Finn

So, I said that I was coming back. I was going to find the time to write. I was going to update everyone on the trip we took to Josh's parents and the beautiful river that they live and work on. I was going to post the cute picture of Lexy sitting on a horse at our friends farm, the pictures of her chasing the cats, looking at the chickens, running through the fields to find the cows. I was going to write about how I'm getting more and more exhausted because work is getting more and more oppressive (in terms of work load seeing as we have zero staff at the moment) and Lexy doesn't stop talking or asking questions for every second of her waking hours. And sometimes while she's sleeping. I put up one post... and then I got smacked in the head. Okay, not really smacked in the head. 22 staples in the stomach. Not my stomach. Finn's stomach.

Friday morning Finn peed on the floor at 2 am. I know, sorry, it's a tad gross. I had to get up and clean the floor at 2 am. It was gross for me, too. And then, when I woke up at 7, there was vomit and bowel movement on the floor. Now, I have a 2 year old. Accidents and sickness happen. But when you're having breakfast company and 2 year old awake and calling "Mommy, mommy, mommy, mommy" over and over and you still have to shower and make the said company breakfast, finding surprises on the floor is not the greatest way to start your day. And then there were ants in the kitchen.

At this point, following breakfast, I was completely selfish. I had realized something was really really really wrong with the dog when I couldn't get him to eat, he didn't want to see my girlfriend whom he loves, and he didn't want to move from the floor. In fact, he didn't want to lift his head. And then the stomach breathing started. That really deep, sucking, rolling breathing that you know is not a good thing. I called my mother. I believe my exact words were "I need my mommy and I'm not afraid to admit it." Oh, yeah, I was whining. Lexy was crazy from company, the dog was sick, there were ants in the kitchen. I wanted to sit on the floor and cry.

Long story short? Emergency vet appointment led to emergency vet hospital appointment followed by ultrasound followed by exploratory surgery followed by spleen removal and testing for cancer. It was almost like being back in the hospital after Lexy was born and seeing her in the NICU for the first time. The fear and icy feeling in the stomach and your heart beats a little irregular.



Our fur baby. Our first baby. Our permanent 2 year old. My company on quiet nights when Josh is out playing volleyball. My burglar alarm (or fox alarm). My buddy. Lexy's playmate. Lexy's "Finny Finn".



He got to come home Saturday night. He'd lost a lot of weight, couldn't walk very well, was really out of it with medication, had no appetite and had no interest in anything other than the new doggy pillow bed that we bought him to rest his sore belly on.




Our "franken-dog". 22 staples. An incision the entire length of his belly. And no way to explain to him what happened and why. He looks at me with these big eyes that tell me he wants to go for his long walk or to try and go down the stairs and he just doesn't get why it hurts so much for him to do it.

Every day he's getting better. He's eating again. We went for a short walk. He's walking up stairs but not down. He's wagging his tail when he sees new people. He's no where near being himself. But he'll get better from the surgery.

We're just waiting on spleen and liver biopsies to make any decisions about our 5 year old fur baby. The first child of our marriage and the first love of our lives as a family.



That's where I went this weekend. Maybe later this week I can update you on the river and the farm. Sometime after work before the biopsy results and during the "Mommy what's this?", "Mommy read this book", "Mommy I want want to watch Elmo"'s.

I hope your weekends were amazing. There must be some joy out there somewhere. Maybe it will be passed down this way when we get those test results Friday.



Love to you all.

Carin