One of the most difficult parts of her illness is the not knowing. One minute she is happy and seemingly full of life and the next minute her nose drips and she lays on the floor seemingly lifeless. Obviously I prefer the former. . .
These drugs could have something to do with it. In an effort to help her liver recover, these meds could actually be causing even more problems for her stomach and her esophagus and even her bone marrow. They may or may not be helping her liver.
Each drug has to be given in a specific way at a specific time. Some with food, some on an empty stomach, some an hour before eating, some squirted into her mouth with a syringe. . .
Some of it gets crushed and mixed in with her special dog food in a syringe that goes directly into her feeding tube. . .
We had a follow up visit this morning with the specialist who has been treating her and we really didn't learn anything we didn't already know. They drew blood (again) and found that her "numbers" are slightly better. As far as they can tell, she isn't bleeding internally. For now. She has lost a few pounds. In this case, that's not a good thing.
Just when we think she's doing better, her nose starts to drip. . .
I'm hyper aware that there is suffering and sorrow in this world and that our situation is probably just a drop in the bucket but being in this state of limbo just feels wrong. I look at people's faces and I wonder what hard things they have to live with and somehow that helps me put things in perspective. And I feel for the parents with high-needs children and adult children who are caring for their aging parents and anyone who has dealt with cancer and death and loss.
And Lucy is so good and so sweet and so obedient and faithful and it's so hard to see her struggle with all of this. . .
And just when it starts to feel hopeless, her nose stops dripping and she picks up her frisbee and wags her tail and we start to think that maybe, just maybe, she'll be ok . . .
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