Okay-- so fingers crossed, everyone.
She's doing better.
Geoffie threw up last night--a lot. (And there wasn't that much time to throw up, either. I went to bed at two a.m. and all the puke was found at seven.)
Anyway, took her to vets this morning, and she was cold and shaking and dehydrated, and a little part of me was mewling. Oh Goddess. Please. Not again. Not Geoffie. Dammit.
We had to shuffle financially, because, remember, last week we spent $500 on a dead cat. (I know that's horrible, but some part of me is still appalled at the injustice of that. I have to keep reminding myself that we made that poor creature more comfortable and that's important.) Anyway, Mate and I quietly acknowledged that we were willing to spend much, much more money on a live Geoffie.
After a day in the vets office (and some unusually shitty communication-- they're usually much better than they were today) it was determined that she had a big chunk of rib bone in her stomach.They gave her lots of fluids and sent her home and the hope is either A. She'll metabolize the bone and it will break down or B. If it hits her lower intestine, we'll get her to emergency care in time to operate. The had her on fluids all day and put a big batch of subcutaneous fluids in her back before they sent her home--she looks like she's got a giant boil, right on her ass. It's sort of disgusting and hilarious, this is true.
We gave her an opioid so she could rest and deal with the thing in her stomach and I'm like, aghast.
"But... but... people give their dogs rib bones to chew all the time. I mean, we've cut down her human food by almost all of it--I thought big bones were safe and good for their teeth!"
"Well, rib bones are safe. Until they're not."
So, let's hope they're safe.
Let's hope her tummy is better when I take her back in the morning.
Let's hope all is well.
Right now, get some rest, sweetheart.
Mommy really wants a live puppy at the end of this.
And seriously, dog. Why is it always you???