Cali Update

This little doggie is one tough cookie.  She is stoically taking her meds, with pathetic eye contact, and doing everything I ask of her.  Of course, the capsules are mixed with vanilla yogurt (her favorite), the larger pills are surrounded with cheese, and the half capsules are given in peanut butter.  Good stuff for bribery!

She has the cutest little shaved belly; complete with hematoma at the biopsy site.  

You would never know she is ill; she greets me when I come home from work, and, tonite, came upstairs to whine/bark/howl to notify me of George's arrival.  She seems clingy, as if she knows her health depends on me.  It is strange to know that she is so ill, so close to terminal, as she bounces around and acts goofy and playful.  She demands her treats, as if it is a normal evening, despite barely touching her real food.  It makes me sad.

Today, at work, I had some tough patients.  One, a little, tiny, 95 pound, frail elderly woman who had fallen last Sunday.  Blackened her eye, broke her hip.  After the repair, she didn't come out of sedation as hoped.  She arrived on a ventilator, fighting for her life.  It was heartening to watch the team struggle to save her, to analyze blood gases, to arrange for donated blood to strengthen her, to give medication to first increase, then decrease, her blood pressure.  To give her that one more chance that her family was praying for.

In PACU, there are no Code Blues.  We deal with the crashing patient ourselves.  No announcement goes over the loudspeaker stating, "Code Blue, PACU".  We deal with it internally.  We resusitate, no matter what.  And, it is rare for a patient to die while in our care.  

We take pride in our ability to keep them from that precipitous edge.  And, if they plunge over the edge, we bust our balls to bring them back.  We are the last frontier for the post-op patient. Everyone is precious, everyone gets the Full Meal Deal.

I sensed that same attitude in the veterinarian student and resident that cared for Cali yesterday; her recovery was a point of pride for them.  She arrived at the hospital in my husband's arms, with her favorite blanket and stuffed toys, Lalligator and Possum.  She was sleek and clean from a recent bath and conditioning, and she was well behaved and curious.  The team gave her their best, knowing that they were dealing with a loved little dog.  They held our hearts in their hands.

It was instructional, as a nurse, to experience what is probably only a fraction of the stress and concern that my patients' families go through at my hospital.  It makes me want to be a better nurse as I experience what life doles out to me.  I never want to forget what I felt like as my good friend died tragically when we were eighteen, as my father died at fifty-eight when I was twenty, as my mother died from medical negligence when I was twenty-nine, as my father-in-law died twelve years later after a long diminishing illness, and as numerous beloved pets have succumbed to old age or accident.  I never want to be insensitive to that pain.  

It is a gift to find care givers, for humans or for animals, who connect with the emotional element of illness as it impacts the family of patients.  I appreciate the professional and kind vets and students of the Oregon State University Teaching Hospital for their handling of the case of Caliente, our sweet little Chihuahua.