The Crash

My girl was home, and God seemed to have answered my prayer. The surgery went perfect, the cancer was gone, and I was going to have more meaningful time with her. I am not exaggerating when I tell you that she already looked better than she had the day before (and honestly, for a long time). There was more life in her eyes, even though she was clearly in pain. 

I mean, they just cut through her stomach and took a big chunk of her guts out. Of course she was in pain. 

But pain gets better over time. So I made it a point to get her up, take her outside, walk her around. You have to move to get your body used to moving again, and little by little, the pain gets more tolerable until you don't notice it any more. 

She was still breathing hard, still tired. It was obviously a struggle to get up, but she was getting better at it. And more than that, she seemed eager to do it. She was happy to be back with me, and you could see it in her eyes. There was my girl I had been missing. A few more days, and we'd be living up that new lease on life the surgeon told us about. 

Except...

Except she wouldn't eat for me. They told me she'd licked her bowl clean twice for them, but she hadn't licked anything for me...except my face a few times. 

Except the pain medication didn't seem to be helping. In fact, it seemed to be making her worse for some reason. 

Except as the second day went on, even though she seemed to have more will in her heart, she seemed to have less strength in her body, until her gums started to turn pale and, in a hurry, I rushed her back to the vet. 

By the time we got there, I had to carry her in. Because of her surgical incision, I had to lift her in and out of the car anyway, but she had just kind of sunken into my arms, and her legs were so weak that it didn't seem right to put her down. They took her out of my arms and rushed her right to the back. A few minutes later, the vet came out to talk with us. 

Her blood pressure was dangerously low. In the 50s. For reference, he said, it should be in the 120s, just like ours. Her blood work and xrays looked perfect; they couldn't see any complications. Maybe, he said, the pain medication had sparked an adverse reaction and tanked her blood pressure. It was the only thing we could seem to come up with. 

So we planned for her to stay another night with them. Get some IV fluids. Build her volume back up. Try to correct her blood pressure. One more night, then she could come home again, and we would get on with living our new lease on life. That one I'd been praying for. The one that God seemed to have given us. 

Until just before 4 a.m. when my phone rang. 

After having some kind of strange episode the previous evening, my big, sweet girl had gone into cardiac arrest around 3:30 a.m. They had managed to get her back, but shortly after, she arrested again, and they were unable to save her. 

My best friend. My confidant. My gift from God. My blessing. My whole world, my everything, was gone. Just like that. 

Not 60 hours after beating cancer. Not 60 hours after our "new lease on life." Not three days after God seemed to have answered my prayer. 

I wept. 

What else was I supposed to do?