My little dog, too

In late August when my dad had fallen ill, my dog did, too. But I knew I had to get to my father fast to help support him during this health crisis. While I hastily made arrangements to get a flight to Florida the next day, I also arranged for my son Mateo to come home and care for Fuego since she recently hadn’t seemed like herself. She had less of an appetite and had less energy than usual.

Even though Fuego was in good hands with Mateo, when I returned it was clear I had to get her to the vet. It was Saturday so Francisco and I took her to urgent care for animals, and yes, that’s a thing. They took her bloodwork and quickly had a diagnosis. Ketoacidosis. That’s when we learned Fuego had diabetes. Instead of getting a desired dose of medication and sent on our merry way home as I anticipated, we were told she couldn’t get the treatment she needed there. We had to take her to a vet emergency clinic.

Cisco and I quickly put Fuego in the car and headed there. We had the paperwork from urgent care and shared the findings with them. They reviewed it, checked her vitals, and before taking additional bloodwork low key tried to sell me on the idea of putting her down. My mind began to race. Did I just hear that right? I just came back from my dad’s bedside where he’s critically ill and now, I might lose my dog. What the what? I was stunned. I texted our extended family group chat, originally established to share updates on my dad’s condition, and asked them to pray for Fuego.

The doctor explained that if they could get her out of ketoacidosis, she was still facing an uphill battle managing her diabetes. It’s strife with complications. And the emergency treatment is very expensive. I understood everything they did and didn’t say. Then I looked at Fuego, I locked eyes with her, and I knew she wanted to live. I understood the risks and the costs. I was now determined, “I hear everything you’re saying, and we are going to give our last best shot right here.”

I signed some papers and they took her blood. They got the lab results back and then took her blood again. Apparently, they were surprised by the first set of findings. While she was in ketoacidosis and clearly not doing well, other markers were better than presumed. The second set of blood tests confirmed she was hanging in there. I had to leave Fuego there overnight for a couple of days for treatment but left with a glimmer of hope.

The next morning, the ER called me pleased that they had gotten her to eat a little bit of chicken overnight. They began the insulin therapy; it includes a delicate balance of fluid replacement and electrolyte management. A day later they phoned to say she’d made a remarkable recovery, and I could pick her up that afternoon. Seven thousand dollars later, we were on our way home with insulin and some syringe needles with a directive to follow up with our regular veterinarian.

Fuego would visit his office and stay for 8 hours once a week to monitor her fasting glucose. This went on for a month. It would help determine the optimal amount of insulin she should receive after each meal. Through trial and error, we pivoted her diet and ended up with a winning combination of cut up carrots, canned chicken breast, and a little bit of dog food in three equal portions. Three weeks into these weekly treatments with the vet, my father passed away. I couldn’t do anything to change his fate, but I’ll be damned if I was going to let the universe take my little dog, too.

I changed my routine. I came home immediately after work in time to feed Fuego and give her an injection of insulin after her dinner. Staying consistent was a priority for her health, being inconsistent could be detrimental to it. Then it came time to attend my father’s funeral. Our usual boarding kennel wouldn’t take my dog because of her diabetes. Plus, the time away from us would stress her out and as a result, elevate her blood sugar. We decided to drive to Florida with the dog. I was happy to do it if it meant she’d stay well and the vet confirmed it. He said we were making the best decision for Fuego. We made a two day trek there and back to Florida with an overnight stay each way in Pensacola.

Fuego did great on the road trip and enjoyed interacting with lots of family members throughout our stay in Sarasota. She had no problem making her way around my father’s house. When we made our way back to Texas, we had a good solid five days before another calamity ensued. I came home from work; Fuego greeted me at the front door as she usually does, excited and happy to see me. But as she turned around, she began to repeatedly bump into walls. “What’s the matter, girl? Can’t you see? Fuego! Where are you going? What are you doing?”, and then it dawned on me, “Oh my God, you can’t see.” She was blind.

What do I do, what do I do? I was beside myself. I’ve got to get her dinner and insulin before I have to turn around to return to work and volunteer at the welcome table in the grand lobby of the theatre. I immediately called the vet and secured an appointment for the next morning. I think perhaps a normal person, someone who hadn't been existing in crisis mode for a couple of months, would’ve called in to work to say they couldn’t make it that evening to volunteer. Not me, I scooped my dog up with her dog bed and blanket in tow and dropped her off in my office, blind and all, while I fulfilled my obligation.

The next morning when I took Fuego to the vet he confirmed she was blind. It was because of diabetic cataracts. While her diabetes was now under control the ship had sailed on her eyesight as the cataracts had already developed. She had done a yeoman’s job compensating for her eyesight as it diminished. So much so I didn’t notice any signs until she lost it completely. The good news is it could be reversed and her vision restored with surgery. Just like with humans, if done early enough, they can surgically remove the cataract to repair sight. The only catch? It would cost a pretty penny.

At this point, I had literally made the decision to invest in my dog. What’s another several thousand dollars? Especially if it means I could give her a better quality of life and stop supervising her every move like you do with a newly independent and mobile toddler. My vet gave me the referral to the eye doctor for dogs, and we were on our way to scheduling surgery. All in all, Fuego was blind for about 6 weeks, from the end of October till her eye surgery in mid-December. Her operation was successful and it restored her sight!

Although it was another long slog of intervention, multiple eyedrops daily and weekly appointments with the eye specialist, I am used to juggling a myriad of pressing concerns and competing responsibilities. Eventually the weekly visits turned into monthly appointments and this morning she completed her three-month check-up. The doctor said she was clear-eyed and he didn’t need to see her again for another 6 months. I am so relieved.

Even though Fuego is up there in age, she’s now 12 and a half, I knew she had it in her. I know I could’ve made different choices along the way but I’m so happy I stayed the course and believed in her. It may not have looked pragmatic at the time; however, it turned out to be the right decision. Intuitively I felt she wasn’t done yet and she isn’t. It’s reaffirming to know that even if we can’t win them all, we can win some. And therein lies hope.