Biscuits and Butter: Health

*****Okay, this is what I like to call a "speed bump entry" - I can't ever get myself to really finish it but I don't write anything else because I'm convinced I'll finish the post soon and don't want to post things out of order. :-/ I really should know Future Lauren better than that by now. So, the first 2 paragraphs are back from 11/9/14 and then I'm just going to jump into a quicker synopsis. When you see what the post is about, you'll understand why it's taken so long.*****

Remember back when I was a young'un and I thought this was the definition of a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad experience? Ha! Memories. They make me laugh. Let's fast forward from that past about 4 years but rewind this week about 5 days to arrive at a TRULY terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. Days. Oh, the hell with it - week.

Tuesday started normally enough: Robert and I went to an OB appointment and had the second part of my fetal echocardiogram. (The first part showed everything to be on the up-and-up but the doctor only got about 80% of the views he wanted - because Ms. Baby was being uncooperative - and he wanted to make sure he saw everything.) I'd been having some mild cramping and even though that's not necessarily a worrisome thing, I asked the doctor while at the ultrasound and she confirmed that without other symptoms, it was normal. So, I went about my day and not much of note happened. Jenna hadn't been feeling herself the previous few days - she was lethargic and had very little appetite and just seemed to be "off." I'd taken her in to the clinic last week to check it out and Dr. K thought Jenna had bronchitis so

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And that's as far as I got, folks. Dr. K prescribed Jenna a bronchodilator and Jenna was only on it a few days when things started going downhill. By the time we finished dinner on Tuesday night, it was clear that Jenna's breathing was just too labored and I was concerned. So, Robert and I drove her to Ohlone Emergency and had her looked at. They put her on oxygen because her level was low but otherwise they found nothing urgently wrong. Jenna didn't have aspiration pneumonia and the doctor had given her an injectable form of the bronchodilator she was already on so once Jenna's O2 level was up to 92, the doctor said she felt comfortable letting us take Jenna home (because I'm a tech and would know what to watch for). The doctor did recommend a humidifier and some coupage treatment overnight so, since we don't have a humidifier, we had Jenna hang out in the bathroom with the shower running for a while and then I did the coupage (basically, you just use cupped hands and firm pats on the chest to help dislodge any mucus).

I'm not sure at this point what time Robert and I finally went to bed or even when I woke up but at some point in the early morning hours, I woke up with excruciating pain on my left side. I was instantly nauseated and couldn't sit or lie comfortably at all. I was reluctant to go to the ER but once I started spotting, I had no choice so off to Washington Hospital we went. This part I can definitely truncate: I was admitted to Labor and Delivery right away and it was decided that I was suffering from kidney stones. I had ultrasounds performed on both the baby and my kidneys, all of which looked good, and was given a little over 1500mL of fluids while I was there (about 8 hours or so). At an acceptable hour later in the morning (somewhere between maybe 8 and 10, I think), Robert texted my dad to have him run over to our place and check on the fur kids. After a bit my dad texted back, essentially saying that Garfunkel hadn't ruptured himself and something about not moving Jenna but we figured that just meant she wasn't feeling well and up to moving around much so he'd just left her to hang out. As it turned out, we did not get my dad's entire message and that turned out to be a weirdly fortuitous thing.

It's appropriate to inform people of your hospital stay via Instagram, right?

When I was finally discharged from the hospital (around 12 or 1ish), Robert and I headed straight home to check on the babies. I walked into the door first and immediately looked for Jenna. I saw her lying on the carpet just inside our bedroom and I knew instantly that she had died overnight. I dropped all that I was holding and crumpled on the floor next to her, sobbing "she's dead!" hysterically until Robert rushed over and squeezed me. This is where the weirdly fortuitous incomplete text comes in; turns out, when my dad stopped by to check on the animals, Jenna was already dead. (I feel just terrible that I wound up making the man find a dead dog. Ugh.) He'd included this bit of information in his text to us (hence the mention of not moving her) but we didn't get that part and I'm so, so glad. As absolutely heartbreaking as it was to come home and find her, it would've been excruciating to know she was dead and then have to hang out at the hospital for who knows how long. I had already let my clinic know I was going to be bringing Jenna in for an exam so I had to call and give them the news. Everyone just loved Jenna and was very sorry, of course. I also told them about my unexpected trip to the ER for myself and that, therefore, Robert would be bringing Jenna's body in later that day.

Robert wound up bringing Linguini in, as well, because in and around my sobbing, he noticed that there were a couple of piles of bloody vomit in the house, as well as the remnants of a chewed ribbon. So off my three men went while I sat at home, continuing to cry, and waited to hear if Linguini was going to need surgery. I don't think I gave my coworkers the heads-up that Gweenz was on his way in and that was unkind. I talk about how horrible he is all the time but I still should've prepared them! And told them they could do whatever they needed to in order to restrain his furry little butt. As it turned out, one of the girls I work with is a crazy cat whisperer and they were able to get x-rays on Linguini without even sedation! He did pee all over them, of course, but all in all that was a successful visit for Shitty Kitty. And he hadn't ingested any of the ribbon after all so he got to come home. Thank goodness.

I had never lost a dog before - Ziggy was living with my sister's dad when he died and while I was sad when I heard the news, I hadn't been with him for several years and I was happy he died living in a place where he was very happy. So Jenna's passing just knocked me down and continues to do so here and there when I see her ashes or have to write a blog post about her leaving us. Even though I knew she wasn't doing well at all - she'd had some bloodwork done just prior to her bronchitis diagnosis and her values were terrible - I just kept thinking we could squeak out a little more time. Up until the day before she died, she still loved walks and car rides and definitely loves. She just seemed to go downhill so fast; Dr. K suspects that, in the end, she had a stroke or heart attack and went quickly. Still, it breaks my heart and I feel guilty that she was home alone when she died. The logical part of my brain understands that she would've died whether or not she'd stayed at the hospital and so her being at home, a place she knew and where she was happy, was a good thing. But the emotional part of my brain just can't get over the fact that she was alone for hours before she died, when she was still alone.

Robert is very understanding of my residual mini-breakdowns here and there, (no doubt exacerbated by pregnancy hormones). He just loved Jenna to bits, too, and was deeply affected and saddened by her passing; even my coworkers said he just looked terribly heartbroken when he brought her body in. Jenna touched everyone she met, pretty much - the entire hospital staff, my parents, my aunt, even one complex 'regular' who saw Jenna and Funk on walks. I'm sure it seems silly to some people that we became so attached in just 3 months but we absolutely did. We were already so accustomed to the sound of her pattering around the house, her snoring, and her happy dance when she was really excited for food that the first couple of weeks after her passing were really tough. Still, I would foster her again in a heartbeat, no question. She was my best baby girl.