Home Again!
The surgeon telephoned at about half-past noon to let us know the surgery had been successful, that our little Riley was a healthy and strong little dog, and his recovery would be assured. Only a 10% chance of recurrence, I was told in response to my anxious question. And no, he hadn't encountered any blood vessels in the lump itself, and those he had got close to in the removal he had cauterized immediately. It had been a little tricky since part of the lump had been embedded in the upper leg muscle, but the surgeon managed to remove the entire lipoma.
The good thing about the surgery was that Riley was irrigated throughout the procedure and received nourishment as well through an IV. His reaction to the anaesthesia, our own vet said, was extraordinarily good. He was resting, in recovery, post-surgery. I'd informed our vet pre-surgery of Riley's low pain threshold and he had agreed that a slow-release patch would be useful, placed on his back. When we picked Riley up at half-past six that same day he'd been administered a dose of morphine.
Our vet also prescribed a steroidal anti-inflammatory to be given with food, and for the first night, two very powerful painkiller pills, if we felt he needed them. On the Monday prior to his surgery we had started him on a regimen of twice-daily-administered antibiotic pills. When we picked him up Thursday evening, I was frightened at the size of the entry wound and its very visible stitches. The colour of his skin, with his haircoat shaved off also made me fearful. I wrapped him in a little blanket and held him cautiously, carefully, fearful of hurting him.
Once home we deposited him in one of his little beds, taking care to line it with a towel, to absorb the bloody discharge that kept dripping around the plastic shunt. We began to place the Elizabethan collar around his thick little neck. All this while he was drowsy and hardly aware of what was happening around him, as a result of the anaesthetic wearing off, the painkillers he had been administered, but he lent himself biddably to the process of trying on the collar. Which we immediately took off and rejected.
Instead of which we dressed him in a one-piece baby suit which fit him well, with the bottom half looping around his back end, covering his wound, the stitches and the shunt. The baby outfit had belonged once to our granddaughter, and he'd worn it years before, also post-surgery; a far better solution for him than the E-collar. He emitted no cries or whines as he'd done on that earlier occasion, settled down beside my husband, and sat there, refusing to lie prone, to close his eyes. He spurned water.
We were unwilling to handle him unnecessarily, so didn't intend to take him out to urinate unless and until he expressed an interest himself. The evening was spent with him dozing beside us, as we read the newspapers. Button was singularly uninterested in him and did her best to avoid his near presence, surprising us. But she's always been distant, never seemed to have any affection for him, although they've accommodated themselves to one another's presence in this home they share with us.
Finally, we made our way upstairs to bed. They have always slept in our bed. Button sleeps at the foot of the bed. But Riley has always squirrelled his way under the comforter for warmth and security. Despite the blood and serum emanating from his wound we saw no reason to deny him that comfort at such a critical time. He wore his little suit; I'd spread a terry-cloth sheet over our normal bed sheet, and over it, a thick towel. We were thankful that he slept quietly all night, although that was more than could be said for us.
Finally, at half-past five he awoke and sat up, and so did we. It was obvious he finally had to urinate, and we took him out at the first light of dawn with the birds lustily singing us into a sunny warm April 20, to do his long urination before hauling him back up to bed. Where he slept, and we did also, until after nine. We first washed the area of his wound, then replaced his little suit, well stained with blood, with another, clean one. Again, he refused anything to drink.
But eat he would, and he most certainly did, with a robust appetite. Later, I placed a few teaspoons of baby food chicken mush and broth in a little bowl along with his antibiotic pill and he relished it, too. We hadn't had to use any of the peripheral painkillers; the original morphine shot and the patch which had kicked in after 12 hours were doing their work. He had no difficulty getting around and walked about the house as he normally does.
Because it turned out to be a bright day he continually asked to go outside to sit in the sun on the deck. He's on the mend.
The good thing about the surgery was that Riley was irrigated throughout the procedure and received nourishment as well through an IV. His reaction to the anaesthesia, our own vet said, was extraordinarily good. He was resting, in recovery, post-surgery. I'd informed our vet pre-surgery of Riley's low pain threshold and he had agreed that a slow-release patch would be useful, placed on his back. When we picked Riley up at half-past six that same day he'd been administered a dose of morphine.
Our vet also prescribed a steroidal anti-inflammatory to be given with food, and for the first night, two very powerful painkiller pills, if we felt he needed them. On the Monday prior to his surgery we had started him on a regimen of twice-daily-administered antibiotic pills. When we picked him up Thursday evening, I was frightened at the size of the entry wound and its very visible stitches. The colour of his skin, with his haircoat shaved off also made me fearful. I wrapped him in a little blanket and held him cautiously, carefully, fearful of hurting him.
Once home we deposited him in one of his little beds, taking care to line it with a towel, to absorb the bloody discharge that kept dripping around the plastic shunt. We began to place the Elizabethan collar around his thick little neck. All this while he was drowsy and hardly aware of what was happening around him, as a result of the anaesthetic wearing off, the painkillers he had been administered, but he lent himself biddably to the process of trying on the collar. Which we immediately took off and rejected.
Instead of which we dressed him in a one-piece baby suit which fit him well, with the bottom half looping around his back end, covering his wound, the stitches and the shunt. The baby outfit had belonged once to our granddaughter, and he'd worn it years before, also post-surgery; a far better solution for him than the E-collar. He emitted no cries or whines as he'd done on that earlier occasion, settled down beside my husband, and sat there, refusing to lie prone, to close his eyes. He spurned water.
We were unwilling to handle him unnecessarily, so didn't intend to take him out to urinate unless and until he expressed an interest himself. The evening was spent with him dozing beside us, as we read the newspapers. Button was singularly uninterested in him and did her best to avoid his near presence, surprising us. But she's always been distant, never seemed to have any affection for him, although they've accommodated themselves to one another's presence in this home they share with us.
Finally, we made our way upstairs to bed. They have always slept in our bed. Button sleeps at the foot of the bed. But Riley has always squirrelled his way under the comforter for warmth and security. Despite the blood and serum emanating from his wound we saw no reason to deny him that comfort at such a critical time. He wore his little suit; I'd spread a terry-cloth sheet over our normal bed sheet, and over it, a thick towel. We were thankful that he slept quietly all night, although that was more than could be said for us.
Finally, at half-past five he awoke and sat up, and so did we. It was obvious he finally had to urinate, and we took him out at the first light of dawn with the birds lustily singing us into a sunny warm April 20, to do his long urination before hauling him back up to bed. Where he slept, and we did also, until after nine. We first washed the area of his wound, then replaced his little suit, well stained with blood, with another, clean one. Again, he refused anything to drink.
But eat he would, and he most certainly did, with a robust appetite. Later, I placed a few teaspoons of baby food chicken mush and broth in a little bowl along with his antibiotic pill and he relished it, too. We hadn't had to use any of the peripheral painkillers; the original morphine shot and the patch which had kicked in after 12 hours were doing their work. He had no difficulty getting around and walked about the house as he normally does.
Because it turned out to be a bright day he continually asked to go outside to sit in the sun on the deck. He's on the mend.
Labels: Companions
posted by Pieface @ 6:23 PM
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