Wednesday, November 12, 2008


Emma stopped breathing this morning. Yes, you read me right. She had been away over the weekend and something had caused her little immune system to go haywire. When I picked her up Monday afternoon she had a small redness (usually her signal of an allergy) all over her belly. By Tuesday a.m. she had hives. Last night she was restless and barely slept. We took an oatmeal bath (which Emma-The-Dog-That-Hates-Water fought tooth and tiny nail.) But she seemed better this morning so I did a few errands - post office, bank, cop shop - and when I returned she was barely gasping.
When she is overexcited, she makes this pig-snorting sort of noise which we all find endearing, but this was FAR beyond that. As I was trying to calm her with one hand and call the vet with the other, she sank to the floor. I alerted the vet I was coming, grabbed her and ran.
By the time I put her in the front seat of the car, she was barely breathing. By the luck of all the Goddesses, the vet is only one mile down the road. I screeched in the driveway and bless them, the vet techs were actually holding the doors open for me!
I was without shoes, carrying my limp sweetheart, screaming "EMMA'S IN TROUBLE!" at the top of my lungs.
As I laid her on the table, she was not breathing at all! Two steroid shots and a few puffs of blessed handsome veterinarian's breath into her snout and she was revived.
They are keeping her there for a few hours and forcing oxygen on her and they will then send her home with a syringe to keep on hand in the refrig for emergencies and some steroids by mouth.
Can I tell you this was the worst experience ever???? My fear at losing my best friend cannot possibly be explained. She is my listening post, my companion, my pal, my dinner partner, I read her all my stories and I swear, I SWEAR, she actually critiques them, she is the light of my life......whew. I know that every one of you with pets knows exactly my level of terror.
I need to go sit down.
and. have. a. big. drink.
and it's not even noon.

My little sweetie is home, weary but with the ability to still wag her tail. She is sleeping in the living room on the orange rug in the sun. Resting. I may just lay down right next to her and join her in a good nap. I have pills and syringes and feel armed to attack should she begin struggling to breathe again. But now I'm afraid to leave the house...what if she fails while I'm gone?

In my upsetness over Emma's near-death experience, I sat at this computer and ate an entire bag of Snyder's Pretzel Sticks and drank half a bottle of pomegranate dry soda. (See Weldable Cookies post on Gluttony - it will explain everything.)(OMG - I just read the bag and its says a serving of pretzels is only 15 sticks. WTF? That can't be right.) Aside from being ready to explode and unable to remove my shoes due to all the swelling from the pretzel salt, I need some advice. Beyond turning my keyboard upside down and banging it on the desk, does anyone know how to get about fourteen pounds of pretzels crumbs out of it?

1 comment:

Mr. 618 said...

Queenie, I found your blog from your comment at Mike's Column. You can call your local Red Cross chapter and they would be thrilled to schedule you for a Canine First Aid/CPR class. They also have one for felines. Of course, you could also take a human-type First Aid/CPR course (although just about any pet is worth more than most humans). Disclaimer: I've been a Red Cross instructor for almost 20 years, so I'm obviously not above trying to shame people into taking these life-saving courses.