I forgot, it's already there; it's a magic doggie tattoo only visible to canines and panhandlers.

My grandmother hand a word for it.

Snookered.

15 February 2011 -- Mom the Sucker (tee hee)

Okay. I chose the totally pathetic picture on purpose. I've been had. I've been had by my dog -- who turned me into his hook up (or his pusher, depending on your point of view). He had me flying to the hospital and badgering his doctors for new drugs, better drugs, drugs to stop the horrible, horrible pain. We had Tramadol, we had Neurontin, we had Codeine, we had Robaxin, we had ... you get the point. If three hours went by without something coated in peanut butter being served up to my desperately pained greyhound, it was that I accidentally fell asleep.

Right up until the minute I found out I'd been had. Now, don't get me wrong. It never occured to me that my slightly Munchausen prone dog was winding me up. After all, poor little baby had his leg hacked off and had chemicals pumped into him the next day -- but was bravely walking within hours of his surgery! He couldn't -- he wouldn't. (He did, and he was).

Now, I probably never would have discovered this. I would still be in the other room, where I've been most hours of most days holding his paw and cuddling him through painful screams as he cried and screamed until Mommy's full body massage made the pain go away (see where we're going here?)

But Mommy had not been sleeping very well (or, not to put too fine a point on it ... at all!). Being imperfect on her best day, ten days or so without more than about 3 hours sleep and Mommy ... well, Mommy snapped. The percipitating incident was after he'd demanded to be taken out no less than six times in the previous 20 minutes. I finally was able to serve him dinner and while I was doing that, I just put my hand on his head; you know, a nice, friendly scratch -- and he screamed blood murder. Seriously.

I lost it. Totally blithering idiot, walking the plank screaming lost it. I howled and screamed and cried ... until I noticed something ... he's stopped screaming and was watching me (the death threat uttered half way through my tirade seemed to shock him a bit). He very meekly walked over, ate his dinner like a lamb, then went to the bed he hand't been willing even to get up on because it didn't suit him, laid down and looked up at me with ... that look. You all know the one I mean. The one where you'd rather cut your heart out with a spork that deny him anything. And it was silent. Totally, utterly quiet. No whining, no screaming, nothing. Not for the next three hours (a world record). We went out for a walk without being begged and coaxed; we did our business in a minute; we took our pills without a bit of fuss. Finaly I realized -- I got it. I'd been had. Totally, completely, thoroughly had.

Not that he hasn't backslid. Pushing the limits, testing the waters. There's the odd scream in the middle of the night. The occasional whimper with pills or getting up after a nap ... and he's managed to make sure he still has his meals hand fed to him in bed (don't ask). But when the screaming whimpering whining performance doesn't ellicit an instant response, we give it over and turn back into a lamb. (Cora's going to kill me; he even refused during all this to walk on a leash for a day or so ... PUSHOVER). I've finally been able to do as the vets had insisted (why didn't they just TELL me I was being had??) and started weaning him off the pain medication. I've steadliy reduced his pain meds each day and AND the number of "incidents" (and their duration) has diminshed. I'm -- well, if I was delusional about having a modicum of intelligence, I've been disabused of the notion.

With the reduction in the pain meds he's more engaged and energetic. (Yes, he's trying a whole new book of tricks, but I've got my brain engaged before I react).

So, the next time someone tells you greyhounds are stupid --- they aren't. In fact, I'm pretty sure between him and Mo -- I'm the dim bulb in the room.

Our next chemo is Tuesday week. I'm hoping to have him off all the pain medications as soon as possible to ease the stress on his liver and kidneys -- I think the Robaxin is key; while I don't believe he's in acute postoperative pain, I'm pretty sure he is experiencing severe muscle spasms (I can feel those) from the drastic change in the muscles he's using. Frankly, this all started because every time he cried out he got a full body massage ... cause ... effect. I need a masseuse for him and a shrink for both of us -- how about couples therapy for a master and his human?

Did I flunk the chapter on Pavlov's dogs?

Yeah. The word sucker comes to mind.

What we do for love.

And I'd do it all over again.